The Gunsmith 385 Page 10
“We’ll put up the horses and get a hotel,” Clint said.
“What if Barry and Hastings leave the ranch while we’re here?” Travis asked.
“I can find them again,” Clint said. “Right now I want the man who hired them to shoot Rick.”
“Maybe they were only hired to rob him,” Travis said. “Maybe shootin’ him was their own idea. Or maybe it just happened.”
“Nothing just happens, Travis,” Clint said. “People make things happen.”
They rode to the livery, left the horses, and walked to a hotel with their saddlebags and rifles. They registered, getting a room for each of them.
Clint’s original plan was to go to the sheriff’s office to find out who owned the big spread outside of town, but while they were checking in, Travis said to the clerk, “We passed a real big spread ridin’ into town. Who owns it?”
“Oh, that’s Mr. Collingswood’s place,” the clerk answered. “The Rocking W.”
“The Rocking W?” Travis said.
“Yeah,” the young clerk said. “The brand is a W that rocks, like a rocking chair.”
“Huh,” Travis said.
“How long has that spread been there?” Clint asked.
“The place has been there for years, but Mr. Collingswood bought it about two years ago and really fixed the place up. He’s a very rich man.”
“I guess so,” Travis said. “That’s a heckuva place.”
“It sure is.”
“Why, I’ll bet a man who lives in a place like that never comes to town.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” the clerk said. “He comes to town all the time. Hell, he’s on the town council.”
“Is that a fact,” Travis said.
“He’s a very important citizen of this county,” the clerk said.
“I bet,” Travis said.
“Here are your keys.”
“Thanks,” Travis said.
“Thank you,” Clint said.
They went up the stairs together, and when they got to the hall, Clint asked, “Why did you do that?”
“What?”
“Ask all those questions.”
“Found out what we wanted to know, didn’t we?”
“That may be so,” Clint said, “but now somebody knows we’ve been asking.”
“Well,” Travis said, “I guess I didn’t think of that. Still, now we know who he is. You ever hear of him?”
“Never,” Clint said.
“Maybe your friend Rick has.”
“Maybe,” Clint said. “That’s what we’re going to have to find out.”
* * *
They left their things in their rooms and went out to find the telegraph office.
“Can’t we eat first?” Travis asked.
“I want to get this done.”
As they approached the telegraph office, they spotted a café across the street.
“I tell you what,” Clint said. “You go in there and get a table, order me a steak. I’ll be right along.”
“That suits me,” Travis said. “See you there.”
Clint nodded. They split up, Clint going to the telegraph office and Travis to the café.
* * *
Clint entered the office and wrote out his message. He knew he was taking a chance sending out a telegram that had the name “Collingswood” in it in a town where the man commanded such respect. But Travis had already put the word out that they were interested, so he went ahead.
The reply did not come as quickly as it had before.
“I’ll be in the café across the street when the answer comes in,” Clint said. He gave the clerk an extra dollar. “Will you bring it over to me?”
“Sure will, mister.”
“Thanks.”
Clint crossed the street to the café, found it only half filled. Travis had gotten a table in the back, so Clint joined him. There was a lot of coffee on the table, so he poured himself a cup.
“I ordered steaks,” Travis said.
“Thanks.”
“What’s the word?”
“No answer yet.”
“That worry you?” he asked. “You been getting answers pretty quick.”
“I’m trying not to worry,” Clint said. He sipped his coffee, made a face. “You told them to make it weak, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t say a word,” Travis said. “That’s the way they make it.”
“Now I’m worried about the steaks.”
“They gonna bring you an answer here?”
“Yeah.”
“Then relax and eat.”
Clint sat back and said, “I’m going to try.”
THIRTY-SIX
They were sawing through their tough steaks with sharp knives when the telegraph clerk appeared in the door.
“Looks like your guy,” Travis said.
Clint looked up and waved at the man, who hurried across the floor.
“Here’s your answer, Mr. Adams.”
“Thanks.” He gave the young clerk another dollar.
“Yessir!”
Clint looked down at the message.
“What’s it say?”
“It’s not what it says,” Clint said, “it’s what it doesn’t say.”
“Huh?”
“It says not to worry, Rick is fine.”
“So?”
“Why doesn’t it say what the other ones said?” Clint asked.
“What do you mean?”
“This sounds like ‘something happened, but don’t worry, Rick is okay.’” He put the telegram down on the table, pushed his half-eaten steak away.
“You gonna eat those potatoes?” Travis asked.
“No.”
“Steak’s tough,” Travis said, “but the potatoes are okay.” He picked up Clint’s plate, scraped the potatoes onto his own.
