was fine for makin’ corn squeezin’s.”
As Matt drew his cinches tight, he said, “I think if we hurry, we can catch up to Frankie before she gets to the turnoff. We can follow her and make sure she gets home all right.”
“Best do your followin’ at a distance,” Loomis advised. “If’n you come up on her too suddenlike and spook her, she’s liable to start shootin’.”
“We’ll be careful,” Sam promised. He still thought Matt was probably worrying a little too much about Frankie Harlow, but he was willing to go along with this idea if it made his blood brother happy.
A few minutes later, they swung up into their saddles as Loomis opened one of the doors enough for them to ride out. “If the light in the office is out when you get back, I’ve turned in. I’ll leave the doors unlocked, though, so you can bring your hosses in. You boys seem trustworthy to me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Loomis,” Matt told him.
“You might be doin’ me a favor. I don’t want anything happenin’ to any of the Harlows. Without them, I might not be able to keep my saloon open. Folks come from miles around for that Who-hit-John they cook up.”
The blood brothers lifted their hands in farewell and then rode out, heading west from Cottonwood.
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