Thousand Mile Case (9781101619520)

by Roberts, J. R.

  * * *

  When they reached her restaurant, the door was closed but not locked.

  “I’d better go in and help clean up,” Jenny said. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No, thanks,” Clint said, “but I’ll try your restaurant tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” she said. “What do you intend to do tomorrow? I mean, other than talk to Claire again?”

  “I’m going to ride out to the Callahan ranch and talk to Mrs. Callahan.”

  “That should be interesting.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Have you talked to anyone else in town?”

  “Bartenders, and the sheriff.”

  “Find out anything about Mrs. Callahan?”

  “No,” I said. “In fact, the sheriff was talking to me pretty willingly until I told him why I was here.”

  “Well, she’s an interesting woman.”

  “I thought you didn’t know her.”

  “I don’t,” she said, “not well, but you don’t have to know her to know she’s interesting. There are a lot of stories.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “I think I should let you form your own opinions.”

  “Come on,” Clint said, “give me the dirt.”

  She laughed and said, “Aren’t you the man who told me not to believe everything you read, or hear?” She opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She slipped inside before he could ask her anything else.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Clint stopped in the Lucky Eight for a few beers. The bartender’s name was Willie. He told Clint where there was a place he could still get a meal.

  Before turning in, Clint went to the café Willie recommended and had a bad meal. He didn’t know why he had refused Jenny’s offer of a meal at her place, but he was certainly going to try her café the next day.

  He went back to the Lucky Eight for one more beer.

  “How was your meal?” Willie asked.

  “Terrible.”

  “Well, I didn’t say it was good,” Willie said, “I said it was still open.”

  Clint accepted his last beer from the bartender.

  “Tell me about Sheriff Bodie,” he said.

  “What’s to tell?”

  “How long has he been sheriff?”

  “A few years.”

  “What kind of a lawman is he?”

  Willie hesitated, looked around, and then said, “He’s okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Well, there’s lots of folks who like him,” the bartender said, “but there’s some who don’t.”

  “Like Sam?”

  “Sam?” Willie asked. “Oh, you mean Sam Barrett, from the general store?”

  “He didn’t seem too happy with the sheriff when I was in here earlier.”

  “Sam’s just a little upset, that’s all,” Willie said. “Seems somebody’s been breakin’ into his store at night, leavin’ a mess.”

  “And the sheriff hasn’t done anything?”

  “Well, the sheriff figures it’s just kids,” Willie said. “See, the only thing that ever gets took is some of Sam’s rock candy.”

  “I see. Willie, I want to ask you something else, and if you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”

  Willie leaned on his elbows and said, “Well, I’ll answer if I can. What is it?”

  “What do you know about Ed Callahan and Tom Angel?”

  Willie stood up straight.

  “What you wanna go and ask about them for?”

  “You know them?” Clint said.

  “I’m acquainted with both of them.”

  “Then do you know why Big Ed—”

  “No. I don’t know nothing. Why don’t you ask them what they got against each other,” Willie said. “I don’t meddle in other folks’ affairs.”

  “I was just wondering—”

  “I’m sorry,” the bartender said, “I got some work to do.”

  “Sure.”

  He hurried to the other end of the bar, where he started talking earnestly to another man standing there. Every so often they’d look over Clint’s way. He figured it was time to go to his hotel, and left.

  * * *

  Sheriff Bodie left town on horseback after dark and rode out to the Callahan spread. He reined in his horse behind the barn, tied him off, and made his way quietly to the bunkhouse. He could hear snoring from inside. He entered quietly, lit a match, and looked at the men sleeping in their beds. One bed was empty. It was located at the far end of the room, away from the others, and belonged to Ray Winston, the foreman of the ranch.

  He moved back toward the door, gently shook the man who was sleeping closest to it.

  “What the—” Eddie Beckman said, squinting up at the big lawman.

  “Outside,” Bodie hissed.

  He stepped outside, waited a few moments for Eddie to come stumbling out.

  “What the hell, Sheriff?” Eddie whined. “I was sleepin’.”

  “I’m lookin’ for Ray,” Bodie said. “Where is he?”

  “Where d’ya think he is?” Eddie asked. “The boss is away, so Eddie’s up at the big house most of the time. Lookin’ ta get himself killed, if ya ask me. The boss comes back and find him up there…”

  “The house, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  Well, Bodie thought, there wasn’t much chance of the boss coming back and catching him, but he didn’t tell Eddie that.

  “Okay, Eddie, go on back to bed.”

  “What’s it all about, Sheriff?”

  “Never mind, Eddie,” Bodie said. “Just go back to bed like I told you.”

  “Well, hell,” Eddie whined, “seems if’n ya wake a man outta a dead sleep, ya oughtta tell him what the hell is goin’ on.”

  But he went back inside, closing the door gently behind him.

  Bodie hesitated, then shrugged and started walking up to the big house.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Inside the house, Ray Winston was eagerly driving his cock into the boss’s wife, who had her legs spread as far as she could, holding her own ankles in her hands.

