The Gunsmith 386 Read online

  “Let’s find out,” Cain said.

  “Okay,” Clint said, “but first I want to let their horses go free.”

  Cain nodded.

  Clint went to where the horses were picketed and released them all. They milled about, but Clint knew that sooner or later they’d go in search of some water.

  “Okay,” Clint said. “Let’s go.”

  Cain set off on foot with Clint right behind him. The tracks just seemed to be taking them toward a solid wall, but before long it became obvious.

  “See that?” Cain asked.

  “Looks like a fissure.”

  Cain looked at Clint.

  “There’s a way out here,” the half-breed said. “The box canyon is not such a box.”

  They continued on, finally coming to the opening.

  “Wide enough for horses,” Cain said, looking in.

  “Then we need our mounts,” Clint said.

  They had to walk out of the canyon, get their horses, and come back in. To do that they had to pass the bodies twice. Cain finally asked the question.

  “Do we want to bury these men?”

  “No,” Clint said. “I found enough money in their pockets to tell me they were hired to kill me. Let the buzzards have them.”

  Cain shrugged. It didn’t matter to him.

  They rode their horses to the fissure, then dismounted.

  “We’ll walk them through,” Cain suggested.

  “No argument from me.”

  The opening went all the way to the top, so there was some light as they went along. Cain stopped and pointed to the wall. There was a splotch of red.

  “Blood,” he said. “It looks like you got your wish.”

  “Good boy,” Clint said, thinking of Eclipse talking bite out of one of the men. He only hoped they didn’t punish the horse for it.

  As they continued to walk their mounts, the fissure narrowed, widened, twisted, and turned, but eventually they came out the other side.

  “Where are we?” Clint asked.

  “Let’s ride a bit and I will get my bearings,” Cain said.

  They mounted up and Cain continued to follow the tracks.

  “All right,” he said, “I have it now. These tracks are heading for Hooper.”

  “How big a town?”

  “Not big,” Cain said. “No telegraph.”

  “Law?”

  “A sheriff.”

  “Any good?”

  “I do not know him.”

  “Been there?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “What kind of town?”

  Cain thought a moment, then said, “Sleepy.”

  “Not wide open?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are they going there?”

  “We do know one thing,” Cain said.

  “What?”

  “Even if they thought you might not be killed in that canyon,” Cain said, “they would not expect you to find the back way out through that fissure.”

  “So they’re not leading me to Hooper deliberately.”

  “No.”

  “They might be there when we get there,” Clint said.

  “They might.”

  “How far behind are we?”

  Cain studied the ground.

  “I would say they passed this way this morning,” Cain said. “They are about six hours ahead of us.”

  Clint scowled.

  “They could have been there and gone by now,” he said.

  “They must have had plans for the men in the canyon to contact them, let them know you were dead.”

  “They’d need a telegraph for that.”

  “After they killed you, the men could have ridden back to Dover to use the telegraph.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “but where would they send it to?”

  “After Dover,” Cain said, “is Kerrville.”

  “They would have a telegraph.”

  “Yes, they would.”

  “All right,” Clint said, “let’s keep to the tracks and see where they take us.”

  THIRTY

  The trail led to Hooper.

  “Right into town,” Cain said.

  “And leading Eclipse behind them,” Clint said. “Nobody can say they didn’t notice them this time.”

  It was dusk when they rode in. They’d have to stay the night, get an easy start in the morning. Neither of them believed there was any chance that Dunn and Sands—and Eclipse—were still in town. They confirmed this with the old gent who ran the livery.

  “Yeah, they rode in leading that beautiful Arabian,” he said. “I offered a good price to buy him, but they said they had plans for him. Plans.” He almost spit. “Them two wouldn’t know what to do with good horseflesh.”

  “Had one of them been bitten?” Clint asked.

  The man closed one eye and regarded Clint quizzically.

  “How did you know that?” Then he asked, “Say, is that your horse?”

  “It is.”

  “I knew them fellers stole it.”

  “How long did they stay?”

  “Not long,” he said. “Didn’t even unsaddle their mounts. Just asked me to feed the three and they came back for them in, oh, ’bout an hour. Then they was off again.”

  “Was he all right?” Clint asked.

  “He was in fine fettle,” the man said. “Good-lookin’ animal, that one. I watered and fed the three. He waren’t no trouble a’tall.”

  “You know which way they headed?” Cain asked.

  “Didn’t see,” the man said, “but from what I heard, I’d say they went toward Kerrville.”

  “Much obliged,” Clint said. “We’ll be leaving early in the morning to keep tracking them.”

  “Say, this steeldust is kinda nice,” the man said. “You wanna sell ’im?”

  “He’s not mine to sell,” Clint said. “I’m just using him until I get my horse back.”

  “Been trackin’ them long?”

