by J. Roberts
They were on the trail, having left Castle Rock under Dexter’s objections.
“Then why didn’t we leave word back in Castle Rock?” Dexter asked. “Tell him that’s where you’d be?”
“We did, Dexter,” Tarver said. “We did.”
When Clint rode into Castle Rock he was surprised to see they had a telegraph office. He decided to stop there and send a telegram to Jane. He reined in Eclipse in front of the office and dismounted.
“I gotta admit,” Bobby said. “Tarver’s good.”
“How good does he have to be?” Tom asked. “We stay ahead of Adams, stop in every town, wait to see if he’ll stop. If he doesn’t then we move on ahead of him again, and do the same thing.”
“That way we follow Adams, but not from behind,” Bobby said. “You didn’t think of it.”
They watched as Clint Adams went into the telegraph office.
“I wonder who he’s sending a telegram to?” Bobby said.
“Why does that even matter?” Tom asked. “We should just take him when he comes out.”
“When did you become the impatient one?” Bobby asked.
“When did you get to be so patient?” Tom complained.
The two men stood in the doorway, staring at the front of the telegraph office.
“Are you goin’?” Bobby asked. “I’d do it, but I can’t write so good.”
“I’m goin’,” Tom said.
Clint finished his short telegram to Jane. Since he didn’t know her address, he had to send it to the Wellington Hotel, which meant somebody else would probably read it. And that meant it had to be fairly innocent, but still get his point across. He hoped she’d be able to read between the lines.
When he got back to his horse he saw a piece of paper sticking out of his saddlebags. When he pulled it out he saw it was a note in a scrawling handwriting.
It read: TARVER IS WAITING FOR YOU IN TRINIDAD.
He knew he was being watched, so he crumpled the note into a ball, dropped it into the street, mounted up, and rode out. Whoever was watching, he didn’t want them to think the note had any affect on him.
“What the hell?” Bobby said. “That’s it? He just threw it away and rides out?”
“He knows he’s bein’ watched,” Tom said. “Come on, let’s get to our horses.”
“Where are we goin’?” Bobby asked.
“Colorado Springs,” Tom said. “We gotta get there before he does.”
“And then what?”
“And then we’ll see if he heads east to Limon, or keeps going south to Trinidad.”
“You don’t think he’s goin’ to Trinidad, do ya? Not after the way he crumpled that note.”
“I told you,” Tom said, “he knew he was bein’ watched. That’s the only reason he did it.”
“Yeah, well I hope you’re right,” Bobby said. “I hope we all end up in Trinidad. I want some of that money Tarver’s been savin’ for us.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Clint reined in just outside of town. Nobody had been following him, he’d been sure of that. At least, not from behind. That meant they had probably been leading him, and now—by use of the note—they were herding him to Trinidad, where Tarver would supposedly be.
He looked behind him, then ahead of him. He had left town first. If they were going to continue to “follow” him by leading, they’d have to ride hard. If he rode Eclipse hard they wouldn’t be able to get in front of him. And he might be able to get himself into position to see who they were.
“Okay, big boy,” he said to Eclipse, “Let’s ride hard for a while.”
Bobby and Tom rode fast for a few hours, then reined their horses in and looked behind them. They waited a good hour, but there was no sign of Clint Adams.
“Where the hell is he?” Bobby asked.
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “He couldn’t have gotten that far ahead of us . . . could he?”
“I don’t think so,” Bobby said. “ ’ course, that horse of his . . .”
“Yeah,” Tom said, “if he ran him—”
“—that’d mean he knew—”
“—all about you fellows,” Clint said from behind them.
Both men froze, then instinctively grabbed for their guns.
“That’d be a bad idea!” Clint yelled. “Mine’s already in my hand.”
The two men looked at each other.
“We can take ’im,” Bobby said.
Tom shook his head.
“Don’t try it,” Clint said. “I just want to talk.”
Tom could see on his friend’s face that the idiot was going to try something.
“Bobby—” he said, but it was too late.
Bobby grabbed his gun and started to turn. Clint had no choice but to kill him, and he did it with one shot.
Tom half turned, but kept his hands away from his gun. He looked down at his partner—or former partner.
“You want to try?” Clint asked.
“No, no,” Tom said. “Not me.”
“Take out your gun and toss it—use two fingers.”
Tom plucked his gun from his holster and tossed it away from him.
“Now talk,” Clint said. “You two have been on me for weeks, right?”
“Yessir.”
“For Tarver?”
“Yes.”
“And is he really in Trinidad?”
“H-he will be.”
“So you left me that note.”
“Yes.”
“What’s Tarver been doing while you two have been dogging me?”
“Pulling jobs, building up a stake,” Tom said. “He told us he wanted you to wait for it. Get nervous.”
“Well, that didn’t work very well, did it?” Clint asked.
“I guess not.”
“And which of you shot Black Jack Mulligan in the back?”
“Who?”
“The big man you shot just for walking with me.”
“Oh, uh, that was Bobby.” He pointed to his dead partner.
“Sure it was,” Clint said.
