The Gunsmith 385 Page 9
THIRTY-ONE
“You know what I’m still tryin’ to figure?” Hastings asked Tom Barry.
“What?”
“Why you decided to hit that saloon.”
Barry gave Hastings a momentary glance, then looked straight ahead.
“I told you,” he said, “I figured there was some money there.”
“More than four thousand, right?”
“A lot more.”
Hastings fell silent.
“Why?” Barry asked. “What’s your problem?”
Hastings hesitated, then said, “Your research is usually a lot better than that.”
“Everybody makes mistakes.”
“Not you, Tom,” Hastings said, “not unless you want to make a mistake.”
“Whataya gettin’ at, Tracy?” Barry demanded.
“Nothin’,” Hastings said, “I’m just wonderin’, that’s all.”
“Well, stop wonderin’,” Barry said. “That’s my advice to you.”
“Sure, Tom,” Hastings said, “whatever you say.”
* * *
They were ten miles from Fort Worth when Tom Barry suddenly changed direction.
Hastings noticed it, but did not speak until they had gone a few miles.
He reined in.
Barry continued on for a few yards before he stopped and turned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Whataya mean, ‘what’s wrong’?” Hastings asked. “We ain’t headed for Fort Worth anymore, Tom, that’s what’s wrong.”
Barry rode back to stand beside Hastings.
“What’s goin’ on?” Hastings asked.
“You wanna go to Fort Worth, go ahead,” Barry said.
“I ain’t sayin’ that,” Hastings responded. “Just give me some idea what we’re doin’, Tom. Or if you’re gonna try to kill me like the others, go ahead. Draw down. Do it now.”
Tom Barry stared at Hastings.
“I ain’t gonna kill you, Tracy.”
“That’s good to hear,” Hastings said, “but where the hell are we goin’?”
“Just follow me,” Barry said. “I’ll tell you when we get there. How’s that?”
Hastings hesitated.
“Just stick with me.”
“Yeah,” Hastings said after a moment, “okay. Go ahead, let’s go.”
“You won’t be sorry.”
They started off again and rode the rest of the way in silence.
* * *
They bypassed a town called Liberty, and Hastings didn’t question Barry again. As they approached a ranch, Hastings had an idea of what was happening.
“This is a big spread,” he said.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Somebody who lives here has a lot of money.”
“Yeah, he does.”
“So that’s it?” Hastings asked. “You got hired to do this?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“That’s why you never seemed that upset about the four thousand,” Hastings said. “You’re gettin’ paid for this.”
“We’re gettin’ paid for this, Tracy,” Barry said. “There’s two of us.”
“How much?”
“Wait and see, my friend,” Barry said. “Wait and see. Come in, the man is waitin’.”
THIRTY-TWO
“Here,” Travis said.
Clint rode up alongside the younger man and looked down at the ground.
“They changed direction here,” Travis said.
“So they’re not going to Fort Worth.”
“Looks like it.”
“What are they up to?” Clint asked, looking off to the east, the direction they were now going.
“What town is that way?” Travis asked.
“Not sure,” Clint said. “I guess we’ll just have to follow and find out.”
“They might be goin’ to meet someone,” Travis said. “That would support what you’ve been thinking.”
“What I’ve been toying with,” Clint said.
“Your friend Hartman, does he have many enemies?” Travis asked.
“Everybody’s got enemies,” Clint said, “and he’s a businessman, so he probably has more than most.”
“Well,” Travis said, “could be somebody don’t like the way he does business.”
“Could be,” Clint said.
Travis looked at the ground again.
“They’re stayin’ together,” he said, “so the odds are even.”
“Until they get where they’re going,” Clint said, “then we don’t have any idea of the odds.”
“But you’re gonna let them get there, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well,” Travis said, “I guess there’s no point in pushin’ the horses anymore. We know where they ain’t goin’, and I’d say we’re only a few hours behind them.”
“If we come to a town first,” Clint said, “we’ll stop and see if they have a telegraph office.”
“Suit yourself,” Travis said. “You’re callin’ the play.”
“You can still ride on.”
Travis shook his head.
“I came this far,” he said, “might as well see it through the rest of the way.”
“All right,” Clint said, “but when this is over, I think I’m going to deserve the answer to a question.”
“Really?” Travis asked. “I’m helping you out, and you think you deserve somethin’?”
“I’m letting you ride with me,” Clint said.
“To watch your back,” Travis reminded him.
“Only I didn’t ask for your help.”
Travis looked stubborn.
“Okay,” Clint said, “I guess we’ll have to deal with this later.”
“I guess we will.”
