The Gunsmith 385 Page 11

  “This is Clint Adams,” Catchings said, “and his partner, Travis.”

  “Clint Adams,” Collingswood said. “That name is not unknown to me.”

  “Good,” Clint said.

  “What can I do for you gents?”

  “I’ll let Mr. Adams answer that, I think,” Sheriff Catchings said.

  “Very well,” Collingswood said, looking at Clint. “Mr. Adams?”

  “Do you know a man named Rick Hartman?” Clint asked.

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “Well, he’s a friend of mine,” Clint said. “He was shot recently, and I’ve been tracking the men who shot him.”

  “And?”

  “And I tracked them to here.”

  “To Liberty?”

  “No,” Clint said, “to your ranch.”

  Collingswood frowned, looking very puzzled. He looked past them at the old man standing in the door.

  “Dad, we have any killers come to the house recently?” he asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “I didn’t say they were killers,” Clint said. “I only said my friend had been shot.”

  “Well, you’ve come all this way, I thought—”

  “How do you know how far I’ve come?” Clint asked. “I never said.”

  Collingswood hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts. The old man had made a mistake by opening the door too soon, and now Collingswood had made two assumptions by mistake.

  “Mr. Collingswood,” Clint said, “you might as well admit you hired them, because when I find them, they’re going to tell me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Collingswood said. “What makes you think I hired them?”

  “They’d have no reason to do it on their own,” Clint said, which wasn’t strictly true. It could have been personal between Barry and Rick—but according to Rick, it wasn’t. “And they led me right here.”

  “Well,” Collingswood said, “as I’ve told you, we have no . . . strangers here, no one who has shot anybody, no one who is running from the Gunsmith.” He looked at the sheriff. “Jack, why would you even bring these men here?”

  “I’m the law, Mr. Collingswood,” Catchings said. “I have to check everything out.”

  “Well,” Collingswood said, “I’ll be talking to the mayor about this.”

  “You do that, sir,” Catchings said. “but if you don’t mind, I think we’ll have a look around the place.”

  “But I do mind.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m offended by your presence,” Collingswood said, “and the presence of these men.” He looked past them again. “Dad, show these gents out.”

  Catchings exchanged a glance with Clint, who gave his head a slight shake.

  “Thank you for your time,” Catchings said.

  Clint gave Collingswood a hard look and said, “I’ll see you again.”

  “I look forward to it,” the man said.

  “This way, gentlemen,” Dad said.

  * * *

  Outside they stopped before mounting their horses.

  “Two of those men by the corral are armed now,” Travis said.

  “I see,” Clint said.

  “I could have insisted he let us look around,” Catchings said. “Why did you wave me off?”

  “They’re not in the house,” Clint said. “That’d be foolish.”

  “The barn, then?” Travis asked.

  “My bet is they’re gone,” Clint said, “maybe on their way to Liberty.”

  “I’ll be able to tell,” Travis said. “We just have to pick up their trail.”

  Clint looked at the lawman.

  “When we catch them,” Clint said, “they’ll give him up.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because he’s arrogant,” Clint said. “Once they’re caught, they’ll want him to be caught, too.”

  They mounted up.

  “Travis,” he said, “let’s go pick up that trail.”

  FORTY

  After riding away from the ranch house, they circled around behind it and Travis was able to pick up the trail.

  “Three horses,” he said, “rode away from here just recently.”

  “On their way to where?” the sheriff asked.

  “Can’t tell yet,” Travis replied, “but I’d say Liberty.”

  “Then we better get back there.”

  “Let’s follow the trail,” Clint suggested. “Once we’re sure that’s where they’re headed, we can get back on the main road.”

  “Agreed,” Travis said.

  They followed the trail as far as they needed to and then Travis said, “Yeah, they’re definitely heading for Liberty.”

  “Then we better get there fast,” Catchings said.

  “You got any idea who might have ridden out to the Rocking W and warned them we were coming?” Clint asked.

  “I have one or two ideas,” Catchings said. “We can check on them when we get to town.”

  They suspended any further conversation and rode hard for town.

  * * *

  When they arrived, Clint and Travis put their horses in the livery while the sheriff took care of his own.

  “Anybody come riding into town in the past hour?” Clint asked the liveryman.

  “If they did, they didn’t leave their horses here,” the old gent said.

  “Is there another livery in town?”

  “Nope,” he said. “If they came to town and they didn’t put their horses here, then they’s hidin’ ’em.”

  “That’s what I figure,” Clint said. “Okay, thanks.”

  They left the livery and walked to the sheriff’s office. Catchings had already taken care of his horse and was there, behind his desk. He looked like he was deep in thought when they entered. There was a pot of coffee on the potbellied stove.

  “Coffee’s not ready yet,” Catchings said. “I been givin’ this some thought. I come up with two fellas coulda ridden out to the Ricking W to warn Collingswood.”

