“You're a monster!” She yelled, huffing back to her cabin. She knew these woods well enough that making her way through them at night was no trouble. For her, anyway.
“I do what I have to in this town!” He shouted back, chasing her down and tripping on roots and shrubs. He swore as he caught his footing and slowly caught up to her.
“Ain't nobody who has to do what you do!” She turned around and spat on him, “You're a damnable man!”
“Don't pretend you're all high-and-mighty, missy!” He grabbed her arm, “You ain't no better than I am!”
She ripped her arm away, “I ain't a damned sinner like you!”
“I might be a sinner but at least I'm honest about it!”
“You only know what honesty is when you steal it from good men!”
He slapped her hard, “I've half a mind to fire you! You know what you owe me!”
“I don't owe you a damn thing! You're a liar and a cheat!” She opened the door to her cabin and tried slamming it in his face, but he stopped it.
“I ain't done with you yet!”
“I ain't done with you neither! By the time I'm done, the whole damn town is gonna know how you've ripped them off!”
“You wouldn't dare!”
She got right up in his face. “I would,” she sneered. He could feel the heat in her angry breath.
His hand wrapped around her throat, “You'd best rethink that.” The steel tips of his gloves started digging into her skin. She struggled to breathe. She kicked him hard in the shin, and he yelled out in pain. She gasped for air and slapped him. She looked around and found a knife sitting on the stove. Grabbing it, she charged forward, but he grabbed her wrist before she could get to him.
“You think you're the first person to draw a knife on me?” He brought his arm back and punched her as hard as he could. She dropped the knife and stumbled back. He picked up the knife, “I worked too hard for some overzealous child to ruin it all.” He stabbed her and twisted the blade. She gasped. His eyes widened as he realized what he'd done. He let go of her and took a step back. She stumbled back again until she hit the wall and slid down to the floor.
He had to leave. No one could know what happened. He ran away into the night.
She sat there, bleeding out. How could I be such a fool? The world started growing dark. There's nothing I could do anyway. She felt it getting colder. Who'd listen to me?
The night went on. The world kept turning, unaware of what happened. Or perhaps uncaring was more appropriate. The winds howled and shook the trees outside. A small herd of deer lazily walked by, stopping to eat grass for a moment and then continuing to stroll by. They suddenly took off running as a cougar pounced, ambushing a smaller deer. A mouse snuck out scavenging for something to eat but found itself becoming a meal for an owl that snatched it up. Nature could oftentimes match human cruelty, but human cruelty was very rarely over as quickly.
“Hey, Vi!” Another man shouted, approaching the cabin from the back. “Violet! Are you home?” She'd be furious with him if she was, as late as he was coming. “I promise there's a good reason I'm late if y'are!” It wasn't like she had much room to talk; she was the one coming home to him more often than not. Although, he mused, she might be asleep right now. He stopped and slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Stupid! She'll be right mad with me if I woke her up!” Hopefully she ain't home and I can sneak into bed and she'd be none the wiser. He came around to the front and saw the door was open.
Damn animals, he thought, I musta forgotten to lock the door when I left today. Hopefully they didn't make too much a mess. He walked up to the doorway and saw her sitting on the floor. “Vi? What're you doin sittin down there?” Violet didn't react at all. “Vi? You gotta stop joking around—this ain't funny.” He walked up and touched her, but she was cold. “Violet? Violet!” He saw the knife sticking out of her. The blood drained from his face. What— He stumbled back and tripped out the door. No! No! The world started spinning. Not Violet! What happened?
He needed to get help. He scrambled to his feet and started running to town, shouting at the top of his lungs for help. All the ruckus eventually got the attention of the town Deputy, who went and got the Sheriff. Both of them followed him out to the cabin, where they saw the grisly conclusion of the night. The Deputy lit a lamp so they could see everything better.
“What d'you think, Sheriff?”
Sheriff Flint Waters walked into the cabin slowly, surveying his surroundings. It was a small one-room shack, probably quickly put up when folks were rushing to Colorado looking for gold. Sur Posta was a frequent stop for travelers back a few years ago, although these days it was a quiet, peaceful place.
Usually.
Flint looked over the body carefully. She was a young woman, probably no older than twenty-five. A knife was jammed into her stomach and Flint spotted two holes in her neck. There wasn't anything spectacular about the knife. Flint figured it was just a boot knife, but knowing Sur Posta a knife like this could be used for anything. Blood had pooled around her. He saw some bruises on her face, mostly on her cheeks, and took note of a small cut above her right eye. There was dirt on her arms and dress. Her brown hair was frazzled, but still pulled back into a ponytail.
