One handed, Harley grabbed the lawman by the throat. He lifted him one handed brought the dazed lawman up off the floor.Harley shook him like a rag doll and threw him against the wall. Then he advanced for another attack on him. The marshal grabbed for the holstered forty-four at his hip in desperation. He knew he was staring death in the face for the first time in his bullying life. Harley kicked the man in the face and took the revolver away from his nerveless fingers."Harley, that's enough. I don't want you to go and kill someone else. Now if you want me to sleep with you tonight, you will let that miser'ble whelp loose. I mean it Harley." Ida Marie's voice was shrill with fear. She knew about the railroad bull, had seen her husband put a desk through a wall and threaten to hurt people a couple of other times to defend his family.Harley stopped his attack as if a switch had been thrown. "Get out," he told the downed man. "Get out of this hotel and out of this town. If I see you. The black hair on her head was short and permed. One curl recklessly plunged over her forehead. It was her expression, though, that caused me to sit and stare at the photo. Her brown eyes were open wide and seemed to plead with the camera, though for what I didn’t know. Her mouth was slightly open and seemed to be strained, lost somewhere between a smile and a scream. There was a complex mixture of emotions on her face. Was she aroused by being photographed? Offended? Was she nervous? Humiliated? All that was there and more.I sat and stared for thirty minutes or more, transfixed. I had never experienced anything like it, even when I was drinking. I wasn’t a man holding a photo of a woman who died decades ago; we were two people looking deeply into each other’s eyes, seeking something we couldn’t name but needed like oxygen.When I put the photo aside, I was shaking. I staggered to the john and splashed cold water on my face. My knuckles turned white on the sides of the sink. An old.
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