promised.
Before either man could leave the marshal’s office, Mordecai heard an odd, unexpected sound outside. It was similarto bells ringing but lacked the musical quality bells would have. Instead it was more of a discordant clanging.
“Jehoshaphat!” Mordecai exclaimed. “What’s that racket?”
He went to the door and stepped out onto the little porch in front of the office. Glenn Morley followed behind him. Both men stood there watching as a big, boxlike wagon rolled slowly past, drawn by a team of four mules.
It was hard to see the wagon itself because the outsides of it were covered with pots, pans, washbasins, tin plates, bowls, cups, shovels, hoes, saws, axes…Almost every kind of metal tool or implement a person could think of hung from hooks attached to the wooden sides of the wagon.
The man on the driver’s seat of the vehicle was eye-catching as well. He wore a bright red shirt with loose sleeves, a black vest over it, and black trousers. A red bandanna was wrapped around his head, with a black plug hat pushed down on top of it. His hawk-like face sported a gray goatee around his mouth. Beside him on the seat rode a medium-sized, black-and-white, long-haired dog.
At the sight of Mordecai standing there watching him, the driver pulled back on the reins and brought his team to a stop. He lifted a hand in greeting and called, “You are the sheriff, yes?”
“Yes,” Mordecai replied, then gave a shake of his head and went on, “I mean, no, I ain’t the sheriff. But I’m the deputy town marshal, which means I’m the law in these parts right now, the marshal bein’ out of town. What in the name of all that’s holy are you?”
“I’m a tinker,” the colorful stranger said. “I sell pots, pans, and all these other goods you see hanging on my wagon. Also I sharpen knives, axes, scissors, and anything else that needs a keen edge. My name is Gregor Smolenski.”
“You’re a gypsy,” Glenn Morley said. There was a note of accusation in his voice.
Smolenski’s shoulders rose and fell.
“I prefer to think of myself as a citizen of the world. But in point of fact, I was born in England.”
“That doesn’t make you any less of a gypsy.”
“A traveling businessman, that’s all I am.”
Morley grunted in obvious dislike.
“What brings you to Redemption?” Mordecai asked. “Mr. Smoz…Smok…Smoltz…”
“Call me Gregor,” the tinker said. He scratched the dog’s ears. “And this is my friend and business associate Tip. He does tricks to entertain the children while I conduct transactions with their parents.”
“You mean the dog distracts folks while you pick their pockets,” Morley said with a scowl. “I’ve seen your type before.”
Smolenski pressed a hand to his chest.
“You wound me, sir,” he declared. “I barely arrive in your town, and already the insults and the suspicions begin.” He looked at Mordecai. “I stopped to introduce myself, Marshal—”
“Deputy,” Mordecai corrected.
“Deputy, then. I stopped because I always introduce myself to the local peace officers when I arrive in a new town. I’m a law-abiding man, Deputy, who wishes only to do a little business and then be on my way.”
“Don’t trust him,” Morley warned. “I never saw a gypsy yet who wasn’t a thief.”
“Yeah, some folks say that about Injuns, too, but I’ve known a heap of ’em who were better men than me,” Mordecai said. He fixed Smolenski with a hard stare. “You sure you don’t intend to do nothin’ except sell those goods you got?”
“That and sharpen blades and do any repair work that needs to be done. I can repair any tool or piece of machinery.”
“Reckon I don’t see any harm in that. But I’ll be keepin’ an eye on you, mister. And I won’t be in the mood to put up with any tomfoolery.”
Smolenski nodded toward the black sling and asked, “What happened to your arm, Deputy?”
“I got winged shootin’ it out with a bunch of bank
Before either man could leave the marshal’s office, Mordecai heard an odd, unexpected sound outside. It was similarto bells ringing but lacked the musical quality bells would have. Instead it was more of a discordant clanging.
“Jehoshaphat!” Mordecai exclaimed. “What’s that racket?”
He went to the door and stepped out onto the little porch in front of the office. Glenn Morley followed behind him. Both men stood there watching as a big, boxlike wagon rolled slowly past, drawn by a team of four mules.
It was hard to see the wagon itself because the outsides of it were covered with pots, pans, washbasins, tin plates, bowls, cups, shovels, hoes, saws, axes…Almost every kind of metal tool or implement a person could think of hung from hooks attached to the wooden sides of the wagon.
The man on the driver’s seat of the vehicle was eye-catching as well. He wore a bright red shirt with loose sleeves, a black vest over it, and black trousers. A red bandanna was wrapped around his head, with a black plug hat pushed down on top of it. His hawk-like face sported a gray goatee around his mouth. Beside him on the seat rode a medium-sized, black-and-white, long-haired dog.
At the sight of Mordecai standing there watching him, the driver pulled back on the reins and brought his team to a stop. He lifted a hand in greeting and called, “You are the sheriff, yes?”
“Yes,” Mordecai replied, then gave a shake of his head and went on, “I mean, no, I ain’t the sheriff. But I’m the deputy town marshal, which means I’m the law in these parts right now, the marshal bein’ out of town. What in the name of all that’s holy are you?”
“I’m a tinker,” the colorful stranger said. “I sell pots, pans, and all these other goods you see hanging on my wagon. Also I sharpen knives, axes, scissors, and anything else that needs a keen edge. My name is Gregor Smolenski.”
“You’re a gypsy,” Glenn Morley said. There was a note of accusation in his voice.
Smolenski’s shoulders rose and fell.
“I prefer to think of myself as a citizen of the world. But in point of fact, I was born in England.”
“That doesn’t make you any less of a gypsy.”
“A traveling businessman, that’s all I am.”
Morley grunted in obvious dislike.
“What brings you to Redemption?” Mordecai asked. “Mr. Smoz…Smok…Smoltz…”
“Call me Gregor,” the tinker said. He scratched the dog’s ears. “And this is my friend and business associate Tip. He does tricks to entertain the children while I conduct transactions with their parents.”
“You mean the dog distracts folks while you pick their pockets,” Morley said with a scowl. “I’ve seen your type before.”
Smolenski pressed a hand to his chest.
“You wound me, sir,” he declared. “I barely arrive in your town, and already the insults and the suspicions begin.” He looked at Mordecai. “I stopped to introduce myself, Marshal—”
“Deputy,” Mordecai corrected.
“Deputy, then. I stopped because I always introduce myself to the local peace officers when I arrive in a new town. I’m a law-abiding man, Deputy, who wishes only to do a little business and then be on my way.”
“Don’t trust him,” Morley warned. “I never saw a gypsy yet who wasn’t a thief.”
“Yeah, some folks say that about Injuns, too, but I’ve known a heap of ’em who were better men than me,” Mordecai said. He fixed Smolenski with a hard stare. “You sure you don’t intend to do nothin’ except sell those goods you got?”
“That and sharpen blades and do any repair work that needs to be done. I can repair any tool or piece of machinery.”
“Reckon I don’t see any harm in that. But I’ll be keepin’ an eye on you, mister. And I won’t be in the mood to put up with any tomfoolery.”
Smolenski nodded toward the black sling and asked, “What happened to your arm, Deputy?”
“I got winged shootin’ it out with a bunch of bank
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