A glimpse at the affection held between Slade and Miss Bonnie.
Slade’s stoic facade is cracked by a smile when he is told by Gunther that Miss Bonnie is concerned about his well being.
Slade was right where Gunther had left him, still in the street, concentrating on his duty. The Marshall finished his chaw and traded up to a cigar, chewing on it as he squinted through his half-closed eyelids under the blinding high noon sunlight.
“I’ve recruited a special deputy,” Gunther said.
Doc put his hand out. Slade shook it. “Obliged,” was the most gratitude the stoic was able to muster.
“A distinct honor to meet you, Marshall,” Doc said. “Doctor Elias T. Faraday, M.D. by way of Boston, Massachusetts though I assure you I’m no relation to the Chestnut Hill Faradays, lousy beggars…”
“He’ll chew your ear off and spit it out if you let him,” Gunther warned.
The three men stood in a row, watching and waiting, waiting and watching. Had you, the noble reader, been facing them, you’d of seen Slade in the middle, Gunther on the left, and…
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