The Gunsmith 385 Read online

“I got you,” Clint said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. You be careful, too.”

  “See you soon.”

  Clint left the office to go and look for Sheriff Catchings.

  * * *

  He went to the three saloons in town. In all three they claimed not to have seen the sheriff all night, and not to have seen either Stacker or Beck.

  As he left the third saloon, he wondered how it could be true that none of the three men had been seen in any of the saloons. He was starting to have a bad feeling.

  He decided to check the livery stable to see if the liveryman had seen any of the three. When he got there, the doors were open, but nobody was around. He wondered if, in this town, they left the stables open at night for late arrivals.

  He went inside, took a brief look around, turned to leave, then stopped and sniffed the air. What he smelled could have been left over from the shots he had fired earlier, but he didn’t think so. He turned and started looking through the stable more thoroughly. He found the body lying in the hay in one of the stalls. He was about to turn the man over when someone yelled, “Who’s in here?”

  Clint turned and looked at the liveryman, who entered carrying a lamp.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “You need your horse?”

  “No,” Clint said, “I need you to tell me who this is.” He pointed.

  The man walked over and said,” Jesus Christ,” when he saw the body. “Who is that?”

  “I’m going to turn him over and you’re going to tell me that. Okay?”

  “Sure, okay,” the old man said.

  Clint stepped into the stall, leaned over, and turned the dead man over. When he saw the darkness of the man’s skin, he knew, but he stepped back and said, “Who is it?”

  “That’s Charlie Beck.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “There’s his hat.” The old man pointed to a corner of the stall. What happened to him?”

  “He was shot.”

  “I heard some shots, but I thought they were down the street.”

  “They were,” Clint said. “I’m betting whoever shot Charlie used them to cover his play.”

  “Why would anybody wanna kill ol’ Charlie?” the old man asked.

  “You live here,” Clint said. “You tell me.”

  “He’s just a drunk most of the time,” the man said, “and an errand boy.”

  “Errand boy for who?”

  “Anybody with a dollar.”

  “How about a fella named Collingswood?”

  The old liveryman looked surprised.

  “That’s a lotta dollars,” the man said.

  “Well,” Clint said, “I better find the sheriff and let him know.”

  “I’ll watch the body,” the old man said, as if anyone would want to take it away.

  Clint left the livery with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  FORTY-FOUR

  When he got back to the sheriff’s office, Catchings was there.

  “Where you been?” he asked.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Clint said. “Everybody in the saloons said you weren’t there.”

  “I didn’t find Charlie or Pete.”

  “I did,” Clint said. “I found Charlie—dead.”

  “What? Where?” Travis asked.

  “How?” Catchings asked.

  “He’s in the livery, shot to death,” Clint said. “I don’t think we heard the shot over our shots.”

  “Somebody didn’t want him to talk,” Travis said.

  “Sheriff,” Clint said, “where were you when all the shots were being fired?”

  “Other end of town, I guess,” Catchings said. “Lucky you managed to take one alive.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said, “lucky.”

  “What’s he got to say?”

  “Why don’t we ask him?” Clint said. “We were waiting for you to come back.”

  “Let’s talk to ’im, then.”

  Clint and Travis followed Catchings into the cell block. Clint watched Hastings closely to see if he recognized Catchings when they walked in, but his face didn’t show any sign of it.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, my friend,” the sheriff said. “Tryin’ to shoot a man in the back is as cowardly as it gets.”

  Clint wondered how Catchings knew they’d tried to shoot him in the back if he was at the other end of town when the shooting took place.

  “That was Barry’s idea,” Hastings said, “not mine.”

  “And you just wanted to face the Gunsmith? Is that it?” Travis asked.

  “I didn’t wanna have nothin’ to do with him, but . . .” Hastings let it trail off.

  “But what?”

  “There was too much money involved.”

  “How much?” Clint asked.

  “Well, I don’t know. Barry wouldn’t tell me. But he said we were gonna get paid a lot.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “so who was going to pay you all this money?”

  “Some rich fella named Collingswood,” Hastings said, “has a ranch just outside of town.” Clint looked at the sheriff and said, “You need anything else?”

  “Nope,” Catchings said. “Let’s ride out there and get him.”

  * * *

  Catchings wanted Travis to stay behind with Hastings, but he refused. When he suggested waiting until morning, instead of riding out there in the dark, Clint refused. So the three of them mounted up and rode out to the ranch.

  Clint and Travis had a few minutes to talk while the sheriff fetched his horse.

  “What do you think?” Travis asked.

  “I don’t trust Catchings,” Clint said. “How did he know they tried to shoot me in the back if he was at the other end of town, as he claims? And he sure wanted you to stay behind.”

  “And get you out to the ranch alone,” Travis said.

  “This may get bloody,” Clint said.

  “I’m ready.”

  When Catchings joined them, they quieted down and rode out to the ranch in silence.