“I think we've got one hell of a mess on our hands.” He stood straight up, dusting off his hands. “Anybody see what happened, Deputy?”
Deputy Henry shook his head and adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, “Sheriff, you know as far out as these folks live, ain't nobody seen nothin' but God and the murderer. Husband said he came home and found her like this.”
Flint took a look out the door and saw the big man who had rushed to wake them (and the whole town) at this God-awful hour. “What's he doin' getting home this late?”
“He won't admit it, but I'm betting he was doin' a lil,” the deputy mimicked shaking and throwing dice, “and,” he pretended to take a long drink from a bottle, “if you know what I mean.”
“Deputy, we're adults. ‘Sides, a small game or two between friends ain't illegal.”
“That ain't, but that setup Joel has sure is.”
Flint chuckled, “As long as the house don't get greedy and the patrons stay civil, we can pretend we don't know what he's doing.” He adjusted his belt. “Let's go see what the fuss is about.” Flint walked over to the big man sitting on a stump outside of his home. “Evenin', son. Sheriff Flint Waters. I have some questions.”
“You think I did it?!” The man snapped, “You think I'd kill my own sister?”
“I don't think nothin' yet.” Flint responded with a calm firmness. “Hell, before now I figured that poor girl was your wife. Now, if you could answer my questions, I can start figurin' out what happened here.”
The man looked Flint over. The Sheriff was not a particularly tall man, maybe a bit taller than average, and he didn't look like he was very big either (although it was admittedly tough to tell on account of his loose clothes). There was a determination sparking in his frosty blue eyes.
“Now just take a deep breath.” The man listened, breathing in and out deeply. “Good. What's your name?”
“James.”
“James what, son? You ain't got a family name?”
“No, sir. Ain't got no family no more.”
Alright. What about your sister? What was her name?"
“Violet.”
“James and Violet. How old are you?”
“About twenty and four years.” Flint nodded his head, noticing the man was twiddling his thumbs.
“And your sister?”
“She weren't no older than twenty and one, I think?”
“You think? You don't know how old your big sister is?”
“She ain't my big sister. I was there when Ma and Da brought her home. Well, more like when they let me come back from Miss Adeline's she was there.”
“But you don't know how old she is?”
“I'm not good with years, Sheriff. Or numbers, really.”
“Okay,” Flint rubbed his scruffy chin. He wouldn't be shaving for another couple of hours. “So, James, how long have you been in Sur Posta?”
“A little less than a month, I reckon.” Still twiddling with his thumbs. “We were supposed to leave in another week.”
“Where were y'all headed?”
James shrugged, “California, I suppose. Anywhere that wasn't home.”
“Where was home?”
“Virginia.”
“That's quite a ways away. Why'd you leave?”
He shrugged again, “Ain't nothin' there for us. The war didn't do us no favors.”
Flint nodded his head. The North and the South going to war didn't do much good for anyone, except maybe a few carpetbaggers scrambling to take advantage of a war-torn South. Flint had seen his own fair share of southerners heading west, especially in these last few years. It was a shame that so many innocent lives had to be disrupted for the greed of those fool Confederates, but he was grateful the Union stood strong against them.
“What do you do for work, son?”
He shrugged again, “Whatever I can, really. I work odd jobs here and there, usually just for spare change and food.”
“Who you doin' odd jobs for?”
James twiddled his thumbs, “I dunno.”
“You expect me to believe you've been in Sur Posta for a month and not know who you're workin' for?”
“Yes, sir.”
Flint grunted, “Now, son, if you clam up on me now, I ain't gonna be able to find out who killed your sister. Sur Posta ain't a big town, but she's a busy one. Whoever did this could skip town tomorrow and we'd never know. So, I'm gonna ask you again: Who do you work for?”
“I do work for Mr. Hess at the lumber mill most days. Some days I help Mr. Chris at the general store.”
“What do you do for Chris?”
“I load up big orders on the wagons.”
“And your sister? What did she do?”
“I think she helped at the saloon.”
“Did she have any issues with anyone?”
“Not that I know of. Most folks liked her well-enough, I suppose.”
“And you? You gettin' into it with anyone?”
“No, sir.”
“Alright. So, what're you doin' gettin' home so late?” James didn't respond. “James, why are you getting home so late?”
“I didn't do nothin'! It was that damn doctor! He ain't right in the head!”
“Did I ask if you did somethin'? No, I asked why you're out this late!”
“But I didn't—”
“And I know that, but I need to know what you were doin'.”
James was quiet for a while. “I was out with some of the guys from the mill.”
“Doin' what?”
“T'weren't nothin'.”
“You think I'm gonna believe you and the boys from the mill just get together and gossip like girls?” James didn't respond. Flint sighed, “I ain't gonna arrest you for gamblin', son. Was it cards or dice?”
“Dice.”
“You win anything?”
“Not a lot. Few dollars, I reckon.” James produced a handful of coins and a crumpled bill from his pocket.
Flint gave a small nod, “Not bad. Anyone upset by that haul?”
“Naw, Sheriff. I figure I'll lose it next time.”
“You ever go gamble at Joel's?”
“Never. My sister hates gamblin' and she'd've killed me if she knew I was about with the boys.”
How interesting, Flint thought, How was she gonna work at Joel's when she had such a disdain for gamblin'? Maybe she didn't know? Hard not do; I don't exactly make Joel keep it quiet. “How did she take to workin' at the saloon?”
“She hated it, but Mr. Joel paid her well. But I'd get an earful every night she'd work there. She'd go on about how gamblin' and drinkin' only invites the devil into yer heart, and that she can't believe a good, Godly town like this could keep allowing that house of sin to operate.” Flint had to stifle a laugh.
“She must not know Sur Posta that well.”
James shrugged, “Could be a worse place, I reckon.”
“Could be. Now, you mentioned the doctor just a minute ago. Why you bringin' him into this?”
“Don't like him, Sheriff. He's a bad man.”
“He's not a bad man. He's just from Louisiana. You know how them folks are—the French.”
“I suppose you're right, but I still don't like him.”
“Hard findin' anyone who does. Why'd you bring him up? You or your sister see him recently?”
“He came by a few days ago. My sister had a cough and he gave her somethin' for it.”
“You know what it was?” James shook his head. “Guess I gotta pay him a visit, then.” Flint held out a hand to help James stand, “C'mon, son. Ain't no reason to stay here.”
“I ain't got nowhere else to go.”
“Sure ya do. Henry! Get over here!” The Sheriff called the deputy over, “Take Mr. James here down to Marie and George's. Tell ‘em he needs a room for a few days.”
“Do I tell them why?”
“You just tell them the Sheriff said so, and if Marie has a problem, she'll just send George to stir up a fuss at the jail. We put him away for an hour, then send him home with his tail ‘tween his legs.”
“I gotta say all that?”
Flint rubbed his eyes, “No, just say that I said so.”
“Got it. What're you gonna do, Sheriff?”
“What I'd like to do is go back and get some shuteye but seein' as we've got a murderer on the loose, I gotta go start interrogatin' folks. So, I guess I'll go talk with good old Dr. Daver since he's probably the only other person awake right now.”
Henry shuddered, “Good luck with that, Sheriff. I hate talkin' to that man. Gives me the willies, he does.”
“You and the rest of the town, but he's the best doctor we've got.”
“He's the only doctor we've got.”
“Ain't no difference then.” Flint started walking back to town. He knew James wasn't entirely truthful with him, but he didn't kill his sister. He'd need to go to the mill in the morning and ask some of Hess' boys if they had been out gambling. He'd probably go and pay them a visit after asking Joel what he knew about the family. Of course, Flint would also need to talk with Chris to see what he knew too. The Sheriff rubbed his face frustratedly. He had made a name for himself in Sur Posta for catching the bad guys as a bounty hunter. He did the hard work Sheriff Carter wouldn't do. The town was more than happy to elect Flint as Sheriff. Flint, however, was decreasingly thrilled about the change, but he still did the job regardless.
Even when it got frustrating.
Flint made it back into town and went back to the jailhouse. It was where Flint spent most of his time when there weren't crimes to investigate. It was a decently sized two-story building. On the first floor was the holding room. The back half of the room was taken up by three (currently empty) ten by ten windowless square cells that lined the back wall. Each one only had a single bench hanging off the back wall. The front half of the room had a medium-sized desk facing the cells and a table that was (supposedly) long enough for four people to sit at. He walked in and grabbed his badge from the table. He didn't think he'd need it—damn near everyone in the town knew who he was—but he'd rather not deal with any hassle later on. He walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out two pairs of handcuffs and hooking them onto a belt loop. He doubted this was more than a one-man job, but Sur Posta's criminals had surprised him before. He opened another drawer and pulled out his revolver, checking and holstering it with the ease years of practice had afforded him.
