“Well,” Clint said, “everyone but us is asleep. Wait until they wake up and hit the streets.”
“The trouble will most likely come from Miller, Hardin, or Allison,” Bat said.
“That’s what I figure,” Clint said, “or from some local who’s feeling brave and stupid.”
“Who else is there to arrive but Wyatt, Virgil . . .”
“What about James?”
“My brother won’t be here.”
“Then there’s Siringo, and Tom Horn . . . I ran across them both sometime back. Working together.”
“That must have been an experience.”
“Speaking of lawmen,” Clint said, “we forgot Baca. He still wears a badge.”
“Then the sheriff should have all the help he needs, and not expect any from us.”
“Agreed.”
“I think I’m gonna to see if the general store is open yet,” Bat said. “I need some good cigars.”
“I think,” Clint said, “I’m going to pull up one of these chairs and just sit awhile. I’ll be here in case you run into any trouble.”
“If I do,” Bat said, “you’ll be the first to know.”
Bat stepped into the street and crossed while Clint sat in a wooden chair and leaned it back against the wall.
While Clint was sitting in front of the hotel and relaxing, more and more people appeared on the streets. Some of them nodded to him when they passed; some women even graced him with smiles. More and more buckboards rolled by as businesses got rolling. And then a man on a black horse rode down the center of the street. Clint recognized him immediately, and knew that trouble had definitely come to town.
* * *
Dutch Craddock was a bounty hunter, and whether his prey was worth money alive or dead, he brought them back dead.
Every time.
Craddock spotted Clint Adams as soon as he came within sight of the hotel. He directed his horse that way, stopped right in front of the seated Gunsmith.
“Adams.”
“Dutch,” Clint said. “Here for the wake?”
“What wake?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“I’m not here for any wake, Adams,” Craddock said, “unless the man I’m lookin’ for makes me kill ’im.”
“Don’t they all make you kill them, Dutch?”
“Hey,” Dutch said, “the paper says dead or alive. I leave the choice up to them.”
“Seems to me they always make the wrong choice.”
“So you’re here for some wake?” Craddock asked.
“I’m here for the wake. It’s—”
“I don’t even want to know,” Craddock said. “It doesn’t matter to me. You stayin’ in this hotel?”
“I am.”
“Any good?”
“The best one in town.”
“They still got rooms?”
“There are a lot of people in town for the wake, but I think they do.”
“Good,” Craddock said. “I’ll see to my horse first.”
Craddock started to wheel his horse around when Clint called out, “You didn’t say who you were here looking for.”
“No,” Craddock said, “I didn’t.”
He rode away.
* * *
Bat returned smoking a big cigar but looking a bit sleepy.
“You still sittin’ here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.” He pulled a chair over and sat next to Clint. “What’s been goin’ on?”
“Another gun came to town.”
“Oh? Who was it this time?”
“Dutch Craddock.”
“Craddock?” Bat asked, pausing with the cigar almost to his mouth. “What’s he here for?”
“Not what,” Clint said. “Who? He doesn’t know anything about the wake. Didn’t even want to know who the wake was for. Just if this was a good hotel.”
“Well, if he’s not here for the wake, who’s he here for?” Bat asked.
“He didn’t say.”
Bat put the cigar in his mouth and twirled it while he thought.
“It’s got to be somebody with a price on his head,” he said. “That leaves out you, me, Luke, Heck, Bass, and Elfego Baca.”
“Right,” Clint said, “but that leaves in Hardin, Allison, and Jim Miller.”
“Unless it’s somebody else,” Bat said, “and Craddock got here first.”
“The question is,” Clint said, “will he be tempted to go against one of them while he’s waiting?”
“I haven’t heard that Craddock ever had anything to prove,” Bat said. “He’s fast, I know that . . .”
“But he doesn’t need to prove it,” Clint said.
“Then why does he bring in all his bounties dead?”
“I guess it’s just easier for him that way,” Clint said.
“I wonder what the local sheriff will think about Craddock being in town.”
“If I remember correctly,” Clint said, “Craddock usually checks in with the locals, so I guess we’ll find out.”
“You know what?” Bat asked.
“What?”
Bat looked at the tip of his cigar and said, “I’m gonna finish this cigar and then get some sleep.”
“I think,” Clint said, letting the front legs of his chair come down, “I’ll have a talk with the sheriff.”
“Gonna check him out for real this time?” Bat asked. “See what he’s made of?”
“Might as well find out if he’s going to do his job or not,” Clint said.
“Well,” Bat said, “let me know what you decide—when I wake up.”
“I’ll do that,” Clint said. “Sleep well.”
SIXTEEN
Sheriff Jim Burle looked up from his desk as Clint entered his office.
“Back again?” Burle asked. “The wake over?”
“Hasn’t even started yet,” Clint said.
“Really?”
“According to Mr. Conlon, the body wasn’t ready yesterday,” Clint explained.
“Will it be ready today?”
“He says so.”
“People must be gettin’ impatient.”
“If they do, and tempers get short, there could be trouble,” Clint said. “Are you ready for that?”
Burle sat back and regarded Clint for a moment.
“Who are you askin’ for?” he asked then.
“Just for my own benefit,” Clint said.
“Tell me,” Burle said, “who else is in town for this wake?”
“You don’t know?”
“I know John Wesley Hardin is here. I saw Bat Masterson around town, and Luke Short. Some others. I’m just wonderin’ who I missed.”
Clint reeled off the names of everybody who had been in the saloon the night before. “And today, Dutch Craddock rode into town.”
“Craddock?” Burle asked. “The bounty hunter?”
“That’s right.”
“Is he here for the wake?”
“He says no,” Clint said, “so that means he’s here to collect on somebody.”
“If that’s the case,” Burle said, “he’ll be comin’ in to see me eventually.”
“I suppose so,” Clint said. “If that’s the way he does business.”
“It’s the way he’s supposed to do business,” Burle said.
“Well,” Clint said, “with all the short tempers and quick trigger fingers in town, I was just wondering if you were prepared. You know, if you had deputies?”
“Why? Do you want to volunteer?”
“Not at all,” Clint said. “Like I said, I was just wondering.”
“Well, Mr. Adams,” Burle said, “let me assure you that I know how to do my job.”
“I hope so,” Clin
t said. “Are you the only law in town? Is there a marshal? A police department?”
“Nope,” Burle said. “Just me.”
“And . . .”
“If I need deputies,” