<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Judge Warwick<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Outside the Sheriff's Office<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Matthew Ford, Closed<br/><hr/>Bilton just gave a tip of his head at the good day, not returning the obviously forced well wishes.  He’d lost all patience for Matthew’s bluster and smug condescension, and was more tempted than he cared to admit to simply pull the trigger of the shotgun and end the encounter.<br/><br/>“Goddam Yankees,” muttered Townsend, after the Captain had left.  “Self-righteous assholes, every one.”<br/><br/>Bilton chuckled.  “If we passed a law ‘gainst self-righteous assholes, Townsend, this town’d dry up faster than a whore’s slit the day ‘fore payday.”  He gave a chuckle.  “Should have just handed him a bounty poster and told him to come back with Black Jack’s head, and his money problems’d be over.  Get rid of one annoyance or th’other.”<br/><br/>Townsend hooted with laughter.<br/><hr/>Outside, the man blinked at the hostile reaction to the greeting.  He raised a white eyebrow, then glanced over Matthew’s shoulder.  He held up a hand, palm down, waving his fingers downward.<br/><br/>“No need for unpleasantness, Blue.  I believe the Captain is simply… high-strung.”  He gave a slight smile, but it was not bemusement.  It was a simple, friendly gesture.<br/><br/>Behind Matthew, ‘Blue’ slid his own hand away from the pistol at his side.  Blue was just a boy, with tousled blond hair and a vicious scar that covered most of his throat.  Yet he still watched Ford intently, eyes hovering on the hand that was so near to a weapon.<br/><br/>“You will have to forgive my constable,” said the bald man.  “He is a touch overprotective.  I am Judge Warwick.  J.P. Coleman conferred with me about the prospect of hiring you, Captain Ford.  I also penned his letters for him.  Coleman was a remarkable man in many endeavors, but penmanship was not one of them.  Nor spelling, come to think of it.”  He smiled sadly, the memory clearly a fond one.  He glanced over his shoulder and looked to the Sheriff’s office, then over to Winona.  He tipped his hat to her as well, the gesture respectful rather than dismissive.<br/><br/>“Have you just arrived?”