Twenty threeMartinson stoked up the wood-burner whilst Simms handed over two blankets to the woman, stepped outside the small cell and locked it. Miller, the Sheriff, stood chewing his bottom lip, hands on hips, a dark look on his face. “I'm not happy about any of this,” he said.
“Nor me,” said Simms, hanging the keys of a nearby hook. “I'd much rather have her in my office, but as I don't have a cell—”
“That's not what I mean and you know it.”
“I know she's guilty of some pretty awful things, Miller, and when the Judge arrives, I'll put forward my case.”
“I'm talking about jurisdiction, Simms. This is my town. I can't allow you to go high-tailing around the Territory like some vigilante, doling out your own kind of justice. We have laws here, goddamnit.”
“You know the arrangements, M
