Kentucky Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

  There could only be two reasons Butler was so sure his security couldn’t be breached. First, it was so good that Clint couldn’t figure it out, or second . . . like the sheriff, he was also in the pocket of Peter Fontaine.

  That had to be it. Fontaine had managed to buy both the local law and the heads of security at the track. The take of this robbery was probably so huge he could afford to buy everybody he needed. In the end, he probably didn’t intend to actually pay any of them, but they were too greedy to realize it.

  He was going to have to do this himself, with whatever assistance he could get from John Sun Horse.

  * * *

  Clint headed back to the saloon. When he walked in, he saw the bartender, John Sun Horse, and five more Indians. Other than that, the saloon was empty.

  Clint approached the bartender.

  “What’s going on?” Clint asked.

  “You tell me,” the bartender said. “Sun Horse walked in here with five of his friends, and the rest of my customers left.”

  “Oh, well, that might be my fault. I asked Sun Horse to meet me here with his friends.”

  “Well then, could you get them out of here?”

  “I could, yes I could,” Clint said, “but first I have to have a meeting with them. So could you please give each of them a drink? One drink.”

  “I ain’t servin’ no Indian any whiskey,” the man said.

  “Okay then, bring them each a beer, please, at that back table. And one for me. That’s seven beers.”

  “Well, only because I ain’t got anybody else in here buyin’ drinks.”

  “Fine,” Clint said, “whatever the reason is, bring them over to that table.”

  Clint left the bar and walked over to where Sun Horse was sitting with his friends.

  “Sun Horse,” Clint said.

  “Mr. Gunsmith.”

  “So . . . these are your men?”

  “These are the men you asked me to find,” Sun Horse said.

  Clint looked at the five Cherokee. Two of them were sixty if they were day, only it was hard to tell with Cherokee. They could have been eighty. The others were certainly over fifty.

  “Each of these men can handle a gun,” Sun Horse said.

  Clint looked at the men and said, “I don’t see any guns.”

  “Oh, I did not say they owned guns, I said they can handle one,” Sun Horse said. “You will have to buy them guns. And I mean rifles. They cannot handle revolvers.”

  “Well . . . all right,” Clint said as the bartender came over with the beers. The eyes of each Cherokee lit up and they made a grab for a mug each.

  “Hold on now,” Clint said, “before you drink any of that.”

  They all stopped, including Sun Horse.

  “I’ll buy a rifle for each of you,” Clint said, “and tell you what to do, but you have to agree that until you’re finished working for me, this will be the last drink you have.”

  They all looked at Sun Horse.

  “And after?” he asked Clint.

  “I’ll buy each man a bottle of whiskey.”

  “And the rifles?” Sun Horse asked.

  “You will be able to keep the rifles.”

  Sun Horse looked at the five Cherokee and spoke to them in their own language.

  “They don’t understand English?” he asked.

  “They do,” Sun Horse assured him. “They will understand your orders. I just wanted to make sure they understood everything before they all agreed.”

  “And?”

  Sun Horse raised his mug and said, “We will all be working for you, Mr. Gunsmith.”

  “Mr. Gunsmith,” his friends echoed.

  Clint picked up his beer and said, “All right, then. Drink your beer and I’ll tell you what you’re supposed to do.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “So what we have to do,” Sun Horse said later, “is keep the racetrack from being robbed tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “That does not seem to be so hard.”

  “Now,” Clint said, “I warn you, I don’t know how many men will be involved.”

  “White men?” Sun Horse asked.

  “Most likely.”

  “Then it does not matter,” the Indian said. “One Cherokee is worth any five white men.”

  “Sun Horse,” Clint said. He took the man’s arm and drew him away from the others, who were still working on their beers. “How old are these men?”

  “That does not matter,” Sun Horse said. “They can all shoot.”

  “That may be, but—”

  “Did I not do the job you asked me to do?” Sun Horse asked. “Find and track the man you were after. Ride with you, keep up with you?”

  “Well, yeah, you did.”

  “Do you know how old I am?”

  “Well . . .” Clint said. He studied Sun Horse for a few moments. The man’s face was weathered from constant exposure to the sun over the years. So he added ten years to his guess. “Sixty?”

  “I’m seventy-two,” Sun Horse said. “I’m older than all of these men. Do not worry. They will be able to do the job.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “all right.” He turned to the other men. “Finish up those beers. We’ve got to go and get you your rifles.”

  All five men nodded and upended their beer mugs.

  * * *

  When they came out of the gunsmith’s shop, all six Cherokee were carrying Winchesters.

  “Now what?” Sun Horse asked.

  “Now,” Clint said, “let’s find someplace for them to try out their rifles. Once they’re all comfortable, we’ll go over to the track.”

  “There’s an empty lot two blocks over,” Sun Horse said.

  “Lead the way, Sun Horse.”

