Trouble at Red Wall

“I don’t see no badge on you, mister,” was Matt’s reply as he sent a chilling look into the eyes of Roy Tanner. “All right, calm down, everyone. You Box T men get Lucky over to the Doc’s. He ain’t goin’ to make it there by himself.” The lawman gave the order through gritted teeth. Lucky had been trying to get his legs under him since the sheriff had arrived and was finally having some success with the help of the hitching rack. His side was aching from Matt’s punches and the fall from his horse. He knew he had cracked some ribs—he’d done it before being thrown off wild broncs. His blood-smeared face was swollen, and his eyes were tiny slits covered with pain. The sheriff spoke sharply to Matt. “You come in my office, mister. You got some listening to do.” Matt followed the sheriff into a small building next to the restaurant. Roy Tanner followed even though Matt objected. The sheriff ignored Matt’s protest. A worn desk near the back of the room guarded a hall leading to three empty cells. A barred window let a stream of dust-filled sunlight through. The sheriff sat at a cluttered desk, one leg of which had been replaced by three bricks. He spoke to Matt, asking him who he was and where he was from. The sheriff looked uncomfortable with the conversation. “Now listen here, cowboy, I don’t want no trouble in this town. Maybe you ought to head outta here.” The sheriff looked up at Matt who was standing in front of him rubbing his sore right hand. Matt’s return look didn’t agree with the sheriff