  “Who are they?” Clint asked.

  “Charlie Beck and Pete Stacker.”

  “What do they do?” Travis asked.

  “Nothin’ much, which is why they’d do anythin’ for a dollar.”

  “So where do we find them?” Clint asked.

  “Usually in a saloon.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “tell us what they look like and we’ll split up and look.”

  “Pete’s tall and skinny with big ears, and Charlie is half Indian, black hair, wears a bowler.”

  “Got that?” Clint asked Travis.

  “Find one of them and then find me,” Clint said. “Don’t brace them alone.”

  “They’re not dangerous,” Catchings assured them.

  “Maybe not, but they might have somebody dangerous with them,” Clint said.

  “Don’t worry,” Travis said, “I’ll be fine.”

  “Do what I say, Travis, understand?” Clint said. “Not alone. Say it!”

  “Okay, okay,” Travis said, “not alone.”

  Travis left the sheriff’s office. Catchings got up from behind the desk and grabbed his hat.

  “We might as well all split up.”

  They headed for the door.

  “Um, he’s not your son, is he?” the sheriff asked.

  “What, Travis? No. Why?”

  “Well, he’s young enough and . . . he kind of looks like you.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  Catchings shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”

  Outside they split up. Catchings told Clint to check the saloons; he had a few other places he could check.

  “You find them,” he suggested, “bring them back here and we’ll question them.”

 
“Okay.”

  He watched as the lawman walked away. He hoped the man was on the level, and not working for Collingswood. Rich men often had the local law in their pocket. Catchings seemed to be okay, but they were strangers, so he couldn’t really count on him. Or Travis for that matter. The only one he could trust without reservation was himself.

  That was not something he ever forgot.

  * * *

  Tom Barry watched as Clint Adams left the sheriff’s office with the lawman. They stopped just outside, exchanged a few words, and then split up.

  “There,” Hastings said, “he’s all alone. Let’s take him now.”

  “Wait,” Barry said.

  “For what?”

  “Let the sheriff get far enough away,” Barry said, “and then we’ll take care of the Gunsmith.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Clint remembered passing three saloons on the way into town. He didn’t know which one Travis had gone to, so he just started walking. He figured he’d stop into the first one he came to.

  * * *

  Travis entered the Big Sky Saloon, stopped just inside the door. It was about three-quarters full, and he stood there and looked around for big ears or a bowler hat.

  “Help you, cowboy?” a saloon girl asked.

  She was a cute blonde, and she put her hand on Travis’s arm. It was his gun arm, so he moved away slowly, so as not to insult her.

  “I’m looking for Pete Stacker or Charlie Beck. Are they here?”

  “No, they’re not, but they usually come in.”

  “You haven’t seen them at all today?”

  “Nope, sorry. What do you want with those two drunks?” she asked.

  “Just some information,” Travis said.

  “What kind of information can those two have?” the girl asked, rolling her eyes.

  “I’ll just keep lookin’,” Travis said. “Thanks.”

  “Come on back when you’re done,” she said, waving at him.

  “Sure,” he said, and left the saloon.

  * * *

  Clint saw Travis coming out of the Big Sky Saloon, assumed he’d had no luck inside. He started to raise his hand to call to him when the shots rang out . . .

  * * *

  “Do it now,” Barry said.

  They had taken cover in front of the hardware store, behind some crates.

  “In the back?” Hastings said.

  “What’d you think, we were gonna face him?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “He’d kill both of us,” Barry said. “Is that what you want?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then kill him now.” Barry drew his gun and pointed.

  Hastings did the same thing, and they fired . . .

  * * *

  The shots whizzed by Clint, just missing his ear and his shoulder. Clint had pivoted just a bit to wave at Travis, and the move had saved his life.

  It also helped that Hastings’s hand was shaking, and Tom Barry was just not a very good shot.

  Clint rolled a second later, drawing his gun . . .

  * * *

  Travis heard the shots, saw Clint go down and thought he was shot. He drew his gun, looking around for the shooters. When he spotted them, he snapped off a shot in their direction, hoping it would give Clint time to find cover.

  * * *

  “Did we get ’im? Did we get ’im?” Hastings asked. “He went down.”

  “I don’t know,” Barry said. “Just keep shooting, goddamnit!”

  * * *

  Travis saw where the shots were coming from and called out to Clint.

  “Clint! They’re in front of the hardware store!” He pointed.

  Clint nodded, waved, and turned. He motioned for Travis to stay on that side of the street, while he crossed over to the other side.

  * * *

  “Who’s that?” Hastings said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “They spotted us. We gotta get out of here.”

  Barry grabbed Hastings’s arm. “If you run, I’ll shoot you myself. We’ve got a job to do.”

  “But—”

  “You stay here,” Barry said. “If we split up, we’ll have a better chance.”

  “Where you goin’?”