He took a deep breath and walked out to the small stable off the side of the jailhouse. It wasn't a large building, maybe thirty feet wide by twenty feet long. Inside were two large stalls on opposite sides of the stable where the horses were kept. Beside each stall was a small area the sheriff and deputy could use to keep their saddles and all their tools to take care of the horses. In the back was a barrel freshly filled with a grain mix with a large scoop dug into the grains. The deputy's horse whinnied at him annoyedly from its stall, but Flint paid it little mind. “It ain't time for your breakfast and you know that. Stop being a nuisance.” His own horse joined in, and he shook his head, “You too?” He looked back at the deputy's horse, “Now look at what you've done! A bad influence is what you are.” He walked over to the barrel, filled the scoop about half, and put some feed in the deputy's horse's trough. “Now don't you go tellin' Henry that I'm givin' you extra.” His own horse snorted at him. “I'm gettin' to you! Calm down!” Flint went back and got another half-scoop of food. “You're only getting some because we've got work to do.” He finished making sure everything was ready before walking his horse out and saddling up.
“Alright, Wind,” he gave the horse a firm pat on the neck as he mounted up, “We've got a long ass day ahead of us. Let's do what we do best.” He dug his heels into the horse, and they took off with a canter. The Doctor didn't live that far out of town—certainly close enough that Flint could have walked if he wanted—but Flint was a man with a mission today. Besides, Dr. C.A. Daver lived out as far from the townsfolk as they were comfortable. There were very few people that the town of Sur Posta were untrustworthy of. Dr. Daver was one of them. He had lived on the outskirts of town for about a decade or so now (he had certainly been around for longer than Flint had) and had faithfully served as the town's doctor almost nearly the whole time. He wasn't even a bad doctor—he made every effort to make sure the townsfolk were taken care of. Still, it was difficult to find anyone who openly admitted they liked the man. Flint had spent more time as Sheriff convincing everyone that Dr. Daver's nature was just because he was a Cajun man than he did policing the town. He couldn't fault anyone who was unnerved by the Doctor; there was a very good reason they should have been.
Flint arrived at the doctor's gothic home. It was a two-story black home surrounded by an ominous black wrought-iron fence. Flint was somewhat surprised to see the window shutters weren't closed, although he couldn't say it was entirely unexpected. He stopped his horse and dismounted, tying him to the post outside. He walked through the open gates, up the walkway, and knocked loudly on the door.
“Hey Doc! Got some questions for ya'!” He couldn't hear any movement inside. Flint knocked again, “Doctor! I know you're awake!”
The door swung open, and inside was a tall, pale man with long jet-black hair and stunning purple eyes. He wore a tight-fitting white shirt and slim black pants that did not betray his slender figure. An unsettling grin spread across his handsome, clean face as he saw Flint standing at his doorway.
“Well, I do declare! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Sheriff Flint Waters?” Normally Flint would have given the Doctor a gentle ribbing for his thick Cajun accent. He could see something resembling disappointment as Flint just went right into business.
“There's been a murder in town.”
Dr. Daver's expression immediately turned sour. “Let me guess: they think I did it?”
“Your name has been brought up, yes.”
The Doctor let out an annoyed sigh, “Let me get my coat.” He started walking away.
“What d'ya mean, ‘get your coat’?”
“We're going to inspect the body.” He called back loudly from another room. Flint saw him walk back into the foyer wearing a black cattleman and muttering to himself. He walked into another room, again speaking loudly, “I'm going to assume you and your deputy did a subpar job performing a proper autopsy.”
“I don't need you to look at the body, I need you to answer some questions.”
“Sheriff, both you and I know that I'm not going to ask permission.” Dr. Daver came back out to the foyer wearing a thick black long coat, a pair of dark glasses, a pair of black gloves, and carrying a medium-sized bag. “I am going to go out there and look at the body regardless of what you tell me. I am simply offering the nicety of you coming with me so you can see that I am not doing anything untoward with the corpse.” He grabbed a cane leaning on the wall next to the door and stepped out past the Sheriff. Flint shook his head and huffed, closing the door and following behind the Doctor.
