“Everybody stay put,” ordered Minister Orton. “Sheriff?”
Her father looked at the holy man who stood beside her. “Yes.”
“Walk back to that door and knock on it four times. Do it slow so they can count it out clear.”
T.W. nodded and looked at Jim. “Don’t boil over.”
“Okay.”
“No matter what.”
“Get to it,” prompted the holy man.
The sheriff limped across the dais, down two steps, and along the aisle. His teeth were gritted with pain.
“Sheriff,” Minister Orton said, “it appears like you’ve got some discomforts.”
T.W. ignored the remark, reached the door, stumbled forward, and placed his palm to the wood to steady himself.
Concerned, Big Abe rose from his seat to offer his aid.
“Sit down big man or things’ll get rough,” warned the holy man.
Big Abe glared, but wordlessly returned to