* * *
As they rode up to the large house, several men in a corral stopped what they were doing to watch them.
“You know them fellas?” Hastings asked.
“Nope.”
“But you’re expected here, right?”
“That’s right,” Barry said. “Don’t worry, we won’t have no trouble here.”
“I’m always expecting trouble, Tom,” Hastings said. “You know that.”
“I do,” Barry said. “That’s what I like about you, Tracy. You’re always ready.”
They stopped their horses in front of the house and dismounted.
Barry started up the steps to the front door and Hastings asked, “What about the horses?”
Barry gestured toward the men in the corral and said, “They’ll take care of them.”
Hastings wasn’t so sure, but he followed Barry up the steps anyway. He almost expected Barry to just open the door and go right in, but he knocked.
The door was opened by an old man, wearing old jeans and a shirt buttoned all the way to the neck.
“It’s about time,” he groused.
“Is he here?” Barry asked.
“Of course he is,” the old man said. He looked past Barry and scowled at Hastings. “Who’s this?”
“My partner.”
“Didn’t know you had a partner.”
“Well, I do. Can we come in?”
“Come ahead,” the man said, backing away.
As they went past him, Hastings got a close-up look. He thought the man’s skin looked as if he’d just spent a week in the desert. He was surprised the skin didn’t crack.
The old man closed the door and then turned to face them.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“Okay.”
As the man walked away, Hastings said, “Who’s that?”
“That’s Dad,” Barry said.
“Your d
ad?”
“No,” Barry said, “just Dad. That’s what everybody around here calls him.”
“But . . . is he somebody’s dad?”
“Shit, I don’t know, Tracy,” Barry said. “That question ain’t really important, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“Well, why don’t we save our breath for the important questions, okay?”
“Yeah, okay, Tom,” Hastings said. “Okay.”
“Relax,” Barry said. “You’re about to get the answers to all your questions.”
THIRTY-THREE
When they reached Liberty, they reined in their horses in front of the telegraph office.
“I’ll be right out,” Clint said.
“You think you’re gonna get an answer that quick?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Fine. I’ll stay with the horses.”
Clint went inside. Travis looked up and down the street of the small town. He found it remarkably clean, missing most of the ruts and puddles town streets usually sported. And none of the buildings looked as if they needed repairs. Somebody was keep the carpenters in this town real busy, he thought.
He kept himself alert for trouble, but somehow he doubted that much happened on the streets of Liberty.
* * *
Clint sent his telegram, told the key operator he’d wait for the answer.
“You think it’s gonna come that quick?” the middle-aged clerk asked.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Suit yerself,” the man said. “Seen telegrams take days to get answers, but . . . whatever you say.”
Clint leaned on the counter and waited. Minutes after the key operator finished sending the message, the key began to clatter its reply.
“Sonofabitch,” the man said.
He wrote down the message and handed it to Clint.
“Damndest thing I ever seed,” he said.
“Thanks,” Clint said.
He carried the message outside.
* * *
Travis had dismounted and was leaning against a post, holding the reins of both horses. When he saw Clint come out, he straightened up.
“So?”
“Still alive and improving,” Clint said. “Also, things are going well at the saloon.”
“So,” Travis said, “you don’t have to worry about what’s goin’ on back there. Only what’s ahead of us.”
“Right.”
“So let’s pick up the trail again and get this over with,” Travis suggested.
“Mount up,” Clint replied.
* * *
Dad knocked on the closed door and waited.
“What?” came the reply from inside.
“They’re here.”
“What?”
“They’re here.”
He waited. He heard footsteps approaching and then the door swung open. The man standing in the doorway was naked, and so was the woman on the bed behind him. He had a raging erection that was an angry red—as red as his face.
“What the hell are you bothering me for?” the man in the doorway asked.
“You wanted to know when they got here,” Dad said. “They’re here.”
“They? Who’s they?”
“That feller you hired, and his partner.”
“What partner?”
“I don’t know,” the old man said. “He has a feller with him, and he says it’s his partner.”
“So it’s Barry?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been tellin’ you,” the old man said. “He’s here.”
“Okay, okay,” the man said. “Put them in the den, give ’em a drink, and tell ’em I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” the old man said, “whatever you say.”
He turned to walk down the hall as the door slammed on him.
* * *
Barry and Hastings remained in the entry foyer, but they could see a lot from there. Living room to the right with expensive furniture and a dining room to the left, with a long mahogany table.
“This is a helluva house,” Hastings said.
“Yep.”
“How much are we gettin’ paid?”
“You’ll see.”
“What about the four thousand?”