  “Oh, yeah,” she gasped, “oh baby, yeah.” When she was in bed with her husband, it was missionary position, some grunts and groans, a squirt, and then he’d roll over and go to sleep. There was nothing like having a young man between her legs.

  She was about to tell him to flip her over so he could fuck her from behind when they both heard someone knocking on the door downstairs.

  “Goddamnit!” Ray swore. “Whoever that is, I’ll kill ’im.”

  “Don’t answer it,” Angela whispered into his ear.

  “I gotta,” he said. “I can’t concentrate with that banging.”

  He withdrew from her, his cock red and raging.

  “Whoever it is,” she said, “make them go away.”

  “I’ll make them dead,” he said, pulling on his shirt and trousers. “I’ll be right back.”

  * * *

  When the door opened, Bodie stepped back. Winston was not as large as he was, but the man’s obvious anger drove him back.

  “Jesus, Bodie. Whataya want?”

  “We got problems, Ray.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “The dead kind.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Big Ed is dead.”

  Winston stared at him, then asked, “What?”

  “Dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A man who was there told me.”

  “And what about Angel?”

  “Dead, too.”

  “And the others?”

  “Three are dead,” Bodie said. “The other two ran off.”

  “Jesus,” Winston said. “Okay, yeah. You better come in and tell her.”

  * * *

  Angela Callahan sat on a sofa in the living room, her luscious body wrapped in a robe. She listened while Bodie told her
what Clint Adams had told him.

  “And this is Clint Adams?” she said. “The Gunsmith?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And how do we know he’s telling the truth?” she asked.

  “I sent a telegram to the sheriff in Tucson,” Bodie said. “He answered right away It’s all true.”

  “Who killed my husband?”

  “According to Adams, it was Angel.”

  “Tom…” she said, shaking her head.

  “Who killed Angel?” Winston asked.

  “He ain’t sure,” Bodie said. “There was a lot of lead flyin’ around.”

  “It was probably Big Ed,” Angela said. “He wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.”

  “What should we do?” Bodie asked. “He wants to come out here and talk to you.”

  “Get him out of town,” Winston said.

  “No,” Angela said. “No, let him come.”

  “What?” Winston asked.

  She looked at the foreman.

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “Angela—”

  “See the sheriff out, Ray,” she said.

  “Okay,” Winston said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No,” she said, “I’m tired, Ray, and I have to think. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Winston had thrown on his clothes, had his gun belt in his hand, so there was no reason he couldn’t just leave.

  Except that he didn’t want to.

  “Angela,” he said, “you shouldn’t be alone—”

  “Tomorrow, Ray,” she said. “For now just go.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Winston said. “Come on, Bodie.”

  He led the sheriff from the room and out of the house.

  Angela stood up, went to a sideboard against the wall, and got herself a glass of whiskey. Big Ed was dead. That meant everything was hers. Finally.

  * * *

  Outside, Winston said to Bodie, “Just try it my way once.”

  “Your way?”

  “Yeah,” the foreman said, “see if you can get him to leave town. Talk to Harvey. He’ll handle it.”

  “Okay, Ray,” Bodie said, “but it’s your idea, right?”

  “That’s right, Sheriff,” Winston said, “it’s my idea.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Clint woke the next morning with the bad food from the night before weighing heavily in his stomach. He decided to remedy that by going to have breakfast at Jenny’s. He poured some water into the basin on the dresser and washed himself thoroughly, feeling he didn’t have the time or the patience for a bath at the moment. Satisfied that he was as clean as he was going to get, he dressed and left his room.

  Down in the lobby he found trouble…

  * * *

  A half hour earlier, six men had entered the hotel lobby, and one of them had walked to the front desk.

  “There’s a stranger in town,” he said to the clerk. “What room is he in?”

  “I can’t tell ya that, Harvey,” the clerk said. “I’d lose my job.”

  “Kid,” Harvey Tracy said, “you’re gonna lose more than your job if you don’t—”

  “Harvey,” Simon Fuller said, putting his hand on his friend’s arm, “don’t threaten the kid. He’s just doin’ his job. The fella’s got to come down sometime this mornin’, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Harvey said. “So we’ll wait for him to come down.”

  “And do what?” one of the other men asked.

  “Let him know he better leave town,” Harvey said. “We don’t want his kind here.”

  “What kind is that?” the desk clerk asked.

  Harvey turned on him and said, “A troublemaker!”

  The clerk had to keep himself from grinning. These fellers obviously had no idea who the stranger was. All they had to do was look in the register, but he surreptitiously removed the book from the counter and put it underneath.

  He couldn’t wait to see their faces when they found out who they were dealing with.

  “All right,” Harvey called out to the other men, “we’re gonna wait here for him to come down.”

  “How long do we wait?”

  “As long as it takes,” Harvey said. “We got to get this done today.”

  The other men shrugged and they all settled down to wait.