“No, I swear—”
“What am I going to do with you while I go to Trinidad?” Clint asked.
“You mean, you’re still gonna go even though you know Tarver is waitin’?”
“Well, if he’s waiting I’d hate to keep him waiting,” Clint said. “But I don’t want you sending him a telegram telling him I’m coming.”
“I won’t,” Tom said. “I swear.”
“What’s your name?”
“Tom. Tom Melvin.”
“Well, Tom,” Clint said, “I can’t trust you.”
“Sure you can,” Tom said. “I’ll just get on my horse and ride.”
“Ride where?”
“Anywhere,” Tom said, “but not Trinidad.”
“Of course,” Clint said, “I could leave you on foot. It will take me a few days to get to Trinidad.”
“Days?”
“Days.”
“I could die out here.”
“That would be helpful,” Clint said, “but I’m afraid you’d probably make it back to Castle Rock alive. And they have a telegraph office there. Of course, you could walk toward Colorado Springs. They have a telegraph office, too, but it’ll take you longer to get there.”
“Really,” Tom said, “with my horse I can go anywhere.”
“Just not Trinidad.”
“Right,” Tom said. “I mean, I don’t even wanna go to Trinidad. You’re gonna kill Tarver, right?”
“Right.”
“So, why would I wanna be there?” Tom asked. “You’d kill me, too.”
“I tell you what,” Clint said. “Get on your horse and I’ll take you to Colorado Springs. Along the way you can tell me everything you know about Tarver.”
“And what will you do with me in Colorado Springs?” Tom asked.
“Turn you over to the law,” Clint said.
“For what?”
“To hold,” Clint said, “for three days
.”
“And then what?”
“And then he’ll let you go.”
“And all I have to do is tell you about Tarver?”
“Everything.”
Tom thought about the alternatives and said, “Okay.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Tarver sat in the Cut Loose Saloon in Trinidad and nursed a beer. Gerald was standing at the bar with Stevens and McDermott. Dexter walked in at that moment and approached Tarver’s table.
“They got a bank here,” Dexter said.
“Yeah?”
Dexter sat.
“Got some money in it.”
“That’s what banks are for.”
Dexter sat, pulled his chair closer to the table.
“I thought you always said banks are for robbing?” he said.
“That, too,” Tarver said, “but not this one. At least, not until I’m done with Clint Adams.”
“Then we can rob this bank?” Dexter said.
“What about the law here?”
“We can find that out.”
“Then I suggest you do that,” Tarver said, “while we wait.”
“I’ll send Gerald.”
“Tell him not to talk to anyone,” Tarver said. “Just to look.”
“He’s a good kid, Tarver,” Dexter said. “He won’t screw up.”
“He better not.”
“You really think Adams is comin’ here?”
“Oh yeah,” Tarver said.
“I thought you were supposed to get another telegram from Bobby and Tom?”
“They’re probably dead by now.”
“You figured on that, didn’t you?”
“Sure,” Tarver said. “Adams would tip to them eventually.”
“And they’ll tell him you’re here.”
Tarver nodded.
“Well,” Dexter said, “five against one. We should be able to take ’im.”
“No,” Tarver said. “I’m gonna take him alone.”
“Why would you do that?”
“To prove I can,” Tarver said. “I coulda done it five years ago, and I can do it now.”
Dexter shook his head. He might not have to kill Tarver himself, after all. He could just let Adams do it, and then he, Gerald, and the other two could kill Adams.
THIRTY-NINE
Clint had been to Trinidad before, during a year when Bat Masterson was the law there. But that had been four or five years earlier. He didn’t know who the law was there now, or how the town had progressed—or regressed. But he did know several ways to get in and out of town without using the main street.
He sat outside of Trinidad, two days after leaving Tom Melvin with the sheriff in Colorado Springs. He had approached the town carefully, circling it twice before he was convinced there wasn’t anyone watching for him.
He felt fairly certain that Jed Tarver would want to face him alone. After all, back when he’d caught him, Tarver had wanted to settle it that way. It had hurt the man’s pride that Clint had chosen to send him to Yuma rather than face him. He’d probably been thinking about that all the years he was in prison. Now he had his chance for revenge.
But that didn’t mean he would be in Trinidad alone. If what Tom had said was true, that Tarver had been pulling bank jobs, he’d need a gang for that. And chances were good he’d have Bart Dexter with him, as well as a few more men. Maybe they’d stand by and let Tarver face him alone, but if he killed Tarver he doubted they’d let him walk away.
Clint wanted to sneak into Trinidad and scout the place. Find Tarver, see how many men he had with him, and maybe take care of them first.
So he waited outside town until dark, then walked Eclipse into town via some back alleys. At least those hadn’t changed.
Bat had been his only friend in Trinidad, so there was no one there he could count on, not even the local sheriff. Tarver may have had time to buy off the local law.
He knew of a small barn behind one of the hotels, which used it for its guests. If there was an empty stall he could hide Eclipse there. Back in the day it hadn’t been a particularly popular hotel, so if it was still in business he was hopeful that it was still unpopular.
