The Fleecing of Fort Griffin Book Blog Tour and #Giveaway #LoneStarLit

“Arriving in Fort Griffin”

Excerpt from

The Fleecing of Fort Griffin

Marshal Hanson sidled up to Baron Jerome Manchester Paget, extending his hand.  “Baron, I’m Marshal Hanson.”

“Ah,” Paget said, “the local constable.  I am distinctly honored that you would meet my carriage upon its arrival.  This is a singular honor that no other Texas community has extended me.”

“I meet all the stages,” Hanson replied.

“Ah, you Yankees, always so democratic in your traditions.  I commend you for honoring the common man as well as royalty.”

Hanson shook his head.  “Mostly what we get here are common murderers and thieves.  That’s what I want to talk to you about, Baron.”  He motioned for the Englishman to join him on the walk.

Nodding, the baron shut his English club bag and offered it to Sammy Collins.  Paget moved to the lawman, then used the tip of his cane to scrape the manure off his glossy shoes.

Hanson whispered, “It’s not a good idea to show your money so freely.  Many hard men in these parts would kill you for it.”

The baron stroked his close-cropped beard, pursed his lips, and nodded.  “Constable, sir, I am indeed gratified by your concern for my well-being, but let me assure you I am prepared to defend myself and my belongings.”  As he spoke, the baron unbuttoned his coat and lifted his lapel.  There, beneath his left armpit rested a tiny holster and a tinier revolver.

From what he could see of the weapon, Marshal Hanson suspected it was a .22-caliber Colt New Line Revolver.  With a barrel two and a quarter inches long, the Colt New Line was accurate at ranges adequate for suicide but not for defense.  “That’s a peashooter in Fort Griffin.  Some of these men have rifles that’ll shoot more than a thousand yards.”

“Ah, but constable, sir, they do not have my intellect!  Intellect is as important as weapons in defense.”

The arrogant ass, Hanson thought.  “It’d be a shame to get killed by an inferior intellect, Baron, but there are plenty men around here who’d give it a try for the kind of money you’re carrying.”

“Highly unlikely they would succeed, constable,” Paget intoned, “especially not when I get a guard animal.”

“It may take a while for you to find a dog, Baron.”

“Dog?  Why, constable, sir, I have another creature in mind.”

Hanson shook his head.  He didn’t know if there was an animal mean enough to protect this Englishman in all his royal arrogance.

“A rooster, constable, is all I need for protection.”

“A rooster?”  The marshal jerked his hat off in disbelief.  The baron had to be dumber than a brick.  Hanson shook his hatless head.  “You’re joshing?”

“Joshing, constable?”

Hanson pulled his hat back on his head.  “Yeah, you know, coding or howling or whatever it is you English fellows call a joke.”

“Indeed not.  Roosters make excellent guard animals.”

“Fighting cocks, you mean?” the sheriff asked.

“No, sir, just a regular rooster.  You may take me for a fool, constable, but I am not.  Good day.  Now, come along, lad,” Paget said with a wave of his cane at Sammy Collins.  “Take me to my flat.  It has been a long day in the carriage.  Now I am ready for a bath.”