* Outlaw Wars, Western Settler Saga Book V
Hanks knew that his own office in Denver and handful of deputies were unable to keep a lid on southern Colorado Territory let alone tackle the north and all of Wyoming Territory as assigned. Intense in his desire for order, he saw Adam as one able to bring it, having watched the youngster take bounty for the Barstows then spend eighteen months wresting control of his adopted land from outlaws who claimed the nearby town of Morale as their own. That Pike had success didn’t surprise the lawman even if the degree of it and explosive manner he employed sometimes did.
Although retired as Marshall, his work winning widespread admiration despite controversy over methods, Pike continued to be held to his oath of office by Washington officials caring more for keeping peace in the region than Adam’s desire to attend a thriving ranch and other businesses. Asked by Emsley Eckert, his successor and first hire as Deputy, to persuade if possible the newest Territorial Governor of Wyoming to not move their office to Cheyenne and pleased to win a year reprieve to keep the Marshall in Morale where it meant jobs for his neighbors, Adam considered the second task given him.
That Marshall Eckert wanted, as a favor, for Pike to stir around this town and decide if the law had needful doings was a request he never imagined declining. Shifting, his saddle creaking, Adam chose a course from among several available him, nudging Black ahead to the general store, dismounting with an agile, quick step. Limber as any mountain lion and jackrabbit light on his feet, Pike took the two steps as one while barely seeming to move at all, entering through a doorway propped open. With sweeping eyes, he found as expected, two men drinking coffee facing out a side window turned some to look him over then exchanging concerned glances before resuming their desultory conversation.
Sliding between shelves, Adam picked up several odds and ends useful if not needed, knowing storekeepers like to talk but more so when purchases were being made. Giving the men time to forget him, Pike idled over a handsomely made saddle, listening. In short order, he heard Rachel Loftin’s name mentioned and Lambertson’s as well, pleased to know whatever small troubles existed still waited to be solved. Stepping to the counter, he laid the goods down as a thickly built older man neared, the lack of hair on his glistening forehead adequately compensated for by a walrus moustache blossoming over his lower face.
“Be all?” the man inquired, his voice strong and deep.
Pike nodded, fishing money from his pocket before saying, “Nice quiet little town you got here.”
The merchant harrumphed loudly, air exploding sufficient to billow his moustache. “Would be!” he declared, “Least, if that widow Loftin would see what’s right and stop all the troubles she be causin’.”
Adam raised his brow and grinned widely, remembering vividly his first encounter with a widow back in Lincoln with great favor.*