Payback at Morning Peak by Gene Hackman

you seem like an honest young man, but I’m going to restrict you from leaving town until everything has been checked out.” The judge contemplated his smoke. “I feel you’re innocent of harming your family, and as for the other deaths, I believe we can determine them as justifiable. The man Wetherford, who’s in jail, said enough that I’m convinced he’s one of the perpetrators. Just give me a few days. All right?”
    “Yes, sir. Incidentally, Your Honor, just to keep the record straight, Wetherford and my father got into it on the street.”
    “When was this? On the same day as the fracas with Tauson?”
    “Yes. The fellow was acting like a clown, showing off for his pals, and he and my dad ended up on the ground. Pa kneed him in the nether region and that was about it. I’m sure a lot of what happened on the farm came out of that scrap on the street. I think the fellow Pete was mighty embarrassed.”
    “All right, son. I’ll keep that in mind, and remember what I said about sticking close by. No offense, but let the grown-ups handle this, okay?”
    Jubal nodded. Tauson and his gang had a lead of several days on him. Maybe a couple more wouldn’t matter. The judge seemed a decent sort. For now he’d bide his time.
    The judge knocked the ash from his cigar and took a long, satisfying drag. “I apologize for your having to stay at the jail last night, but I needed to chat with you before Ioffered the following: I have a small accommodation in the back of the hotel where I let some of my help stay. Would you be interested in sharing space with two other workers?”
    “Yes, sir, that would be fine.” Jubal hesitated. “I hate to sound ungrateful, but would you have room for Frisk, my horse?”
    “As long as the other fellows don’t mind the smell of horse in the room, certainly.” Judge Wickham smiled.
    “No, sir. Of course I meant outside.” He decided he liked the judge’s fine sense of humor.
    “We have a corral in back. Frisk is certainly welcome. Jubal, I’ll see you in the morning and we’ll take a walk over to Will Davis’s office, all right?” The judge led him to a small shed in back of the hotel, on the way introducing him to his new roommates, a waiter and a cook.
    After saying their goodbyes, the judge seemed perplexed. He took out his turnip-sized pocket watch and opened the gold-plated cover. “There is something else I would like to discuss with you. ‘Discuss’ may not be the proper word. ‘Explain’ might be more apt. I love this land and I have great hopes for its promise.” The judge fussed with his watch, then pushed it forcefully back into his vest pocket. “Dammit to hell, I’m not an apologizer. I live by a code of ethics, and sometimes that dogma does get bent a bit. Pete Wetherford’s confession in the woods isn’t worth the time it takes to tell, and like I said, I’m not an apologist. But—and this is the root of the thing—I needed to hear it from that animal’s mouth. He is bad, but more importantly, he’s bad for this territory, this community. I’ve talked to Doc Brown and explained my position on my, let’s say ‘indiscretion,’ and he seems to be all right with it—”
    “Sir, to relieve your mind,” Jubal interrupted, “I was hoping you would have gone even further. When you were striking him, there was a justice-being-served feeling… very satisfying.”
    The judge’s confession of the beating still hung in the air. He hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets and rocked quietly back and forth on his heeled boots. He hesitated. “Every man is as God made him and ofttimes even worse.” He seemed pleased to be using this quote as an explanation for the Pete Wetherford incident.
    Jubal also thought the quote amusing, but for a different reason.
    “What, son, you don’t know Cervantes?”
    “Sir, it’s really nothing. With all due respect, as a matter of fact, I studied his writing quite thoroughly with my mother.” Jubal waited, not