Hunt for the White Wolf

by J. R. Roberts

  Clint had to convince Evangeline to go home, and promised that they wouldn’t leave in the morning without talking to her first.

  “You swear?” she asked.

  “I won’t let ’im leave,” Jesse said. “I swear.”

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said. “We’ll meet you at the café down the street at eight.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said. “You won’t be sorry.”

  She turned and walked off, a happy spring in her step.

  “How old you think she is?” Jesse asked.

  “Hard to tell,” Clint said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s the skins,” Clint said, “and the dirt.” He looked closely at Jesse. “Works the same way on you. Nobody knows how old you are.”

  “And nobody’s gonna know,” Jesse said. “Ain’t nobody’s business. Come on, let’s eat.”

  Cole went out once his men were in their rooms. He wanted to know where Jesse Trapp and his friend were staying. He was on the street when he saw Trapp and the other man walking down the street. He stayed across from them, moving along slowly until they went into a café.

  He crossed the street, thought about it, then decided to go on in and have something to eat, too. He doubted Trapp would recognize him from the saloon in Little Town. He was pretty certain the older man had never looked at him.

  He went inside.

  Clint saw the man enter. He and Jesse had just ordered bowls of stew.

  “Don’t be obvious about it,” he said, “but take a look at the man who just came in.”

  Jesse barely moved his head and took a look as the man was seated at a table. There were several other tables also occupied.

  “Know him?” Clint asked.

  “Never seen him.”

  “He could have been in the saloon in Little Town when you were telling your stories.”

  “I was drinkin’ and tellin’ tales,” Jesse said. “He coulda been standin’ next to me. I still don’t know ’im.”

  Clint didn’t look at the man, anymore.

  “Ya wanna go and talk to ’im?” Jesse asked. “See if he’s followin’ us?”

  “No,” Clint said, “he’ll just say no. Forget it. If he’s following us we’ll catch him in the act sooner or later.”

  The stew came and they dug in, soaking up the gravy with chunks of crusty bread.

  Cole West ordered a steak, rare with everything. When it came he tucked in to his dinner, ignoring Trapp and the other man. He’d find out who that was later, after he finished eating.

  He’d left his men in their rooms. They were hungry, but he told them to stay put and he’d bring them something. He’d talk to the waiter about it when he paid his check.

  He knew Trapp and his friend were in the same hotel he was in, which meant they probably also had rooms in the same hotel as Shoemaker and Truett. He’d have to go and check the register and finally find out who the other man was.

  He ate slowly to make sure that Trapp and his partner finished and left before he did.

  Clint and Jesse didn’t look at the man as they left. Outside, though, they stopped.

  “Let’s check the hotel registers,” Clint said, “find out who’s checked in tonight.”

  “You think you’re gonna recognize the name when you see it?”

  “Maybe not,” Clint said, “but we can find out how many people checked in.”

  “And figure they’re all here for us?”

  “It would be safer to assume that, yes,” Clint said. “It’s a little too coincidental to have strangers come into town the same time as us.”

  “We’re strangers,” Jesse said.

  “I know. Come on.”

  “Why don’t we split up?”

  “Whether we’re dealing with two-legged vermin, or four-, we better start watching each other’s back.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Also,” Clint said, “you can’t read.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jesse Trapp said with a laugh. “I forgot about that.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Cole watched the two men from the window. He saw them go into one of the hotels, the one he wasn’t staying in. Apparently they had the same idea: They were all going to identify each other by name. It would be interesting to see what happened after that.

  He went back to his meal.

  Evangeline went back to her room, which was behind the livery stable. All she had was a small room with a pallet and a straw-filled mattress. The owner of the livery let her stay there rent-free as long as she did some work for him. There was also a small potbellied stove that kept her warm.

  She sat on her bed and cleaned her weapons, made sure they were in proper working order. After all, she was going to be riding with the Gunsmith. That was something she never anticipated. The wolfer Jesse Trapp, yes. But not Clint Adams.

  This was going to be an experience she’d remember for a long time.

  Clint and Jesse collected the names of the strangers who had checked into the hotels that day. They found out from each clerk that the men named Shoemaker and Truett checked in together, and the men named West and Willis had also checked in together.

  They then went back to their hotel after Jesse bought a bottle of whiskey from the saloon. They settled down in Jesse’s room. Clint didn’t want to do it in his room, because he was afraid the smell of Jesse’s skins would keep him awake.

  “You know any of these four names?” he asked Jesse.

  Jesse rubbed his jaw, took a swig of whiskey from the bottle. He offered it to Clint, who declined.

  “Shoemaker?” Clint asked.

  “No. Never met anybody named Shoemaker.”

  “Truett?”

  “That name, either.”

  “Willis?”

  “I knew a Willis once, but he’s dead.”

  “How’d he die?”

  “Old age.”

  “Think this could be a son? A grandson?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why would he be after you?”

  “Don’t know,” Jesse said. “I never did nothin’ bad to Eddie Willis.”

  “Okay, how about West?”