The Doctor moved at a spritely pace, only stopping as he stepped out his gate to greet Flint's horse. “Hello there, old boy.” He gave the horse a gentle pat on the neck, “Has the Sheriff been workin' you too hard? Of course, he has, what a silly question.” He leaned in and started whispering, “Don't you worry though, I'm gonna let you run wild like you should one day.”
“Stop harassin' my horse!” Flint approached the Doctor from behind, “Sides, he can't understand you anyway!”
“I think he understands me just fine.”
“I don't see how anyone understands you with that accent of yours.” Flint shooed the Doctor away as he mounted up, “Go on and call your own horse.”
Dr. Daver stepped away and whistled loudly. He waited for a moment, reaching into a breast pocket on the inside of his jacket and pulling out a pocket watch. After a minute, they heard hoofbeats in the distance and saw a pure black mustang galloping towards them. It slowed down as it got closer to them, stopping in front of them and neighing loudly. Dr. Daver gave it a quick pat, “Three minutes! That's a record!”
Flint just shook his head, “I don't understand how you can just let an animal like that roam out in the wild. It's gonna get itself killed one of these days.”
“Bold of you to assume it hasn't already.” Flint couldn't tell if the Doctor was joking or not. The Doctor guided his horse away to saddle up. Flint gave his horse a gentle kick to follow. “I appreciate the gesture, Sheriff, but don't need your help to get ready.”
“I'm not sure if you're aware, Doc, but we're on a time limit here.”
“Well, Sheriff, that corpse isn't getting any less dead. And if you're referring to the killer, we both know that whoever did this already skipped town, or they don't think they'll get caught. Either way there ain't no reason for us to rush.” The Doctor started taking a more casual stroll towards his stable. Flint knew the Doctor was right, but there was no need to be an ass about it. He still followed behind the Doctor and watched as he casually saddled up his horse. After several agonizing minutes, the Doctor mounted up and took his reins. “Lead the way, Sheriff.”
Flint scoffed, “Took you long enough.” He turned his horse around and they immediately took off west towards Sur Posta. They ran together in the early morning, the cool winds blustering against their faces. Their horses galloped through the town unimpeded; the town had settled from the commotion earlier in the night. They slowed down as they came to the woods at the edge of town, navigating gingerly through the trees—although Dr. Daver had a much easier time navigating than Flint. They came up to the small cabin in the middle of the woods and dismounted. Flint led Dr. Daver to the front door and lit a lamp he found outside. The Doctor took the lamp and walked in, grimacing at the scene.
“Poor, poor girl.” The Doctor crouched down beside the corpse and looked at her face, “Violet Allen. I just saw her last week.”
Flint's eyebrows shot up, “Oh, she's got a last name?”
“Hard to find someone without one, Sheriff. You didn't know?”
“All I could get out of her brother was their first names. He said you saw her a few days ago for a cough.”
“Is that all she told him?” Dr. Daver shook his head, “I suppose it's the kinder thing.”
“What was wrong with her, Doc?”
“Consumption, from what I could tell.”
“Damn it all.” Flint rubbed his chin, “She wouldn't have made it anywhere near California.”
“California?”
“That's what her brother told me. They're leavin' sometime next week.” Flint shrugged, “There's only so much I can believe from that boy, though.”
“It's because you're an authority. Violet told me he's afraid of their daddy.”
“I ain't their daddy.”
“No, but you're the Sheriff. He's gonna try and tell you whatever it takes for you to leave him alone.” Dr. Daver continued looking over the corpse. He looked at the knife sticking out of her stomach. “Where'd the knife come from?”
“Could be from anywhere. Ain't nothin' remarkable about it.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes, put one hand on her stomach near the blade and grabbed the handle with his other. Slowly, he pulled the knife out of her and looked at it. Flint made some noise of disbelief, but Dr. Daver ignored him. The Sheriff was right; there wasn't anything noteworthy about the knife. He figured someone would know something about it, however, so he wrapped it in a cloth and gave it to Flint. The Doctor continued his inspection, now looking at the bruises on her face. “She got in a fight with somebody, but the knife is what killed her.”
“You ain't said nothin' I didn't already know. What do you make of the holes in her neck?”
The Doctor turned his attention to the holes. They weren't caused by an animal. He mimicked wrapping his hand around her neck and saw the holes lined up very closely with his fingertips. “Somebody choked her, but that wasn't how they meant to kill her.”
