Trail to Shasta (9781101622049)

by Roberts, J. R.

  Bridget leaned over and sniffed him audibly.

  “You could use one, too, you know.”

  She and Bride both giggled.

  Clint stopped at the first hotel they came to. He went inside with them, registered them all, and arranged for their baths.

  “I’m going to take care of the horses,” Clint said, “and put our wagon in a safe place. Don’t leave the hotel, all right?”

  “Why?” Bride asked. “Is this a dangerous town?”

  “I just want to know where you are,” Clint said. “You’re my responsibility.”

  “We’ll stay,” Bridget said. “You go and do what you have to do.”

  He left the hotel and drove the wagon to the livery stable. He made arrangements with the man there to care for the three horses, and watch over the wagon. He promised to lock his place up at night, with the wagon inside. Clint paid him half the agreed-upon amount in advance.

  He walked back to the hotel, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone suspicious. He reached the building without seeing anyone who was paying him any special attention.

  Inside he arranged with the clerk for a bath of his own, then got his key and went to his room, which was across the hall from the sisters.

  He left his bag and rifle on the bed, then walked across to their door and knocked.

  Bride answered.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Bridget is in the bath. When she comes back, I will go.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m right across the hall, if you need anything.”

  “We will, Clint. Thank you.”

  He went back to his own room, figured to wait until both girls were finished with their baths before taking one himself.

  * * *

  Owen Brown owned and ran the livery stable, but he also had another part-time job—as a deputy. After Clint Adams left his stable, he locked up and walked to the sheriff’s office.

  Sheriff Cargill looked up as Owen entered and said, “Your not due to be on duty for another day, Owen.”

  “I know that, Steve,” Brown said. “I just thought I ought to tell you who was just at my stable.”

  “Oh? Who’s that?” Cargill was still staring at something on his desk as he asked.

  “Clint Adams.”

  Cargill’s head jerked up.

  “The Gunsmith?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s he doing in Saint Joe?”

  “He didn’t say,” Brown answered, “but he’s got a wagon with him. Left it at my place with his horse, and team.”

  “What’s in the wagon?”

  “I didn’t look.”

  The sheriff stood up and grabbed his hat.

  “Well, let’s have a look now,” he said, “before I go and talk to him.”

  “He ain’t done nothin’, Sheriff.”

  “He’s in town, Owen. That can’t be good. You know that, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m just tryin’ to be a good deputy, Sheriff.”

  “You are, Owen,” the sheriff said. “You are. Now, come on. Show me that wagon.”

  * * *

  Clint heard the door to the girls’ room open and close, assumed Bridget had come back. Then it opened and closed again. Bride going for her bath. When it opened and closed again, that would be his cue to go down for his own bath. All he had to do until then was relax, and wait his turn.

  He took off his gun belt, hung it on the bedpost, sat on the bed, and decided not to remove his boots. He reclined on the bed with his hands locked behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

  Sometime later he heard the floor creaking in the hall. He was reclining on the bed, waiting for his turn with the bathtub. He grabbed his gun and moved to the door. The footsteps were too heavy to belong to either one of the girls.

  He stood at the door with his left hand on the knob, his gun in his right. Abruptly, there was a knock on the door, which surprised him. He opened it, saw a man with a badge standing in the hall. He was tall, very thin, with a lock of gray hair hanging down from beneath his hat.

  “You won’t need that,” the man said. “I’m the law.”

  “I see the badge,” Clint said.

  “I earned it in an election,” the man said. “You wanna come down to the lobby and ask the desk clerk?”

  Clint thought a moment, then said, “No. You want to come in, or you want me to come out?”

  “In is okay,” the sheriff said. “I just wanna talk.”

  Clint backed away from the door and said, “Come on in, Sheriff.”

  TWENTY

  “My name is Sheriff Steve Cargill,” the lawman said. “I got word you were in town, kinda made me curious.”

  “So you took a look at my wagon already, right?” Clint asked. Instead of returning his gun to the holster on the bedpost, he tucked it into his belt.

  “I did.”

  “The man at the livery?”

  “Owen is also a part-time deputy.”

  “Ah.”

  “Were you gonna come and see me?”

  “I would have,” Clint said, “if I was going to be in town past tomorrow morning.”

  “So you’re just passin’ through?”

  “Literally,” Clint said. “I’m on my way to Council Bluffs.”

  “Travelin’ alone?”

  “No, I’ve got two young ladies with me.”

  “Whores?” Cargill asked with a frown.

  “No,” Clint said, without taking offense, “I haven’t taken up pimping. They’re a couple of sisters from Ireland who want to see the country on their way to Shasta County, California.”

  “What are they gonna do there?”

  “One of them is getting married,” Clint said. “The other one is her sister.”

  “Mail-order bride?”