  * * *

  Just before they reached the ranch, Catchings held up his hand and reined in.

  “When we go in, you better let me do the talking,” he told them.

  “What talkin’?” Travis asked. “We’re gonna arrest him, right?”

  “We gotta do it right,” Catchings said. “I don’t want the mayor to be able to cut him loose.”

  “You can start out doing the talking,” Clint said, “but if it starts to go bad, I’m stepping in. I’m not letting this man get away.”

  The sheriff began to speak, but Clint didn’t wait. He started for the ranch at a gallop.

  * * *

  “Three riders,” Dad said, sticking his head into Collingswood’s den.

  “Who?”

  “It’s too dark to tell.”

  “Three,” Collingswood said. “It could be the sheriff with Barry and Hastings.”

  “If they killed the Gunsmith,” Dad said. “If not, it could be the sheriff with Adams and that other fella.”

  “You’re right,” Collingswood said. “Get Watson and Lewis.”

  “Right.”

  “And arm yourself, Dad.”

  “Right.”

  The old man left the room. Instead of putting a derringer into his pocket, Collingswood took a Colt from his desk. He stuck it in his belt, then closed his smoking jacket over it.

  FORTY-FIVE

  When they knocked on the front door, it was Dad who opened it again.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “it’s late.”

  “We’re here to see your boss,” Catchings said.

  “As I said—”

  Clint brushed by Dad into the house. As he did so, he could tell the old man was armed.
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  “Adams—” Catchings said, following him.

  Travis brought up the rear.

  Clint remembered the way to the den and headed there. As he entered the room, Collingswood looked up. He must have been disappointed to see Clint, but he kept it off his face.

  “Mr. Adams—”

  “Stand up, Collingswood!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re under arrest.”

  “This is ridiculous. I—”

  Clint reached over the desk, grabbed the man by the front of his smoking jacket, and pulled him across. As he did, the jacket came open and he saw the gun. He grabbed it, disarming the man.

  When Catchings entered the room, Collingswood was pretty much dangling from Clint’s clenched hands.

  “Adams! Damn it!”

  “You better do something, Catchings!” Collingswood warned.

  “Yes, Sheriff,” Clint said, “it’s time to declare yourself. Unless you already did that by killing Charlie Beck.”

  “Sheriff,” Collingswood said, “I’ll have more than just your badge!”

  Clint shook Collingswood, forcing him to quiet down.

  “Hastings gave you up, Collingswood. You paid them to rob and shoot Rick Hartman. Maybe you even wanted him killed, but they didn’t get the job done. So you sent them after me. Now Barry’s dead, and Hastings is in jail. Which is where you’re going.”

  Collingswood gave Catchings a hard look.

  “He’s right,” Catchings said.

  “Well, then do something,” Collingswood said. “What do I pay you for?”

  Travis was behind Catchings, waiting to see if he was going to have to make a move.

  Clint looked at Catchings.

  “I’m taking him out of here,” he said. “You going to try and stop me?”

  Catchings raised his hands and stepped back.

  “Travis, clear the way down the hall. The old man has a gun.”

  “He’s harmless,” Collingswood said. “Don’t hurt him.”

  They made their way along the hall with Travis in front, Catchings behind them. Clint moved sideways, in order to keep his eye on the sheriff.

  When they got to the entry foyer, there was nobody there.

  “Now what?” Travis asked.

  “We’re going outside,” Clint said.

  “They’ll be out there,” Travis told him.

  “I know.”

  “Should I go out the back—”

  “No,” Clint said, “let’s just go on out. We can count on Mr. Collingswood to keep us safe.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Open the door and then get behind me. Watch our friend the sheriff.”

  “Hey, now look—”

  “Open it.”

  Travis opened the door, then stepped aside so Clint could push Collingswood out first.

  FORTY-SIX

  They stepped out onto the porch. At the foot of the steps were five men, all armed.

  “You better tell your men to back off,” Clint said to Collingswood.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you’ll get the first bullet.”

  “If you take me to town, you’ll put me in jail,” the man said, “or put a bullet in my back and claim I was escaping. No, I think I’ll take my chances here.” He looked down at his men. “Watson! If he tries to take me away, start shooting.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clint heard something off to his left, turned, and saw the old man, Dad, brandishing a gun. He didn’t move, but Travis drew and fired. The old man folded in half, and slumped to the floor of the porch.

  “Dad!” Collingswood said. “You sonofabitch, you killed my father!”

  “Take it easy,” Clint told Travis. “You didn’t have to—”

  “Get them!” Collingswood shouted. “Get them now!”

  Clint reacted immediately. He pushed Collingswood down the stairs then went flying toward his men, who were in the act of drawing their guns. If they had fired, they would have hit him.

  They had to duck to the side to avoid him. That gave Clint and Travis the time they needed.

