Bradley stood in the dusty sheriff"s office, staring intently at several Wanted posters pinned on the notice board. He didn"t hear the person creeping up behind him until a heavy hand came down on his shoulder. Startled, he jumped back, hands coming up defensively. “Sorry,” he blurted.
The man standing before him was a big, barrel-chested individual whose close-set eyes regarded Bradley with a keen curiosity. He had a cruel-looking mouth and sported a wispy beard to conceal a weak chin. He wore two revolvers, handles turned inwards and a gold watch chain hung heavily above them, its fob tucked into the pocket of a patterned waistcoat. On his left jacket lapel was pinned his sheriff"s star. He glowered. “Now, who in hell might you be?”
“My, er, my name is James. Bradley James. A Mister St
