Sam cocked the hammer of his Colt as he heard the crunch of gravel underfoot.  He was focused ahead and praying that Irene would have the good sense not to argue with him.  He was wrong of course about Irene.  As the marshal stepped into the office through the back door and drew his weapon Sam had already drawn a bead on the man’s forehead.  When Irene identified him as the marshal Sam raised his left arm with his hand open and showed the marshal his badge as his other hand holstered his Colt.<br/><br/>“Sorry for the start marshal.  I wanted to be sure everything was okay here . . . your door was open and you didn’t respond to our greeting.  I’m glad you weren’t the victim of foul play.”<br/><br/>Sam stepped forward with his eyes moving back and forth from the marshal’s face to his gun hand and back up into the man’s cold eyes in a quick-time rhythm until the marshal holstered his gun.  He didn’t seem to be the kind of man that Sam was going to get much from, but he went through the spiel all the same.<br/><br/>“I’m working for the Judge.  I’ve several warrants to execute.  I just wanted to let you know I’m around . . . and see if you’ve come across any of ‘em.”<br/><br/>Sam sat in the chair offered, letting Irene sort it out for herself.  He leaned forward and offered his hand to the marshal . . . not really caring if the man took it or not.<br/><br/>"I'm Sam Markham, marshal."