Page 119 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“An unwitnessed agreement!” Alvin exclaimed, clearly outraged.
“And…” the judge went on, shooting him a silencing glare, “by right of possession, established by her occupancy of the saloon for ten years, which more than satisfies the statute.” He held up a paper. “And by paying the taxes on time. As evidenced by the receipt provided to me by the sheriff and signed by Miss Charlotte herself.”
“But I’m in possession. I occupy the saloon now,” Alvin sputtered.
“For a week,” the judge shot back. “As of today, you are squatting in the Red Eye no more, because I find you guilty of conspiracy to commit murder. Sentencing to occur when I calm down a bit.”
“You can’t do this! It’s not fair,” Alvin sputtered. “I demand a trial with a jury of my peers.”
The judge laughed. “You’re in the territories, not a big city back East. We practice frontier justice here, which is leveled by me. You have the right to appeal, though. Also, to me.”
“I want a lawyer!”
Judge Simpson grunted. “You should have thought of that before you opened your big mouth. But you can get one in time for your appeal in, say, six or eight months. Mr. Bennett, is there someone you can recommend?”
“I’m the only attorney in town and retained by Miss Charlotte, so no.” His deadpan reply and the fact that the immensely unlikable Alvin was shit out of luck, sent a ripple of laughter through the courtroom.
“I hear there are some top-notch lawyers in Cheyenne and Denver, but their fees are hefty, and they’ll charge extra for travel time.” Judge Simpson leveled a hard look at the newly convicted felon as he asked, “Do you have that kind of money, Mr. Skinner?”
He shook his head. At last, at a loss for words.
“Then we’ll see about transferring you to Cheyenne. I’ll see you there.”
Behind his round, rimmed glasses, Alvin blinked in confusion. “You will?”
“Didn’t I mention Cheyenne is my territory, too?” The gavel came down once more, and the judge announced, “We’re adjourned for a half hour. After this, I need a smoke.”
The audience watched in fascination as the deputies dragged the whining, begging, constantly protesting Alvin off to jail.
“What just happened?” Charlotte asked Mr. Bennett.
“A legal spectacle unlike anything I’ve ever seen before,” he muttered in dazed amazement. But when his gaze met hers, he smiled. “You came out the victor in the end, however, so justice is served.”
Overwhelmed with gratitude, she choked out, “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Bennett. You were brilliant bringing in Silas to rattle Quent—uh, Alvin. And unearthing that tax receipt was a stroke of genius. I paid it one year out of ten and had clean forgotten about it.”
“You can thank the sheriff for all of it. He does excellent detective work.”
Charlotte turned to him. “This was your doing?”
He dipped his head and said for her ears only, “Nothing else could have dragged me from your side last night and this morning.”
Tears of relief filled her eyes. “Is it really over?”
“Yes. Let’s get you home. You’re dead on your feet.”
“To your home or mine?” she clarified.
“Mine,” he answered, “where I can rest easy knowing you’re safe.”
Chapter 30
Such Stuff as Dreams
The sun was high in the clear Wyoming sky, and the temperature had risen considerably during the hour they had spent inside the courthouse. When they stepped outside, despite the attention her purple dress attracted, Charlotte was relieved she’d opted for needle and thread instead of her cloak.
An excited voice shouted, “Charlotte! Sheriff Walker!”
They turned to see Janelle, her pregnant belly noticeably larger in only a matter of days, waving excitedly as she crossed the street.