  “Not long. But I’ll track them as long as I have to, to get him back,” Clint said.

  “See?” the man said. “Now that’s the way a fella is supposed ta feel about his horse.”

  • • •

  They left the livery and went to the town’s one hotel. The clerk didn’t look happy about giving a room to a half-breed, but he didn’t comment. Clint felt he was intimidated by Cain’s size, and would not have dared refuse him.

  They went to their rooms and dumped their gear, then met back in the lobby again.

  “Sheriff’s office?” Cain asked.

  “Steak first,” Clint said.

  “Suits me,” the big man said.

  “Where can we get a decent steak?” Clint asked the young desk clerk.

  “San Antone, Waco, Fort Worth,” the man said. “If you mean in this town, though, the best one you’re gonna find will be across the street and up a ways. Bob’s Café. He’ll likely burn it, but it’ll be edible.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I guess I’m hungry enough to eat it well done.”

  They left the hotel and walked to the café.

  “Burnt?” Cain asked, making a face.

  “We’ll ask the cook not to burn it so much,” Clint said, “see what that gets us.”

  It didn’t matter. Both of their steaks came well done. Almost burnt. But the potatoes and onions were good.

  “Anything else, sir?” the waiter asked when they were finished.

  “Yes,” Clint said, “who’s your sheriff?”

  “His name’s Bunyon, sir.”

  “Bunyon?” Cain repeated.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s he like?” Clint asked.

  The waiter, an older man in his sixties, shrug
ged and said, “He’s all right.”

  “How long has he been sheriff?”

  “Got elected last year,” the man said, then added, “I mean, reelected, He’s been sheriff a few years.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Clint paid the bill.

  “Do you want to bother talking to the sheriff?” Cain asked. “We already know they were here and gone.”

  “I guess not,” Clint said. “I think I’ve met enough sheriffs lately.”

  • • •

  Clint and Cain walked from the hotel and stopped in front of the café. They looked over the street, which was quiet. Or sleepy, as Cain had said.

  “Do you feel like we’re being watched?” he asked Cain, still looking around. Up and down the street. Rooftops. Windows. Doorways.

  “No.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “Neither do I.”

  “They left six men behind and probably expected you to be alone,” Cain said. “They probably think you’re dead.”

  “Then why keep Eclipse?”

  “To hedge their bet,” Cain said, “just in case.”

  “I suppose,” Clint said. “Do you want to get a drink?”

  “Yes.”

  Clint looked up and down the street.

  “One hotel, one café, one saloon.”

  “Like I said,” Cain replied, “a sleepy little town.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said. “Come on, we’ll have one drink. I want to get an early start tomorrow. I want this to end. And I want my goddamn horse back.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  They had a drink in the saloon, where they were watched warily the entire time by the other patrons. However, Clint knew they were being watched because of Cain’s sheer size and appearance. He looked like a man who would tear you apart with his bare hands just as soon as look at you.

  They had one beer each, and then left.

  “That didn’t bother you?” Cain asked.

  Clint knew what he was referring to.

  “Are you kidding?” he said. “I was glad to have you around, have them look at you instead of me for a change.”

  “That’s right,” Cain said, “you are the Gunsmith. You have probably been stared at longer than I have.”

  “Well, not from birth,” Clint said.

  “But you are older than I am.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “I’ll concede both points.”

  They walked to the hotel without incident, past the clerk—who nodded to them—and up to their floor.

  “Still don’t think we’re being watched?” Clint asked.

  “No.”

  “Me neither,” Clint said, “but we can’t be too careful.”

  They went to the door of Cain’s room and opened it quickly. It was empty. They then did the same thing with Clint’s room, and got the same result.

  Then they turned in for the night.

  • • •

  Early the next morning they met in the lobby. The same clerk was there, looking sleepy. He had either just gotten up, or hadn’t been to sleep yet.

  When they got to the livery, their horses were saddled and waiting for them.

  “You said you’d be leavin’ early,” the man reminded them.

  Clint paid him and they mounted up.

  “I hope you find your horse,” the liveryman said.

  “So do I,” Clint responded.

  • • •

  They rode out of town, and the big half-breed picked up their trail again.

  “Still two horses, leading one—yours. And he’s moving well.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “I would be able to tell if he was limping.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  They continued on.

  • • •

  Derrick Sands entered the saloon and sat down across from Adam Dunn.

  “Nothin’?” Dunn asked.

  “No telegram.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Dunn said, shaking his head, “money can’t buy good help, can it?”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Well, we still have his horse.”

  “So?”

  Dunn looked across at his colleague.

  “We’ll have to kill him ourselves.”

  “We tried that, remember?” Sands asked. “Larry got killed and we ran.”

  “No more runnin’ this time.”

  “So what do we do? Ambush him again?”

