CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Three months later
“It’s highly irregular,” the circuit judge was saying as he paced around the sheriff’s office. Standing in a tight-lipped row, Reece, Ira, and Bessy dare not meet his glowering gaze. In the doorway, Miriam Clapham and Frank Morrison, the senior bank-teller looked on with apprehension.
“You,” said the judge, pointing towards Morrison, “you say the bank manager is out of town?”
“He is, your honor, and as far as I know he won’t be back for another six weeks.”
“Highly irregular,” said the judge again. “I should call in a United States Marshal, you understand?”
Everyone nodded.
“Most …” He moved behind the desk and pulled open a drawer. “Irregular.” He sat down and produced a piece of paper. “I’ll pen a telegram, see if I can summon a marshal before