“So now you’re gonna worry about this?”
“What if the whole point was to kill Rick?”
“We talked about that already.”
“Yeah, we did, but if that was the point, then maybe they tried again. And I should’ve been there to stop it.”
“You can stop it by stopping the man who’s hirin’ it done,” Travis said. “Ain’t that what we decided, too?”
“Yeah, it is.” Clint pushed his chair back.
“Where you goin’?”
“I’m going to talk to the sheriff,” Clint said. “Might as well find out how much help we can expect from him.”
“Want me to come along?”
“No,” Clint said, “that’s okay, finish your potatoes . . . and mine!”
He headed for the door.
* * *
He was about to enter the sheriff’s office when the door opened and a man wearing a badge started to leave. They stopped just short of bumping each other. The badge was a sheriff’s star, and the man wearing it was tall, rangy, and Clint’s age.
“Whoa,” he said. “Sorry. You lookin’ for me?”
“I am.”
“Just get to town?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, is it important? I’m on my way—”
“It’s about a man named Collingswood.”
“Arthur Collingswood?”
“That’s right.”
The man frowned, examined Clint for a moment.
“He’s an important man in this town.”
“So I hear.”
“So what’s the Gunsmith want with Collingswood?”
“You know me?”
“I saw you once in Sante Fe. The Marlowe brothers tried to take you.”
“They were young,” Clint said. “That was sad.”
“Yeah, it was. You want some coffee?”
<
br /> “I could use some,” Clint said. “I just had some in the café across from the telegraph office.”
“Oh, Christ, don’t eat there.”
“Too late.”
“Come on in, but I gotta warn you,” the man said. “I make it strong.”
“Suits me.”
They went inside.
* * *
The sheriff introduced himself as Jack Catchings. Clint had never heard the name, but he had the feeling the man was a competent lawman.
Catchings poured some coffee, handed Clint a cup, and then sat behind his small desk. Clint sat across from him. The entire office seemed cramped.
“I know,” Catchings said as if reading Clint’s mind, “it’s like a shoe box. I’ve been promised a new one.”
“Promises, promises,” Clint said.
“Yeah, I know.” The sheriff sipped his coffee. Clint did the same. It was miles better than the café’s. “Okay, so what’s your business with Collingswood?”
“I think he hired some men to kill a friend of mine,” Clint said.
“What makes you think that?”
“I’ve been tracking them,” Clint said, “and they led me right to his door.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No,” Clint said, “I thought I’d come and see you first.”
“That was probably a good idea.”
“Has he got a lot of men out there?”
“He’s got a few, and they’re all good with a gun.”
“So this doesn’t surprise you?”
“Mr. Adams,” Catchings said, “when you’ve been a lawman as long as I have, nothing surprises you anymore. I’ve seen it all. A rich man using his money to get what he wants is nothing new.”
“And a rich man using money to hire guns is nothing new either,” Clint said. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Me?” Catching said. “What can I do? Collingswood is careful to pull all his dirty tricks away from here. He’s not wanted for anything in my jurisdiction.”
“Well, I tailed two men there who have committed murder,” Clint said. “And they killed a lawman.”
Catchings frowned.
“That does make a difference.”
“I thought it might.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to ride out there before the two men have a chance to get away.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
“You mean . . . like now?”
“Now would suit me,” Clint said.
“You got anybody with you?” Catchings asked. “A posse?”
“No,” Clint said, “I’ve got one man with me, to watch my back.”
“No posse?”
“No,” Clint said, “I didn’t have the time to put one together.”
“So you don’t have any official standing?”
“Would it make a difference if I did?” Clint asked. “I’d be out of my jurisdiction.”
“Yes, you would,” Catchings said, “but at least I’d be able to say I was assisting another lawman.”
“Is someone going to ask you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Catchings said. “The mayor will want to know. I’m afraid without some sort of official standing, I can’t really—”
Clint took the sheriff’s badge out of his shirt pocket and showed it to the man.
“Is this official enough?”
Catchings stared at the badge, then looked at Clint and said, “You’re a sneaky sonofabitch, aren’t you?”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Clint and Sheriff Catchings were walking toward the café when Travis stepped out. He stopped and waited for them to reach him.
“Travis,” Clint said, “this is Sheriff Catchings.”
“Sheriff.”
“Mr. Travis.”
“Just Travis.”
The sheriff nodded.
“The sheriff is going to ride out to the Rocking W with us.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
“Glad I ate, then,” Travis said.
“I’ll get my horse,” Catchings said, “and meet you—well, right here.”
“Okay,” Clint said.
Catchings walked away. Clint and Travis turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward the livery.