  “I knowed a few people named West,” Jesse said.

  “So have I,” Clint said. “You cross any of them?”

  “Not that I know,” Jesse said.

  “Okay,” Clint said. “So, Willis and West. Maybe we ought to get a look at those two.”

  “How do we do that?” Jesse asked. “Knock on their door?”

  “Maybe we can just catch a look at them tomorrow in the daylight, before we leave.”

  “Clint, I came here to hunt for a wolf,” Jesse said. “If these men are after me, they should just come ahead and get it over with. I’ll get rid of them, and then I’ll get rid of the wolf.”

  “Okay, Jesse,” Clint said. “I’m going to go and turn in.”

  “I’ll knock on your door in the mornin’. We’ll go eat with that girl.”

  “Are you really going to want her along with us?” Clint asked.

  “I like her skins,” Jesse said, “but it ain’t gonna matter if she can’t shoot or hunt.”

  “So we’ll talk to her and find out,” Clint said. “You might want to take it easy on that bottle, Jesse.”

  “This bottle’s gonna keep me warm, Clint,” Jesse said. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be okay come mornin’.”

  “Okay, Jesse. Goodnight.”

  Clint left Jesse’s room and appreciated the fresh stale air in his own room.

  Cole West looked at the name on the register: Clint Adams. Damn, he thought, Jesse Trapp’s got the Gunsmith helping him.

  He wondered how he was going to share this piece of news to his three partners. They had come here to help him kill Jesse Trapp, and now they were going to find themselves facing the Gunsmith. That might end up being a little more than they bargained for.

  Four to two; that was still pretty good odds, wasn’t it?

  TWENTY-TWO

  Cole went
down to the lobby to talk to the desk clerk.

  “You need somethin’?” the clerk asked.

  “Yeah, I do,” Cole said, “a woman. Is there a whorehouse around here?”

  “There’s whores,” the man said. “There ain’t no whorehouse.”

  “So can you get me a whore to come to my room?” Cole asked.

  “Yeah, I can get you a whore.”

  Something occurred to him at that moment.

  “Can you get me four whores?”

  “Four?”

  “That’s right. Two to this hotel, two to the hotel down the street.”

  “Um, I’d have to arrange it with the desk clerk at the other hotel.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “We’d, uh, both have to get paid.”

  “I’ll pay the girls.”

  “Well, yeah, you pay the girls,” the clerk said, “but we get paid, too.”

  “Is that right?”

  Cole stared at the man.

  “I mean, uh, we don’t have to be paid much,” the man said uncomfortably.

  “Are these decent girls?”

  “Decent?” The man grinned. “If they was decent they wouldn’t be whores.”

  “I mean are they good-lookin’,” Cole said. “Clean.”

  “They ain’t got no diseases, if that’s what you mean,” the clerk said. “And they look good enough. I mean . . . what age are you interested in?”

  “Do you have that much of a choice?”

  “Well . . . no. We actually do have . . . well, four in town.”

  “All right,” Cole said. “Get them all here, and then I’ll tell them where to go.”

  “And payment?”

  “We’ll talk about payment after I see the women.”

  “Okay.”

  “How long will it take to get them here?”

  “About twenty minutes, I guess. One of them lives . . . just outside of town.”

  “All right,” Cole said. “Have them come to my room when they get here.”

  “Okay, Mr. Cole.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Chester.”

  “Chester,” Cole said, “don’t tell them anything. I’ll talk to them.”

  “Yessir. Okay.”

  Clint looked out the window of his room at the darkened, snow-covered streets. He suspected it was not always as dark at that time of the day. It was the storm clouds that were dropping the snow on the town.

  Oddly, he saw four figures moving down the street. By craning his neck, he was able to see that they were going to the other hotel.

  He also saw that they were all women.

  Cole answered the knock on his door, saw the four women in the hall.

  “Chester sent us up,” one said. She seemed to be the oldest, probably over forty.

  “Come in,” Cole said.

  They entered. All were bundled up with coats or blankets. They looked surprised when they saw he was the only man in the room.

  “Four girls all for you?” one of the others asked. She seemed to be the youngest, about twenty-two or twenty-three.

  “Oh, there are four men,” he said, “but we’re in different rooms, and different hotels.”

  “Well then,” the older one said, “who goes where?”

  “Well, first I have to see you without your coats.”

  “Coats, girls,” the older one said.

  “What’s your name?” Cole asked her.

  “Diane.”

  The girls began to remove their layers. Two of them were wearing simple cotton dresses; two had on cotton shirts and denim pants.

  Diane was wearing pants, which hugged her curves. She was a solidly built, dark-haired woman. He would send her to Shoemaker.

  The young one was blonde, and slender. Her dress showed that she had hardly any breasts or hips. Her name was Mary. He was going to send her to Truett.

  The third one had red hair, was in her early thirties. She was tall and gracefully built, with freckles across her nose. He wanted to see if she had freckles elsewhere, so he decided to keep her for himself. She was called Kelsey.