  Travis’s gun was already out, so he simply started shooting.

  Clint drew and began to fire with deadly accuracy. It was all over in a few minutes. The five ranch hands were down and not moving. Collingswood was on the ground, looking around with a stunned expression on his face.

  Clint was reloading when Collingswood’s eyes fell on a gun that was lying near him.

  “Don’t do it—” Clint said, but he was cut off by a shot from behind him. A bullet struck Collingswood, who stiffened, and then slumped.

  Clint turned, expecting to see that Travis had fired the shot, but instead it was Sheriff Catchings who’d done it.

  “He was going for that gun,” Catchings said.

  “You shot him to shut him up,” Clint said.

  “About what?”

  “About you working for him,” Clint said.

  “That’s silly.”

  Travis was moving in among the bodies.

  “They’re all dead.”

  “Self-defense,” Catchings said. “There won’t be any trouble.”

  “Not for us,” Clint said, “but there will be for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You killed Beck.”

  “I didn’t,” Catchings said. “I didn’t even know he was dead until you said so. Collingswood probably had him killed.”

  “Yeah,” Travis said, “by you.”

  Catchings looked at Travis, then back at Clint.

  “You can’t prove that,” Catchings said. “In fact, it’s my job to find who did kill him.”

  Clint looked around, saw some of the other hands coming up to the house to see what had happened. None of them were armed.

  “We better get back to town,” Clint said.

  “Yeah,” Catchings said, “we can settle this back in town. And I can have somebody come back for the bodies.”

  “What happened, Sheriff?” somebody asked.

  They went down the steps, stopped at their horses. The sheriff told the hands to cover the bodies, but not to move any. He’d have somebody come and pick them up. He also told them he thought they were all out of work.

  “What are we gonna do?” Travis asked.

  “Let the sheriff think he’s gotten away with everything,” Clint said. “When we leave, we can send a federal marshal back to look into him. We did what we came to do.”

  “Okay,” Travis said.

  “But just in case,” Clint said, “we’ll keep watching each other’s backs.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Several weeks later Rick Hartman walked into Rick’s Place in the morning. Clint was sitting there having breakfast with Travis and Delia.

  “There he is,” Clint said. “Walking upright.”

  Rick walked to the table and sat down. Cable, the new bartender, who was getting good at the job, asked Rick, “You want some breakfast?”

  Rick turned and said, “Cable, is that you? Yeah, sure, bring me some eggs.”

  “Comin’ up, boss.”

  Rick looked around.

  “Surprised the place didn’t fall down without you?” Clint asked.

  “Actually, I am,” Rick said.

  “Well, Delia and the girls did a great job while you and me were gone.”

  “Sounds like somebody deserves a raise,” Rick said, looking at Delia.

  “And maybe a promotion?” she asked.

  “Don’t push it,” Rick said.

  She laughed.

  Rick looked at Clint.

  “I guess I owe you a lot.”

  “You owe me nothing,” Clint said. “I only did what I had to
do.”

  “Killing Collingswood was a big favor,” Rick said. “Years ago we were partners, but I had to walk away from him because he was amoral. I guess it took him this long to make enough money to come after me.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “it wasn’t enough.”

  “Only because of you, brother,” Rick said.

  Cable brought out Rick’s breakfast at that point. Clint stood up and walked to the bar to pour himself some more coffee. Travis joined him.

  “So what now?” he asked as Clint poured him a cup of coffee, too.

  “I’m going to rest here awhile and then move on,” Clint said. “Are you going to keep following me?”

  “No,” Travis said, “I think I’m done with that.”

  “So what’s next for you?”

  Travis looked at Clint and said, “I guess I gotta come clean at some point, huh?”

  “I was hoping,” Clint said.

  “The best way to do this,” Travis said, “would be for you to meet me in the street.”

  Clint stared at him, then said, “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No,” Travis said. “The turning point came when that old man had the drop on you and you didn’t fire. I had to kill him. That’s when I knew I could take you.”

  “I didn’t kill the old man because he was no danger,” Clint said. “He wasn’t going to shoot.”

  “I think he was,” Travis said.

  Clint continued to stare at the young man.

  “Why are you so shocked?” Travis asked. “I kept you under surveillance for a few months, then rode with you on a mission.”

  “And it was all because you were trying to figure out when to kill me?”

  “What else?”

  “Well, at one point I thought we were really getting along.”

  “We were,” Travis said. “And we’d probably be friends if you hadn’t killed my mother.”

  “What?”

  “My mother,” Travis explained. “It’s very simple. Fifteen years ago you killed my father. Six months later, distraught, my mother died.”

  “So you’re saying you want to kill me because I killed your father?”

  “No,” Travis said, “my father was a sonofabitch, but my mother loved him, and couldn’t live without him. So . . . you killed my mother.”

  “That logic is . . . ‘faulty’ doesn’t even say it.”