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heard Winston groan and watched helplessly as his brother-in-law struggled to lift himself to his knees before collapsing face first onto the ground. He didn’t move.
    Two of the men quickly broke away from the group, galloping off on their mares to retrieve the stallion, which had been spooked by the gunshot.
    The eager young buck who had fired the shot blew away the drifting smoke from the barrel of his revolver, fancy-twirled it before reholstering, and said matter-of-factly, “Man claimin’ to be innocent don’t try to run off like that.”
    Bert Stradd simply turned toward Ehron Lee, who looked dumbstruck, and said in a self-satisfied manner, “Your friend made a bad move. Well, he ain’t got no worries now. But don’t look too good for you, pardner.”

TWO

    MADAM ROSINA’S BORDELLO in the town of Justice, a quiet, peaceful community situated in a lush green parcel of valley nestled in the rolling foothills of Cullen County, boasted an impressive clientele, the most prominent of whom was Charles Hugh Harrison, circuit judge, who always made it a point to avail himself of the pleasures these premises offered whenever he presided over a judicial matter in town.
    Of course, since Judge Harrison was regarded as a pillar of decency and respectability, his character beyond reproach, he planned each visit prudently, exercising caution to maintain secrecy, arriving under cover of nightfall, per a prearranged appointment forwarded by a coded telegram. He was allowed a back entrance separated from the rest of the house, which provided a stairway leading to a comfortable upstairs room where he could indulge his pleasures in privacy.
    Naturally Judge Harrison paid for these special privileges, fees somewhat steeper than those of less conspicuous customers. But for a person of his reputation, he understood and accepted this as a necessary precaution.
    Judge Harrison was a fastidious middle-aged man of slim, short stature whose gaunt features were dominated by a sharply arched nose, atop which he perched gold-rimmed spectacles that enlarged his small, beady eyes. His stern demeanor befitted his profession but stood at odds with his mischievous personal enjoyments. Married for many years and father to a teenage daughter, Harrison maintained little romantic inclination toward his wife—a woman whom he rarely saw with so much of his life now spent traveling to dirt water towns throughout the southern regions of the state. Likewise, he’d had little time to spend with his daughter, Evaline, a girl he’d barely watched grow through her adolescent years. Financially he’d provided both with a fair degree of stability, but his frequent and lengthy absences had left an emotional void between him and his family.
    Harrison would convince himself that his weeks and oftentimes months away performing his judicial duties were the reason he utilized the services of prostitutes. Such an argument would help assuage whatever guilt might begin to gnaw at his conscience. But, in truth, Harrison possessed little guilt, permitting himself neither self-reproach nor remorse for his actions. He simply preferred the company of such women. They satisfied him in a way a more intimate relationship could not. Perhaps because of the nature of his work, he needed to maintain emotional detachment even in his private life. He had the natural urges of most men toward women, responding as they satisfied his physical needs, though it was another quirk in his character that he was loath to reciprocate.
    And as long as he could pay, and pay well, his “requirements” were always accommodated. Whores cooperated with his demands, no matter how strange they might be.
    Judge Harrison had ridden into Justice just before sunset. He checked into the town’s one hotel, The Jubilee, which was filled to capacity but had a room already reserved for him. After unpacking his luggage, he allowed himself a bath, followed