  That left the fourth girl for Willis. She was in her late twenties, plain looking, slender but with enormous breasts that strained the seams of her dress. Willis would like that. Her name was Helen. He saw the imprint of a wedding ring on her hand. She was probably married and making some extra money for her family. He wondered how many of the others were also married.

  “Okay,” he said, pointing to Kelsey, “you’ll stay here with me.”

  “Okay,” she said with a shrug.

  “Helen, come with me.”

  “All right.”

  He went out into the hall, pulling her by the hand. He knocked when they reached Willis’s door.

  Willis answered the door and said, “What?”

  “This one’s yours,” Cole said, pushing Helen toward him. She bumped into him and bounced off.

  “Jesus,” Willis said, “look at the teats on her!”

  “Treat her right.”

  “She ain’t that pretty, though.”

  “Send her away, then.”

  “Hell no,” Willis said, pulling Helen into the room. “I wanna see what’s under that dress.”

  Cole walked to his own room. Willis stuck his head into the hall.

  “Am I payin’ her?”

  “I’m takin’ care of it!” Cole yelled back.

  Back in his room, he said to Diane and Mary, “You’ll go over to the other hotel, room five. There’s two fellas there named Shoemaker and Truett. Diane, tell Shoemaker you’re his.”

  “And I guess that makes Mary Truett’s,” Diane said. “See how smart I am?”

  “You better put your coats back on.”

  As they did Diane asked, “What about our money?”

  “Chester said I had to pay him.”

  “He ain’t our pimp,” she said. “You pay me and I pay the girls. If you wanna pay Chester somethin’, that’s between you and him.”

  “Okay.”

  “You wanna know our price?”

  He took a bunch of money from his pocket and pushed it into her hands.

  “That enough?”

  Diane looked at the money and said, “For a week.”

  “Just one night, darlin’,” he told her. “Just one night.”

  “Come on, Mary.”

  Diane and Mary walked out, leaving Kelsey with Cole.

  “Okay,” he said. “show me all your freckles.”

  “All of ’em?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “That’s gonna take a while.”

  “We got all night.”

  She started to undress.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Clint watched two of the women come out of the other hotel and walk across the street to his. Apparently one of the strangers was buying women for the other three. Or for all four of them. He wondered how many whores were plying their trade in Wolf Creek? Maybe Jesse would want one to go with his bottle of whiskey.

  He walked to his bed, sat down, and pulled off his boots. His gun was hanging on the bedpost. He took it from its holster and set about to cleaning it, then did the same with his rifle.

  He heard the women walk past his door and move on down the hall. He listened, heard a door open and close.

  When he was done with his guns he sat on the bed and opened a book: Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. He’d been meaning to start it for a long time. Now was as good a time as any.

  He read two chapters, then doused the light and got underneath the blanket.

  A knock at Clint’s door woke him a short time later. He grabbed his gun and took it with him. Opened the door and saw Jesse standing there. Actually, he was weaving. He peered owlishly at Clint, looking unhappy.

  “What’s wrong?” Clint asked.

  “Tried to get me a whore for the night,” Jesse said. “You know what the desk clerk tol’ me? Ain’t no whorehouse, and they’re only four whores in t
he whole town, and they’s busy tonight.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said. “I saw them while I was looking out the window. Two of them are in the hotel across the street, and two are over here.”

  “Here?” Jesse looked up and down the hall. “Where?”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “In one of the rooms, with the other strangers.”

  “Well, gawdamn . . .”

  Clint wondered if Jesse had finished that entire bottle of whiskey.

  “Jesse . . . why don’t you go back to your room and go to sleep?”

  “Ain’t sleepy.”

  “You finish that bottle of whiskey?”

  “Sure did.”

  Now Clint was amazed that the man was even walking, let alone looking for a woman.

  “Come on,” Clint said. “I’ll take you back to your room.”

  As they walked, Jesse asked, “You think them fellers is gonna keep them whores all night?”

  “It’s kind of cold tonight,” Clint said. “I’d guess they are.”

  “Well, gawdamn.”

  Clint found Jesse’s door open, pushed his friend into the room, and closed the door behind them. He walked him to the bed and deposited the man on it.

  “Don’t like these hotel rooms,” Jesse muttered. “Rather be sleepin’ outside.”

  For someone who’d rather be sleeping outside, he fell right to sleep and started snoring.

  Clint almost pulled Jesse’s boots off, but considering the smell of the skins he didn’t want to deal with the smell of his socks. Instead he just tossed a blanket over him and left the room.

  He went back to his room, passing another from where he thought he heard familiar sounds—bedsprings, and women. He made a mental note of the room number.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Dave Willis rolled over in bed the next morning and saw the woman lying next to him. She was on her back, which made her big breasts flatten out and lean to either side of her rib cage. Asleep, her face was as plain as could be, with thin lips and sunken cheeks. Her body was slender, her legs long and skinny, but those breasts . . . For a man who liked women with big chests, he could forgive her anything. He leaned over, grabbed one breast in his hand and hefted it, then brought it to his mouth so he could bite her nipple.