Hel Morgan

Eight

The streets were dark when Hel rode back into town, tired, dusty, and hungry. He'd found little out at Bayne's claim, and he was worried and frustrated. The longer this went unanswered, the greater the chances of the killer getting away. Walking the horse soundlessly down the quiet lane that backed behind his house he led the tired animal into the small barn there. Unsaddling the gelding, he rubbed him down, putting a healthy scoop of corn in his bin before heading toward the jail. Luke met him at the door.

"There you are, I was startin' to think you'd be out all night." The deputy's greeting was friendly and Hel smiled wearily.

"Not this time thankfully. I thought you'd be gone already," he glanced around the office, more familiar to him than his home and sighed quietly. "Anything happen?"

"All quiet here," Skye told him. "However, Missus Morgan was in earlier, lookin' for you."

Morgan stopped what he was doing, turning to frown at his deputy.

"Beth came here? Is she alright?"

"I reckon so," Luke paused for a moment, not wanting to butt into something not his affair. "She said to tell you she was here. I'm thinkin' she was wishful of speakin' to you."

"Lock up and go home Luke. Thanks."

He again crossed the darkened road and headed toward the side street that led in the direction of home, his eyes on the shadows around him. The rifle was still in his hand and could be swung into action on a moment's notice. Though this was his first civil murder case, tracking down people hiding from the law was nothing new, and in the ten years he'd worn a badge no one had ever gotten away from him. Hel was determined the murderer would not be the first.

"Marshal?" a woman's voice called out quietly from the boardwalk and Morgan slowed his step.

"Is that you Elsa? It's a little late to be out. You alright?"

Her form appeared from the darkness, and he could see the anxious, but curiously eager look on her face as he approached him.

"I just wanted a word Marshal," her hands twisted briefly into her apron, then Elsa came out with it. "I wanted to warn you before you got home, Elisabeth has been... keeping company."

Startled, Morgan actually took a step back.

"Excuse me?" he frowned, his grip on the rifle tightening. "Perhaps I'm over tired, but I'm not sure I get your meaning."

"Well, it's just that...I," Elsa looked away, embarrassed but determined.

She felt a man had the right to know if his wife was stepping out on him, and the marshal's wife had been spending far too much time with the handsome, single, wealthy rancher. Though she'd been initially fond of the southern belle, Elsa had quickly grown to disdain her. She did not like the way she perceived Elizabeth to be treating such a good man like Hel Morgan. So what if he lived without two coins to rub together? He was a solid man and a good provider; there wasn't a better man in the whole territory, or a more handsome one.

"Elizabeth has been keeping close company lately, and I thought it'd be best if you heard it from a friend."

A chill swept through his veins then, followed by a hot rush of anger and disbelief. He heard it in his voice when he spoke, tried to keep it in control but Morgan knew Elsa Finch heard it too, and understood.

"Who?"

"Felix Wheaton. At least three times today alone, and I'm not the only one who's seen her."

The barroom was buzzing with noise when Morgan stepped through the swinging doors and strode inside. He ignored the friendly greetings and went straight to the bar.