  “Something like that.”

  “That’s not your usual kind of job, is it?”

  “It’s not a job,” Clint said, “it’s a favor.”

  “That’s a lot of time to put in for a favor,” the sheriff said. He was still trying to figure out if Clint was lying to him or not.

  “Sheriff,” Clint said, “there’s nothing here in Saint Joe that interests me. Believe me, we’re moving on in the morning.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I don’t blame you for being suspicious.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “I know it,” Clint said. “I take no offense that you went through my wagon. You didn’t find anything unusual, did you?”

  “No,” Cargill said.

  “Well, there you go,” Clint said.

  “Okay,” Cargill said “I’m gonna take your word for it—for now. But if you don’t leave in the mornin’, I’m gonna wanna know why.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good night, then.”

  “Good night, Sheriff.”

  The lawman opened the door and stepped out into the hall, leaving the door ajar. As Clint went to close it, the door across the hall opened and Bridget peered out.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” Clint said. “I just got a visit from the local law.”

  “May I . . .” she said, hesitating.

  “Come right in,” Clint said.

  Bridget left her room, closing the door behind her, and entered Clint’s room.

  “What did he want?” she asked as Clint shut and locked his door.

  “What all lawmen want when I ride into their town,” he said. “They want to know why.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Exactly why we’re here,” Clint said. “And that we’ll be l
eaving first thing in the morning.”

  “What did he say?”

  “What could he say?” Clint asked. “He’s still suspicious. He’ll watch us in the morning to make sure we go.”

  “I see.”

  She turned and looked at the door, then glanced at the bed.

  “Bride is taking her bath.”

  “I know. I’m waiting my turn.”

  “Oh?”

  “Didn’t you say I needed one?”

  “I understood that Western men bathed infrequently . . . if at all.”

  “I’m well acquainted with bathtubs. I’ve been known to use one, say, two or maybe three times . . . a year.”

  She laughed.

  “I had intended to try to seduce you while Bride was bathing,” she said, “but maybe I’ll wait until you’re clean.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Clint said, “but what will you tell Bride?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, moving toward the door, “I’ll simply wait until she is asleep. After all those nights in the wagon, she’ll probably sleep very soundly.”

  She went out, closing the door gently behind her. Clint wondered if she was actually telling him the truth, and if he should expect her during the night.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Clint heard Bride return from her bath. He cracked his door to make sure, watched her enter the room she was sharing with her sister. He stepped into the hall and went down to the front desk.

  “Is anyone using the bath?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” the man said, “a young lady has just vacated it. Shall I have it prepared for you?”

  “Yes,” Clint said. “Hot.”

  “Wait here,” the clerk said. “I’ll make the arrangements, and get you some towels.”

  “Thank you.”

  The clerk was back in a few minutes, said, “It’s all ready. Just walk straight back to the last door on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  Clint took the towels and went down the hall.

  * * *

  Refreshed from his bath, Clint left the hotel to go and check on the wagon. He had told the lawman he didn’t mind having the wagon searched, but he did want to make sure that everything that was supposed to be there was still there. He also wanted to check on the horses, especially Eclipse.

  The streets were still busy, as darkness had not yet fallen. When he reached the stable, the doors were open and he walked right in. The man the sheriff had called Owen saw him and stood up straight, dropped the leg of the horse he’d been inspecting.

  “Mr. Adams,” he said, “I—I didn’t—”

  “Relax, Owen,” Clint said. “I know you spoke to the sheriff. It’s fine.”

  “It is?”

  “You’re a part-time deputy, right?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Then you were just doing your job.”

  “Yessir.”

  “We don’t have a problem,” Clint said. “I just wanted to check on my animals, and get something out of my wagon.”

  “Go right ahead, sir.”

  Of course, there was nothing he needed from the wagon; he just wanted to make sure everything was there.

  He took a look at the team first, found them to be standing easily, feeding. Then he looked in on Eclipse, who was also feeding. Next, he went to the wagon and climbed in back. Out of sight he made a complete search, found that everything was there, although it was obvious that some of the girls’ bags had been opened. He had no idea what the sheriff might have found—or might have expected to find—that would have caused him concern. Of course, there had been nothing.

  He came out of the wagon, unmindful of the fact that he wasn’t carrying anything. He didn’t care if Owen noticed.

  “Everything okay, sir?” the man asked.

  “Everything is fine, Owen,” Clint said. “Just fine. Make sure you tell the sheriff I was here.”

  “Oh, uh, yes, well, okay, sir.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night, Mr. Adams.”

  Clint left the livery stable and walked back to the hotel.

  * * *

  Owen Brown let out the breath he was holding, briefly thought of going to the sheriff’s office, then decided nothing had really happened that he needed to report on.