“How’d you talk him into that?” Travis asked.
“Charm,” Clint said.
“You showed him your badge, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
* * *
“Hey,” Catchings said when Clint and Travis rode up on him, “that’s some horse.”
“Thanks,” Travis said.
“I meant—”
“He knows what you meant,” Clint said. “Don’t pay any attention to him.”
“We better get started,” Catchings said. “It’s getting late in the day.”
“It’s not that long a ride,” Clint said.
“It is in the dark, and it’s treacherous between here and there, even if you know the way.”
“Okay then,” Clint said, “lead on.”
“Would you mind doing something for me first?” Catchings asked.
“What’s that?”
“Pin that badge on.”
“I’d prefer not to,” Clint said. “Why?”
“I think with both of us wearing badges,” Catchings said, “there’s less chance that there’ll be shooting. I’d feel better if you wore it.”
Clint thought a moment, then said, “Okay. I’ll wear it.”
He took it out and pinned it on.
“Thanks,” Catchings said. “I feel better now.”
“I don’t,” Travis said. “As the only one without a badge, I guess I’ll have to expect to be shot first.”
“If you’re really worried, I’ll deputize you,” Catchings said.
“Do you have an extra badge?” Clint asked.
“I have no deputies at the moment,” Catchings said. “I have plenty of badges.”
“No, that’s okay,” Travis said. “I think I’d rather not wear a badge. Let’s just get going.”
They rode out of town, Catchings in the lead.
* * *
Part of the way there, Travis called out for them to stop. He dismounted, made a show of checking his horse’s hooves.
“Everything okay?” Clint asked.
“Give me a hand, will you?”
Clint rode back to where Travis was, while Catchings remained where he was.
“What is it?” Clint asked, dismounting.
“Take a look at this,” Travis said.
Clint walked over and leaned down next to him.
“Somebody rode out to the ranch ahead of us,” he said to Clint, keeping his voice down.
“How do you know?”
“Fresh trail,” Travis said, “and by the stride I’d say he was movin’ fast.”
“Okay.”
“You think the sheriff sent somebody to warn Collingswood?” Travis asked.
“I’m going to say no,” Clint said. “As a rich man, he probably has men in town, watching things for him. Word probably got out that we were asking about him. Maybe even from the desk clerk.”
“Am I gonna hear about that again?”
“I’m just saying, Travis,” Clint said. “Maybe it was the telegraph clerk. Whatever. Look, let’s just keep going, and stay alert. All right?”
“Okay.”
Clint stood up and said loudly, “Should be okay.”
They both mounted up and rode to where Catchings was waiting.
“Everything okay?” the lawman asked.
“Fine,” Clint said.
“Fals
e alarm,” Travis said.
“Then let’s move,” Catching said, once again taking the lead.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Collingswood’s warning came barely an hour ahead of Clint, Travis, and the sheriff arriving.
“Here’s your chance,” he said to Barry.
“You want me to kill him here?”
“No,” Collingswood said. “In town. Or on the road between here and there. I don’t care where, but not here. Understand?”
“I get it,” Barry said.
“Then you better get out of here before they get here.” Collingswood pointed to Charlie Beck, the man who had brought him the word on the Gunsmith. “Follow Charlie back to town. He’ll take you off the main road.”
“Okay.”
But Barry didn’t move.
“What?” Collingswood asked.
“I need some money.”
“Don’t try to con me, Barry,” Collingswood said. “You have the four thousand you took from Rick Hartman. Get out!”
Barry and Hastings followed Charlie Beck out the back of the house.
Dad came into the room.
“Riders approaching.”
“How many?”
“Three. Two of them are wearin’ stars.”
“Two?”
Dad nodded.
“Okay,” Collingswood said, “tell Lewis and Watson to stand by.”
“All right. Should I arm myself?”
“Why not?” Collingswood said.
Dad nodded and left the room.
Collingswood walked to his desk, took a derringer from the top drawer, and put it in the pocket of his smoking jacket.
* * *
Clint, Travis, and Sheriff Catchings rode up to the front of the house. A half a dozen hands watched them from the corral.
“None of them are armed,” Clint pointed out.
“You noticed that real quick,” Catchings said.
“That’s how I’ve managed to stay alive this long,” Clint told him.
As they mounted the steps to the front door, it opened. That was a mistake, Clint thought. It told them they were expected.
As good as a confession.
THIRTY-NINE
The old man showed them into a den. Collingswood was seated behind a huge desk. Why, Clint wondered, did rich men always buy desks that were so big?
“Mr. Collingswood,” the sheriff said.
“Sheriff,” the man said. “Who are your friends?”