“We’re splittin’ that, too.”
“Jesus,” Hastings said. He was starting to see being rich in his future.
They both heard the old man coming down the stairs and fell silent.
“Come with me,” he said when he reached them.
They followed him to a room he said was the “den.” There was more expensive furniture, a lot of books on bookshelves, and a desk.
“He’ll be right down,” the old man said. “Meanwhile, do you want a drink?”
“Yeah,” Hastings said, “whiskey.”
“No,” Barry said. “Some of that good brandy I had the last time I was here.”
“All right.”
The old man walked to a small bar, poured brandy from a decanter into two large snifters, and brought them to Barry and Hastings.
Hastings grabbed it, and Barry knew he was going to gulp it down.
“Don’t!” he snapped.
“Whataya mean?”
“Don’t gulp it down,” Barry said. “You gotta sip this stuff. It’s real expensive, and real good goin’ down.”
“Yeah?”
Barry nodded, and sipped his drink.
Hastings looked at the liquid in the glass, and then sipped it.
“Whataya think?” Barry asked.
“Yeah,” Hastings said, “it’s okay.”
Barry nodded, sipped his again.
Hastings smelled his, sipped it again, then said, “All in all, though, I think I’d rather have a cold beer.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“You’re what?” Tom Barry asked, not sure he’d heard right.
“I’m not paying you,” Arthur Collingswood said, pouring himself a brandy.
“Why the hell not?” Barry demanded.
Collingswood put the decanter down and turned to face the two men.
“You didn’t do the job.”
“Whataya talkin’ about,” Barry said. “I put a bullet right in his chest.”
“That may be so,” the man said, “but you didn’t kill him.”
“I took his money.” Barry took the four thousand out of his saddlebag.
“How much?”
“Four thousand.”
“Keep it,” Collingswood said. “That’s all you’re going to get. He had a lot more there. You missed it.”
“I looked all over.”
“You panicked and ran, didn’t you?” Collingswood asked. “And where are your other men?”
“They didn’t make it,” Barry said. “It’s just us.”
“Hastings, did he say your name was?”
“That’s right,” Hastings said. Barry had made a hasty introduction when Collingswood entered, wearing what neither Barry nor Hastings knew was called a “smoking jacket.”
“Where were you when he went into Rick’s Place?” the rich man asked.
“Right with him.”
“And with him when he shot Hartman?”
“No,” Hastings admitted. “That happened in Hartman’s office. I was in the saloon.”
Collingswood sipped his brandy.
“And then what happened?”
“We got out of there.”
“And . . .”
“And one of our men shot the sheriff.”
Collingswood looked at Barry.
“Now him you killed.”
He walked around behind the desk and sat down.
“Look,” Barry said, “I shot him dead center in the chest. It ain’t my fault
he didn’t die.”
“Oh? Who’s fault is it, then?”
Barry didn’t answer.
“And he’s getting stronger,” Collingswood added.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got people in town. And you know what else they tell me?”
“What?” Barry asked sourly. He wished he were holding a whiskey, and not brandy.
“You’ve got somebody after you.”
“A posse?”
Collingswood shook his head.
“One man.”
Barry laughed.
“One man? So what?”
“That man is Clint Adams.”
“The Gunsmith?” Hastings blurted out.
“That’s right.”
“What’s he got to do with this?” Barry demanded.
“He and Hartman are friends,” Collingswood said. “And he wants to catch whoever shot him. So you may very well have led him here.”
Barry looked around, as if he’d see Clint Adams standing right behind him.
“What the hell—”
“So here’s what you’re going to have to do to get paid,” Collingswood said.
“What?”
“You’re going to have to kill the Gunsmith.”
Barry and Hastings looked at each other, their mouths open.
Collingsworth laughed and said, “Bet you wish you hadn’t killed your other men.”
THIRTY-FIVE
They didn’t have to ride very far out of town when they saw the ranch ahead of them.
“That’s a big spread,” Travis said.
Clint nodded. The house had two stories, the barn was huge, and there were corrals everywhere, and some outbuildings. One of those buildings looked a lot like a bunkhouse.
“A big spread,” Clint said, “with a lot of men.”
“Well, the tracks lead right to it,” Travis said. “What do we do?”
“I think,” Clint said, “we need to find out who this place belongs to.”
“And then what?”
“And then send another telegram and find out if Rick knows who it is.”
“So we’re goin’ back to town?”
Clint nodded.
“We’re going back to town.”
“Suits me,” Travis said, turning his horse. “I could use a hot meal.”
* * *
When they got back to town, they decided to play it low-key.