5
The next morning, when I got to the jail, Pap Kickins was sitting in a chair expectantly on the other side of my desk. When he saw me, he lurched out of the chair and yelled, “Sheriff!” as if he was surprised I might show up to my own jail.
“What is it, Pap? And what is this nonsense about the town needing a mayor?”
“Got a telegram from Frank Kilhoe. He’s on his way here to Silver Vein.”
“What for?”
“He doesn’t say. Here, read it for yourself.”
I took the telegram and it was a typical Frank correspondence:
Curly,
Coming to Silver Vein.
—Frank
“You’re not kidding. This doesn’t tell me a damn thing, but I guess that’s not surprising. It will be nice to see him, though I doubt he’s coming just to pay me a visit.”
“Maybe he’s after more marauders,” Pap said, his eyes as big as din
