"That makes a difference to you?"
"More than it ever did to him." Colette pressed the muzzle beneath Bragg's jaw. "Let her go."
His fingers opened. Mrs. Holloway stumbled behind the counter, coughing.
"You should have kept riding," Bragg said.
"You should have told the truth."
"Truth is just another thing a strong man owns until someone stronger takes it."
Colette searched his coat and found spare cartridges, a folding knife, and a key stamped with a number two: the key to one of Whitfield's holding cells.
"You came through a gunfight to hide in town," she said. "Then you returned here instead of running. Why?"
Bragg's eyes moved toward the tobacco tin. Mrs. Holloway placed it inside her dress.
"The card," Colette said.
"That card proves nothing."
"Then you would not risk your life for it."
Bragg's jaw flexed.
Colette pushed him toward the front of the store. Townspeople had begun gathering outside after the shotgun blast. The blacksmith entered first with his rifle; behind him came the stable owner and two ranchers. They bound Bragg's hands. No one waited for the marshal's permission.
Mrs. Holloway stepped from behind the counter, rubbing her throat. "Tell her," she said.
Bragg looked around at the people who had once lowered their eyes when he passed.
"Tell me what?" Colette asked.
"Why Whitfield wears that badge."