Snippet #2009282

Morgan gave a terse nod in response to the compliment, tidying up his supplies and returning them to their proper places. He had a bad feeling about this one, but you didn't go around Splitcreek acting on hunches and bad feelings. And even if this Mr. Jones character was crooked, it wasn't his job to go around throwing people in jail. There were plenty of people to do that job- hell, there were even people who liked that job, but Morgan wasn't one of them. Or was he?

Not today he wasn't. He'd lived five years now as a respectable man, and he didn't need to muddy his hands with the scum of the west. No, he'd done just fine as a doctor, and a doctor he intended to stay. And the money wasn't too bad either, as he was now reminded. He watched Bell produce the fat wad of bills from his shirt pocket, surprised (and a little unnerved) by the large amount of cash. What kind of man did a bounty hunter have to catch to make that kind of money? Unless you were the one being hunted, in which case it was fairly easy to round up a gang of crooks and terrorize the growing towns, looting and robbing and gambling the days away.

But again, it wasn't his place to judge. Business was business...right? "Four dollars. I won't charge you for the whiskey," he said, giving a tight-lipped smile. Appearing perfectly friendly and affable, Morgan was only too eager to rid himself of the man. Something wasn't right, and he didn't want to get mixed up in it. "How long you planning to be in Splitcreek, Mr. Jones?" he asked casually, putting away the last of his things.