  “Yeah,” Dunn said, “but remember, this time we have somethin’ he wants.”

  “So how do we get him here?”

  “I think we just have to wait,” Dunn said. “He’ll track us right here.”

  “And we’re just gonna wait?”

  “We’re gonna wait,” Dunn said, “and send a telegram.”

  • • •

  Cain stopped, and Clint reined in beside him. Up ahead of them was a town.

  “Kerrville,” Cain said.

  “Been here before?” Clint asked.

  “Passed through once. You?”

  “Nope. First time.”

  “How do you want to do this?” Cain asked. “Ride right down Main Street?”

  “Not me,” Clint said. “You.”

  • • •

  Clint decided that Cain should ride into town alone. Yes, he’d attract attention, but that was only because of who he was and what he looked like. Neither Dunn nor Sands would suspect that he was riding with Clint Adams. They arranged to meet later at a hotel in town. Clint told Cain to get a room in the largest one, if there was, indeed, more than one hotel.

  Clint had to slip into town another way. It was too early, though, for him to wait until after dark. That would waste a lot of the day that was left.

  Kerrville was a lot larger than either Hooper, or Kirby, or even Orwell, probably even larger than Hastings. There were any number of other points of entry he could use other than the main street. Getting into town unseen would not be a problem, especially if he did it while Cain was riding in and most of the town’s eyes were on him.

  So he waited until Cain and his Appaloosa were almost in town before riding around to find another way in.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Cain rode into town, attracting at least as much attention as he usually did. He and his Appaloosa made an arresting sight together.

  Clint managed to work his way around the center of town, and he ended up behind a large, two-story building, hoping that it was a hotel. It turned out he was right. He tied off the steeldust, then walked around to the front and entered. Cain’s horse was secured out front, so it was no surprise to find the half-breed in the lobby.

  The desk clerk, a meek little man in his forties, was watching Cain with wide eyes, as if he expected the half-breed to suddenly produce a tomahawk and start cutting people down. There were a few men and a couple of ladies in the lobby who were skirting around the big man, who was simply standing in the center of the floor.

  “Where is your horse?” Cain asked Clint.

  “Out back. He can stay there awhile.”

  “Do you want to get a room?”

  “Let’s find out if Dunn and Sands are here first.” He approached the clerk.

  “Y-Yes, sir?”

  “I’m looking for two friends of mine named Dunn and Sands. Are they registered?”

  The clerk looked at the register, then said, “N-No, sir, they’re not registered here.”

  “How many other hotels in town?”

  “Three,” the man said.

  “And boardinghouses?”

  “Yes, sir, two.”

  “Good,” Clint said, “tell me where they all are . . .”

  • • •

  They stepped outside the hotel, to the relief of the desk clerk.

  �
��In Hastings, Sands stayed in a boardinghouse,” Clint said. “Let’s try those first.”

  “What about the sheriff?”

  “Let’s try this ourselves first,” Clint said. “The fewer people we include, the better.”

  “Up to you,” Cain said.

  “I’ll walk ahead,” Clint said. “You’ll keep the attention off me by walking alone.”

  “All right.”

  “Try to look mean,” Clint said, and walked ahead before Cain could respond.

  • • •

  Derrick Sands was standing at the batwing doors of the Tall Texas Saloon.

  “Anythin’?” Dunn asked when Sands came back to the table.

  “Big half-breed rode into town,” Sands said, sitting down, “but that’s all.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Know him?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Maybe you seen him in Hastings?”

  Sands shook his head. “Never did.”

  “Go and check on the horse.”

  “Check for what?”

  “Just make sure it’s still where we put it,” Dunn said, “and it’s okay.”

  Sands held up his bandaged left hand and said, “Ya want me to let him take another hunk outta me?”

  “Just be careful with him,” Dunn said.

  “Say,” Sands said, “you ain’t thinkin’ of keepin’ that horse, are ya?”

  “Once Adams is dead, what’s the difference?”

  “We wuz talkin’ about the good price we could get for him,” Sands reminded him.

  “Don’t worry about it, Sands,” Dunn said. “You’re gonna get paid enough for this job.”

  “What’s this feller got against the Gunsmith anyway?” Sands asked.

  “I didn’t ask,” Dunn said, “but maybe Adams killed somebody close to him. It don’t matter. We’re gettin’ paid to do a job.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sands said, standing up. “I’ll go check on that big devil.”

  Devil, Dunn thought. Maybe when Adams was dead, he’d change the horse’s name.

  • • •

  When Clint reached the first boardinghouse, he waited for Cain to catch up. The lady who answered the door was obviously frightened by the big half-breed. She answered their questions—no boarders by those names or descriptions—very quickly and slammed the door in their faces.

  “Maybe at the next one,” Cain said, “I should just stand back.”