  “Across the street.” Barry pointed his finger at Hastings. “If you run, I’ll kill you.”

  Before Hastings could answer, Barry took off running across the street.

  “Yeah,” Hastings said, “you’ll kill me . . . if we both survive.”

  FORTY-TWO

  Clint saw one of the men run across the street to his side. That left him facing one, and Travis the other. The odds were even.

  He moved toward the man, keeping close to the storefronts. If he could keep this one alive, he could get him to give up Collingswood.

  * * *

  Travis saw the same thing Clint did, that they were both down to a one-against-one situation. Keeping to the shadows as much as he could, he moved toward the hardware store.

  * * *

  Barry saw Clint Adams coming toward him. The situation was not going the way he had planned. He looked across the street at Hastings, who had remained behind the crates. Maybe Hastings could keep them busy while he got away.

  To hell with this. What good was Collingswood’s money if he wasn’t alive to spend it? Besides, he still had the four thousand.

  So the man who told Hastings he’d kill him if he turned and ran . . . turned and ran.

  * * *

  Hastings looked across the street, saw Barry bolt and run, and cursed the man silently. The sonofabitch was leaving him to get killed.

  He stood up, wanting to take a shot at Barry’s fleeing back, but as he did, somebody took a shot at him.

  * * *

  Travis saw the man stand, thought he was going to fire at Clint, so he fired a quick shot to get his attention.

  The man turned toward him, tossed his gun into the street, and put his hands in the air.

  “Okay, okay,” he shouted, “I’m not armed!”

  Travis looked across the street, saw Clint running.

  “Come on,” he said to the man, “let’s take a walk.”

  * * *

  Clint saw the man start running and took off after him. If he wasn’t going to stand and fight, maybe Clint could take him alive.

  Barry ran to the end of the street and down an alley. He was hoping to outrun Clint, but he heard footsteps right behind him. He came to the back of the alley and found he’d run himself into a dead end. There was no way out.

  He turned and grabbed for his gun.

  “Don’t!” Clint shouted, but it was too late. Barry, trapped and scared, panicked and kept right on going for his gun.

  Clint fired twice, hitting Barry both times. Barry pulled the trigger of his gun, fired a round into the ground.

  Clint ran to the fallen man, hoping to get a few words out of him.

  “Damn you . . .” Barry coughed.

  “You’re Barry, right?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You shot Rick Hartman, didn’t you?”

  “Damn right . . . I did.”

  “Who put you up to it,” Clint asked. “Come on, who hired you?”

  Barry said, “Fuck—” and the rest was drowned out by a fountain of blood.

  * * *

  Clint walked back to the main street, made his way to the sheriff’s office. There were no bodies in the street. Either Travis was chasing the other man, or had already taken him to the sheriff’s office.

  He hoped the former was true.

  FORTY-THREE

  As he entered the sheriff’s office, he saw Travis, but not the other man or the sheriff.

  “How’d it go?” Travis asked.

  “He gave me no
choice,” Clint said. “The fool went for his gun. How about you?”

  Travis crooked his finger at Clint and led him to the cell block. There was a man in one of the cells.

  “Meet Tracy Hastings. Hastings, meet the Gunsmith.”

  The man came off the cot and grabbed the bars.

  “What happened to Tom Barry?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Good,” Hastings said. “That sonofabitch told me he’d kill me if I ran, and then he did it.”

  “Well, he paid the price,” Clint said. “So the rest is up to you.”

  “Whataya mean?”

  “I want to know who hired you to shoot Rick Hartman,” Clint said.

  “Barry knew that,” Hastings said. “Not me.”

  “Come on,” Clint said, “you were both out at the Rocking W. You know Collingswood hired Barry, and Barry brought you into it.”

  “Then what do you need me for?”

  “I need you to tell the sheriff that Collingswood hired you,” Clint said.

  “But . . . you’re wearing a badge.”

  “Catchings is local,” Clint said. “I’ll need you to tell him.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then he and I will go out and arrest Collingswood.”

  Hastings looked surprised.

  “You mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I would.”

  “But will the local sheriff go along?”

  “He will.” Clint hoped he would.

  Hastings gave the proposal some thought, then said, “Okay. I’ll do it. Where is he?”

  “He should be here any minute,” Clint said.

  “Do I get fed?” Hastings asked. “I ain’t ate nothing all day.”

  “You’ll get fed,” Clint promised.

  He and Travis walked out into the office.

  “Where’s the sheriff?” Travis asked.

  “That’s what I’m wondering,” Clint said. “Maybe he found Beck or Stacker.”

  “We don’t really need them now that we have this fella,” Travis said.

  “Maybe not,” Clint said, “but he doesn’t know that. Why don’t you stay here with Hastings and I’ll go and find him?”

  “Suits me,” Travis said. “Be careful. They tried to bushwhack you, and there may be more out there.”