  * * *

  In the empty lot, which was behind the feed and grain building, Clint watched while the Cherokee tried out their rifles. He was impressed by the ability of each man to hit what he shot at—especially Sun Horse.

  “Well?” Sun Horse asked.

  “I’m satisfied,” Clint said. “Line them up so I can talk to them.”

  Sun Horse got them in a straight line, holding their rifles.

  “We’re going over to the track to see how many entrances they have,” he said. “I’m going to post one man at each entrance—or as many entrances as we can cover.”

  “How will we know who to let in and who to stop?” Sun Horse asked.

  “I’ll want you to stop anyone from entering around the time of the race,” Clint said.

  “Will some of them not get in before that?” Sun Horse asked.

  “You and I will be inside, Sun Horse,” Clint said. “We’ll take care of any of them who get in.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Gunsmith,” Sun Horse said. “You are the boss.”

  “Come on, then,” Clint said. “Let’s find each man his post.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Clint found he was able to cover all of the public entrances with the Cherokee at his disposal. There were others that were available to owners, trainers, and jockeys, as well as employees of the track, but he felt the robbers would probably get in through the public entries.

  “All right,” he said, “now we know where to be tomorrow.”

  They all nodded.

  “Sun Horse,” he said, “I expect you to keep them sober ’til then.”

  “They do not drink when they are working,” Sun Horse said. “Just like me.”

  “Okay, then,” Clint said. “I’ll meet you all right out here. Let’s make it the beginning of the racing day.”

  “As you say,” Sun Horse said. “What will you be doing until then?”

  “There’s somebody I want to see,” Clint answered. “I’m thinking I might be able to cut this off at th
e source. If not, I’ll see you all here tomorrow.”

  Sun Horse nodded, and they went their separate ways. Clint hoped the others were as trustworthy as John Sun Horse.

  * * *

  Clint rode out to Fontaine’s place. If he could convince the man to call the robbery off, it might save a lot of trouble, and lives.

  He reined in Eclipse in front of the house and dismounted. No one was around as he mounted the steps to the door. He started to knock when he saw that the door was ajar. He pushed it open and entered.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Anyone here?”

  Still no answer.

  Was the house deserted?

  He went to Fontaine’s office, found it empty. Then he searched the second floor. And found nothing.

  Fontaine was gone.

  But the question was, had he gone willingly? Perhaps into hiding until the robbery was over? Or had he been taken? And if so, by whom? And for what purpose?

  Clint took another walk through the house. There was no signs of a struggle, no blood. Fontaine and Gage were both gone, but the closets in the bedrooms were still full of clothes.

  He turned and went out the front door.

  * * *

  Fontaine opened the door of the small house and went inside.

  “I haven’t been here in many years,” he said. “Smells musty.”

  “I’ll air it out,” Gage said. “How long will we have to stay here?”

  “Just a few days,” Fontaine said. “There are supplies in the root cellar.”

  “I’ll take a look, see how much there is,” Gage said.

  Fontaine nodded. This was where they would live until the job was done, and for some time after. Adams wouldn’t be able to find him here. Of course, that was if Adams managed to avoid being killed by Blacker—which he hoped would not be the case.

  Gage went around the small house, opening the windows and the shutters. The inside of the house immediately felt better, less stuffy.

  “How will we know for sure when it’s over?” Gage asked.

  “Blacker knows where we are,” Fontaine said. “He’ll tell us.”

  Gage turned and faced his boss. He’d been working for Fontaine for many years, since they were both younger men. He had an almost fatherly concern for the man, as well as a paternal pride.

  “What if he doesn’t?” Gage asked. “What if he has other ideas?”

  “You mean, what if Blacker double-crosses us?” Fontaine asked.

  “Yes.”

  The younger man seemed to give that some thought before answering.

  “Well,” Fontaine said, “I guess we’ll just have to trust him.”

  “Who are you kidding, Peter?” Gage asked with a snort of derision. “You don’t trust anybody.”

  “That’s not true, Gage,” Fontaine said. “I trust you.”

  The older man gave him a long look.

  “Well,” Fontaine said, “I trust you as much as I trust anyone.”

  FORTY

  Clint returned to Ben Canby’s place, walked Eclipse into the barn, where he found the groom, Frank Dunlap.

  “I’ll take him, Mr. Adams.”

  “How’s Whirlwind?”

  “I’m getting him ready to travel to the track,” Frank said.

  “What about Alicia?”

  “Ain’t seen her for a while.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, handing Eclipse’s reins to Frank. “Thanks.”

  He walked to the house, found Canby sitting in the living room, going over some papers. He looked up when Clint entered, removed the wire-framed glasses he was wearing. Clint could smell supper cooking.

  “What’s going on?” Canby asked.

  Clint sat down in a chair and described his day to his friend.

  “You’re takin’ it on yourself to stop this robbery?” Canby said. “Why not call in federal help?”

