In the end, Pat Hayward sang like a canary.

Ethan sat in Warren Telford’s office lounging in the chair by the window. He listened as Telford puffed anxiously on his cigar. Ethan smirked. He’s actually nervous, Ethan thought happily.

“So, gentlemen, we agree. What goes on at the Double R Ranch is not how we want our community represented. We have a fine Christian community that does not tolerate decadence or perverted marriages. If we stand together, Jed Rawlins and his ‘family’ will have no other choice but to see this and go somewhere else… Like California.” He laughed.

“Warren, I don’t know. The Double R has been here from the beginning. Old Ned started it. My grandfather remembers him—”

“Enough with the Rawlins family!” Telford bellowed. “I’m sick to death of them! You’re either with me on this or you’re against me,” he said as he leaned in. “And believe me, you don’t want to be against me.”

Both men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Ethan was oddly amazed at the control this old man had over people. Well, not everyone. Speaking of which, he looked out the window to see Pat Hayward looking very ill walking ahead of the marshal. Taking up the rear were Tess and Jed. Ethan shook his head once again and smiled inwardly.

They looked like something straight out of a John Wayne movie. Both wearing chaps, they looked like they were ready for the last roundup, which they were. Ethan shook his head. The Rawlinses…

“You think about his, gentlemen. I’ll be in touch with you.” Both ranchers quickly stood and walked out. Telford puffed on his cigar, looking like the cat that ate the canary. Ethan preened inwardly. Your day is done, Telford, he thought happily.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Drummond,” he said, dismissing him abruptly as he walked out of his office.

Tess saw Warren Telford as he walked through the bank. She saw the confused glance when he looked at the U.S. marshal and Pat. His confused look turned nervous, and inwardly Tess couldn’t be happier. They all met at the glass double doors.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff,” Telford said evenly.

“Mr. Warren Telford?” McComb asked.

“Yes, and you are?” Telford asked as he puffed on his cigar.

“John McComb, U.S marshal. I have a court order here, Mr. Telford. It says the state of Montana thinks you might know something about the death of Stephen Rawlins. Sheriff Hayward, Ed Chambers, and I had a little talk, and it seems Stephen Rawlins’s horse didn’t throw him. If you’ll come with me, sir.”

Telford glanced behind McComb to see Jed and Tess watching him. Tess grinned and wriggled her fingers in a wave. Pat was squirming.

“I will not. I have nothing to say to you or anyone else. The sheriff and the coroner determined that the Rawlins boy was thrown from his horse. Just try to prove I was anywhere near that south pasture. I have dozens of witnesses who will testify as to my whereabouts that night.”

“Sir, you’d best come with me. I’m bound by the state of Montana to bring you in, and since Sheriff Hayward here will be joining you…”

“You idiot! What did you tell them? Whatever it was, he’s lying,” Warren Telford bellowed as he pushed by McComb and headed out the doors.

Jed was quicker than McComb was. He grabbed his old nemesis by the back of the collar and yanked him back. Telford reared around and took a healthy swing, catching Jed in the jaw.

All at once, mayhem broke out in the Silverhill Bank.