  * * *

  Clint came down the stairs, saw the armed men standing in the lobby. One of them he recognized from the saloon, the man the bartender had been talking to at the end of the bar.

  When he reached the lobby, the men turned and looked at him.

  “Hey, you!” the one he recognized from the saloon called.

  “Who are you?” Clint asked.

  “My name’s Harvey Tracy,” the man said, “and we’re here to help you mount up and ride out of town.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  Clint looked over at the clerk, who was leaning on the desk with his chin in his hand. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “We’ll walk you to the livery and help you saddle up. It’s time for you to leave town.”

  Clint looked at the six men, all of whom seemed intent on trying to intimidate him with their looks.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “What?” Harvey asked.

  “I’m not ready to leave town, but thanks for the offer of help,” Clint said. He started past the men.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Harvey said. “There are six of us standin’ here, and one of you.” Obviously, the man didn’t understand why Clint wasn’t intimidated.

  “Yeah? So?”

  “Maybe you don’t understand, partner,” Harvey said. “We’re tellin’ you to leave town.”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  “Well, good,” Harvey said. “So then, you’re leavin’, right?”

  “Wrong,” Clint said. “I’m not leaving.”

  Harvey leaned in and said loudly, as if Clint were hard of hearing, “There’s six of us.”

  Clint looked at each of the six men in turn and asked, “And how many of you are willing to die just to try to get me to leave town?”

  The man stared back at him.

  One man leaned over and said to Simon Fuller in a loud whisper, “Who is this guy?”

  Simon realized at that point that nobody had bothered to ask.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Whoever he was, Simon thought, he obviously wasn’t bothered by six men standing in front of him, wearing guns.

  “Harvey—” Simon started.

  “What?” Harvey asked. “What is it, Simon?”

  “Why don’t we find out who he is?” Simon asked. “Before we start somethin’.”

  “Your friend is showing some sense,” Clint said.

  “I don’t care who he is,” Harvey said, then turned to Clint and said, “I don’t care who you are.”

  “Maybe they do,” Clint said, indicating the other five men.

  The desk clerk was smiling openly now.

  “Mister,” Harvey said, “you’re gonna step out on that street and face six men. What do you think of that?”

  “It won’t be the first time,” Clint said. “In fact, it won’t even be the first time this year. Let’s go.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Simon said, grabbing Harvey’s arm now. “What’s goin’ on? This guy ain’t afraid, Harvey. You said he’d be afraid when he saw how many of us there are.”

  “He’s too stupid to be afraid.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” the desk clerk called out.

  Harvey turned and shouted, “What do you know about it?”

  “Well,” the clerk said happily, “for one thing I know his name.”

  “I don’t care—” Harvey started, but Simon cut him off abruptly.

  “What’s his name?” he asked.

  The clerk brought the register out and slapped it down on the desk.

  “It’s in the book.”

  Simon walked to the desk, opened the book, and looked. Then he turned and
stared at Clint, before looking at Harvey.

  “Damn you, Harvey!” he said.

  “Can I go now?” Clint asked. “Is this over?”

  “It’s over,” Simon said. “We’re sorry, Mr. Adams.”

  “What? Wait, no, it ain’t over,” Harvey said.

  “Adams, Harvey,” Simon yelled. “His name is Clint Adams!”

  Harvey frowned and said, “What?”

  “The goddamned Gunsmith!” Simon said.

  “What?” one of the other men said.

  “Jesus Christ!” another said.

  “I ain’t facin’ no Gunsmith!” a third man said.

  “I’m outta here,” the fourth man said.

  “Wait for me,” the first said.

  “Hey, wait,” Harvey said. “It don’t matter who he is.”

  “Who are you kiddin’, Harvey?” Simon asked as Clint went out the door. “That man could kill all six of us without breakin’ a sweat.”

  “You’re talkin’ about his reputation,” Harvey said. “That can’t kill you.”

  “I’m talkin’ about the man himself,” Simon said. “If you want to face him, you can do it by yourself.”

  “I will,” Harvey said. “I’ll show all of you he’s just a man.”

  Harvey went out the door after Clint.

  * * *

  Clint was crossing the street when he heard Harvey yell behind him, “Adams!”

  He turned. The man was standing in the street, feet spread, arms hanging down.

  “I don’t care who you are. You’re leavin’ town.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Clint said. “You’re all alone.”

  “I been alone before.”

  “But you’ve never been dead before,” Clint said. “If you go for that gun, you’ll leave me no choice but to kill you.”

  “You can’t make a fool out of me and then just walk away,” Harvey said.

  “Better I make a fool of you than I make you dead, Harvey. Think about it.”

  He could see by the man’s eyes that he was thinking about it. He only hoped he made the right decision.

  “Hold it!”

  Both men turned and saw Sheriff Bodie walking toward them with long, purposeful strides.

  “Get back, Sheriff,” Harvey said. “This ain’t none of your affair.”

  “Harvey,” the big man said, “stand down before I slap you down.”

  “Listen to him, Harvey,” Clint said. “He’s saving your life.”