He found the barn empty. Abandoned. That was even better.
“Got to leave you here for a while, big boy,” he said. “Just while I have a look around.”
Eclipse stood calmly, as if he understood. Clint was sure the horse wouldn’t wander away. Likewise, he wouldn’t let anyone take him away without kicking up a ruckus.
Clint left the barn and walked over to the back of the hotel. The windows were boarded up, and the back door was locked and boarded. So the hotel was abandoned, as well. That was good. It would give him a place to spend the night, if it came to that.
He walked along the back of the building until he came to an alley. He took that to the main street and stopped at the mouth of the alley. He could hear music from some saloons, and the sounds of men talking. If Tarver had nobody on watch, then he apparently didn’t care when Clint arrived—just as long as he did.
This time of night it was likely that Tarver and his men were in one of the saloons. All Clint had to do was find out which one, identify the men who were with him, and then isolate them and take care of them one by one.
Five years ago the posse had never found Bart Dexter. They had brought in three other men—two dead—but never Dexter. Clint had heard that Dexter was with Tarver, had been waiting for him outside Yuma prison. He wondered if Dexter knew that Tarver had never intended to share the money from the bank job. He’d been leaving with the forty thousand dollars when Clint caught up to him.
Clint decided to chance the street. After all, nobody was looking for him. In fact, it might have only been Tarver and Dexter who would recognize him. The others—whoever they were—might only have a description, and on a dark night that could fit a lot of people.
He walked down the street, passed some people along the way who nodded and smiled, others who looked at him funny, wondering who he was, but kept going.
He checked three saloons—peering in the windows or over the batwings—before he spotted Jed Tarver. Almost five years in Yuma had aged the man some. He looked thin.
Seated with him was Bart Dexter. So the two men were partners again. Interesting.
He had to watch for only a few moments before he spotted three other men who had to be with them. They were standing at the bar together, drinking beer together and talking, but there was something tangible between them and the two men at the table.
Clint settled in to watch. Once he confirmed his suspicions that the five were together, he’d start culling from the herd until there was only he and Jed Tarver left.
FORTY
It took a couple of hours but two of the men finally broke away from the bar and approached the batwing doors. Clint moved farther into the shadows and waited.
They came walking out of the Cut Loose Saloon and stepped into the street. As the men crossed, Clint heard one name—McDermott. He didn’t know who that was, but assumed it was one of the men,
They reached the other side of the street and walked together. Clint followed along from the opposite side. When they reached a hotel one of the men went inside, the other one kept walking. He thought the one who entered the hotel was McDermott. Since he was going into the hotel, Clint assumed he was staying there. Since he now knew where McDermott was, he decided to follow the other one.
He stayed on his side of the street until the man cut down a side street, then he crossed quickly, not wanting to lose the tail. The street was dark, so he decided not to wait. He closed the distance between himself and the man, and by the time the man heard him and turned it was too late for him.
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” the man said.
“What?”
“You live here, right?” In the dark he could see the whites of the man’s eyes and teeth. Apparently he took very good care of his teeth. “Somebody tol’ me the whorehouse was down this street.�
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“Oh, yeah,” Clint said, “yeah, that’s right. It’s right over here.”
He led the man along until they reached the mouth of a dark alley.
“It’s right down this alley.”
“Thanks, friend.”
“Any time,” Clint said.
As the man entered the alley Clint moved in behind him, drew his gun, and did something he hated to do with his pistol—he clubbed the man over the head with the butt end.
About twenty minutes later, Clint returned to the hotel he’d seen McDermott enter. He went inside and approached the front desk.
“Help you, sir?” the clerk asked.
“I was walking by a little while ago and I thought I saw a friend of mine come in,” Clint said. “I was walking with a lady and had to see her home. You understand. . . .”
“Of course, sir.”
“It was a tall, burly man, came in about twenty minutes ago.”
“Ah, that would be Mr. McDermott.”
“It was Mac!” Clint said. “That’s great. What room is he in? I want to surprise him.”
“Certainly sir,” the clerk said. “It’s room eleven, second floor.”
“Thank you,” Clint said. “Thanks very much.”
“Not at all, sir.”
Clint left the desk and went up the stairs. He crept down the hallway to room 11 and pressed his ear to the door. He thought he could hear the heavy breathing of a sleeping man. He tried the door and found it locked. He could have kicked it in, but if someone did that to him the first thing he’d do was grab for his gun. He might end up killing McDermott, which he didn’t really want to do.
He decided to knock. And knocked again.
“Wha—What the hell? Who is it?”
“It’s me! Open up!” Clint kept his voice hoarse.
“What the hell—you got your own room, ya know.”
He heard footsteps coming to the door, and then the door was open. He swung from the heels and crashed his fist into the man’s jaw. McDermott went windmilling back but even before he could fall Clint was in the room, slamming the door behind him.
McDermott fell back on the bed and Clint landed on him, his knee on the man’s chest, gun pressed against his nose. McDermott’s eyes got very wide.