“That's what I figured. My best guess is that the murder wasn't planned. Whoever she got in a fight with did it in the heat of the moment.” Flint walked over and squat down next to the Doctor. “Anythin' else you can tell me?”
“I'm a doctor, not some dark magician, Sheriff. It seems you know just as much as I do.” Dr. Daver sighed and stood back up, wiping off his hands.
Flint also stood up and shrugged, “I figured you'd have some tricks I don't know about up your sleeve, all things considered.”
“There's plenty you don't know about me, Sheriff, but you'll learn soon enough,” the Doctor winked one of his beautiful eyes and gave a small smirk. “What's our next stop, Sheriff?”
“Our next stop?”
“Of course!” The Doctor bowed sarcastically, “You wouldn't have come to me if you didn't need help, Sheriff!”
“I came to you to ask you questions, Doc—which I still need to ask.”
“I haven't seen anything stopping you from asking them.”
Flint sighed and rolled his eyes, “What were you doin' earlier tonight?”
“So forward! I was simply minding my own business at home. I was reading the paper from back home.”
Flint looked disbelievingly at the Doctor, “You were reading a newspaper from New Orleans?”
“How can I lie to that face? It was some medical texts. One of the Mayor's ranch hands found himself on the wrong end of an upset steer and broke his arm. I was seeing if I could find the best way to treat him; there's no use in throwing away such a healthy young man.” He took a small pocket watch out of his breast pocket, “Ah, it's about that time again. One moment.” The doctor put the watch away and took a small, corked glass vial filled with a dark liquid out of his bag. He uncorked the vial and drank its contents quickly, finishing it with a relieved sigh.
Flint grimaced, “You're lucky it's just me here. Henry'd have a conniption if he saw you drinking that.”
“Where is your faithful pup anyway? Normally he's right on your ankles like the good boy he is.”
“He's busy taking care of the family. I'm the one asking the questions here. You saw the girl a few days ago. Any other interaction with the family?”
“I'm the only doctor in town, Sheriff. I don't remember every appointment I have.”
“They've only been in town for a month.”
“Sheriff, do you know how often the people of Sur Posta need my services? I barely find time to rest some days.”
“I didn't think you needed rest.”
“Not as much as most people, but I find myself with a bit of a temper and poor judgment if I work for too long.”
“Must be tough for someone like you with everyone bein' up and about all day.”
Dr. Daver shrugged, “I get my rest when I can.”
“So, no recollection of ever interacting with the family other than seein' Violet?”
“They're unremarkable folks, Sheriff.”
Flint nodded. “Did she mention anything about Joel?”
The Doctor rubbed his chin, “I did tell her to stay away from smoke—maybe it'd help her breathe better. She said she couldn't do much since she worked at the saloon, but that's all she really told me.”
“She tell you anythin' else?”
“No, I—” he started waving his finger as the memory came back to him, “She asked if I knew who ran the lumber mill and where to find him. She said her brother was falling in with a bad crowd over there and wanted to get them to stop gambling.”
“Her brother did say she had a disdain for the town's vices.”
“I told her that Gregor probably wouldn't take too kindly to a little girl like her telling his boys how to live their lives, but she didn't want to hear that. She told me she'd find him on her own if she had to.”
Flint sighed and rubbed his face, “Great, looks like I gotta find Hess and see what he knows too.” He let out a frustrated grunt. “Anythin' else?”
“Nothing of note, Sheriff.”
Flint nodded and the two of them walked out of the cabin, going back to their horses. “I'm goin' to the chapel to get them to take care of the body. It's about time we laid her to rest.”
“Oh, Sheriff, you didn't think it'd be that easy to get away from me?”
“Don't you have patients to take care of?”
“You act like I can't see my patients and help you on your little quest here at the same time.” The Doctor mounted back up on his horse. “Come now, Sheriff. This crime won't solve itself.”
Flint got up on his horse, “Y'know, I had no trouble solving crimes on my own before I became Sheriff.”
“Please, you wouldn't have caught half of those criminals without my help, and the other half you got lucky with.”
Flint walked his horse right next to the Doctor's until they were both face-to-face. “Well, some people would say I let the biggest criminal get away.” The Sheriff's hot breath sent a tingle down the Doctor's spine. He pulled himself away and started heading back towards the town, “Let's get goin' then, Doc!”