  “It would take them too long to get here,” Clint said.

  “So you’re gonna use six Cherokee Indians to prevent a robbery?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “What about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Should I take Whirlwind to the race?”

  “The race is going to happen,” Clint said. “If you want to win it, I suggest you be there.”

  “Well, okay, then,” Canby said.

  “Supper’s ready!” Elena called to them from the dining room.

  “Let’s eat,” Canby said, “and then I can check on Whirlwind.”

  “Frank said he’s getting him ready to travel,” Clint said as they walked to the table.

  “Is he? Then he’s more sure than I am that we’re gonna run.”

  Elena brought a platter of steaks out and said, “Everybody’s more sure about it than you are,” then went back to the kitchen.

  “Quiet, woman!” Canby called as she went back to the kitchen.

  Her laughter came back to them from behind the closed door.

  * * *

  After supper they both went out to the barn to watch Frank with Whirlwind.

  “Where’s Alicia?” Clint asked.

  “Haven’t seen her.”

  “Is she gone?”

  “I don’t think so. She still lives here, as far as I know.”

  Frank inspected the three-year-old’s legs.

  “What about Fontaine?” Canby asked. “Where do you think he is?”

  “I’ve decided he’s gone into hiding.”

  “From you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Until after the job?”

  “Probably,” Clint said. “Or until Blacker can kill me.”

  “You think he’s gonna try before tomorrow?” Canby said.

  “Before the race,” Clint said.

  “And who’s gonna watch your back?”

  “John Sun Horse.”

  “Sun Horse? Can you trust him?”

  “I have to,” Clint said. “I mean, I’d prefer somebody I know better, but from what I’ve seen, he’s competent.”

  “Listen,” Canby said, “I can use a gun. How about if I—”

  “You’ve got a job, Ben,” Clint said. “Get this horse to the starting line. Leave the rest to me, okay?”

  “Are you gonna have time to make a bet?”

  Clint slapped his friend on the back and said, “I’ll make time.”

  * * *

  Outside, as darkness fell, Blacker moved through it. He found a place to hide. From there he could see both the house and the barn. He knew Clint and Canby were inside the barn. All he needed was one clean shot at Adams to get him out of the way. He took his gun out, checked his loads, and then holstered it again.

  He was ready.

  All he needed now was for the Gunsmith to come out of the barn.

  FORTY-ONE

  “I’ll go back to the house,” Clint said, “let you work with your horse.”

  “I’ll be along soon,” Canby said.

  “If I don’t see you, I’ll be getting an early start tomor-row morning,” Clint told him. “I’ve got to get to that track early.”

  “So will we,” Canby said. “We’ll ride together.”

  “That suits me,” Clint said.

  He walked to the door of the barn, then stopped.

  “What is it?” Canby asked.

  “Listen.”

  Canby came up next to him, and they both stood there listening.

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I know,” Clint said. “No crickets, or birds. Nothing.”

  “Yeah,” Canby said. “That’s odd.”

  “Something’s out there,” Clint said.

  “Wolf?” Canby asked. “Big cat?”
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  “Something,” Clint said, “or somebody.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I’m going out the back,” Clint said. “You stay in here, keep an eye on your horse.”

  “You think somebody’s after Whirlwind?” Canby asked.

  “Him,” Clint said, “or me.”

  * * *

  Blacker kept his eyes glued to the front of the barn. They must have been in there getting the horse ready for travel. Adams had to come out sometime. He wasn’t doing anybody any good in there. Canby and his groom could handle the horse.

  Where was he?

  * * *

  Clint went out the back door of the barn, worked his way around to one side. There were some horses in the corral. If there was a wolf or a cat out there, they’d smell it. They were too calm. To him, that meant only one thing.

  There was a man out there, in the dark.

  Waiting.

  He looked around for a likely place for a man to hide. There were a few, but only hiding in the copse of trees beyond the corral would silence the insects.

  He moved back to the rear of the barn, then worked his way around the corral until he was behind those trees. Despite a bright moon, it was too dark to read sign in the ground, but if there was a man in those trees, he would leave his horse farther down the trail.

  Clint scouted a few hundred yards, almost quit when suddenly he heard something. Sounded like a horse nickering. He stood still, listened, heard it again, and followed it. He found a good-sized steeldust tied to a tree. He went through the saddlebags, found an extra shirt, a gun, bullets, and a letter sent care of General Delivery, Louisville. It was addressed to a man named Lucifer Blacker. No wonder he only went by his last name.

  Now Clint had two choices. Wait for Blacker to get tired and come back to his horse, or go into those trees after him.

  It all depended on the patience a man like Blacker had. Also, how determined he was to get rid of Clint before race day.

  Clint decided to go in after him, just in case Blacker got itchy and shot the wrong man—such as Canby.

  He headed back to the barn area.

  * * *

  “What do you think he’s doing?” the groom, Frank, asked Canby.