  But he sure could use a drink.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Owen went to the Red Garter Saloon and started drinking whiskey. After a few shots he began talking about the Gunsmith being in Saint Joseph. This caught the attention of three men sitting at a table, sharing a bottle of whiskey. They decided to invite Owen to their table to buy him a few more drinks.

  Owen’s head was on the table half an hour later.

  “He’s out,” Fred Doolin said, leaning over to check.

  “You think he’s tellin’ the truth?” Ames Connor asked.

  “Why would he lie?” Denny Scott asked. “If the Gunsmith is in town, he’s in town.”

  “Jesus,” Fred said, “you know what it means to the man who kills Clint Adams?”

  “A rep,” Ames said.

  “A big rep,” Denny said.

  The three men exchanged an anxious glance.

  “How do we do it without gettin’ killed?” Ames asked.

  “We plan it,” Denny said, “very carefully.”

  * * *

  Clint got back to his room as it was getting dark. He went to the window and looked down at the street. The sheriff was still the only person in town who had taken any interest in him.

  He was still staring out the window when there was a light knock on his door. He doubted that Bride had fallen fast asleep yet. His own stomach was growling, so the girls must have been hungry by now.

  He answered the door and Bridget said, “Can we go and eat?”

  “You girls eat a lot,” Clint said.

  “Traveling with you builds up an appetite,” Bridget said. Across the hall, Bride was standing in the open doorway and she nodded her agreement.

  “We’ll just go down to the hotel dining room,” he said. “I’m sure the sheriff would like me to stay out of trouble.”

  “That’s fine,” Bridget said. “We’ve been eating your bacon and beans for days.”

  “Let me guess,” he said, pulling his door closed. “Time for a steak?”

  * * *

  Fred, Ames, and Denny left Owen Brown with his head on the table as they went outside for some air.

  “What do we do?” Ames asked. “We know what hotel he’s in. Do we wanna surprise him? Or wait until he comes out?”

  “You wanna face him fair and square in the street?” Denny asked.

  “I don’t,” Fred said before Ames could reply.

  “No,” Ames said, “I don’t either.”

  “Okay,” Denny said, “then we’re better off takin’ him in his room. We’ll wait ’til it’s late, so he’s asleep.”

  “We gonna kill ’im while he’s asleep?” Fred asked. “How’s that gonna give us a big reputation?”

  “Nobody’s gonna care how he got killed,” Denny said. “The headline’s just gonna say ‘Gunsmith Killed.’”

  “Denny’s right,” Ames said, “this is our best chance.”

  Fred looked worried.

  “What is it?” Denny asked.

  “I ain’t never killed nobody before.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Denny said. “The first one’s the hardest.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  They finished eating and returned to their rooms.

  “Are you girls satisfied now?” Clint asked in the hall.

  “Well . . .” Bride said.

  “What is it?” Clint asked.

  “Tomorrow we go
back to bacon and beans,” she lamented.

  “I tell you what,” Clint said. “When we get to Council Bluffs, I’ll buy some cans of fruit, and the makings for some biscuits for the trip west.”

  The two girls didn’t look thrilled.

  “Hey,” Clint said, “at least that’ll give us a little more variety.”

  “Good night, Clint,” Bride said, entering her room.

  “Night, Bride.”

  Bridget gave him a look and said, “Yes, good night, Clint.”

  The look in her eyes wasn’t saying good night, though.

  * * *

  “Hey, can you help me?” the man asked.

  The clerk looked up from what he was doing at the man who had just entered the hotel lobby.

  “What?”

  “I need some help out here,” Ames said. Of the three compadres, Ames was the one who was unknown to this particular desk clerk.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “There’s somethin’ happenin’ in the alley out here, next to your hotel,” Ames said. “You’re gonna wanna know about it.”

  The clerk came around the desk and approached Ames, frowning.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, come out here and I’ll show ya,” Ames said.

  “I’m not supposed to leave the lobby.”

  “It’ll take a minute,” Ames said. “Two, at the most.”

  “Well . . . okay,” the clerk said. “Show me.”

  “Come on.”

  Ames led the way and the clerk left the lobby.

  As soon as they were gone, Fred and Denny entered.

  “Stay by the door,” Denny said. “Lemme know if anybody’s comin’.”

  Denny ran behind the desk, opened the register, and ran his finger over the names until he came to the one he wanted.

  “Got it?” Fred asked.

  “I got it,” Denny said. “The Gunsmith is in Room 15.”

  “Let’s get out of here!” Fred said.

  Denny joined Fred at the door and the two men left. Moments later the clerk came in, shaking his head and talking to himself.

  “Crazy sonofabitch,” he said, getting back behind the desk. “Callin’ me outside for no reason. Damn it.”

  Nothing was amiss in the lobby or behind the desk, so he went back to work.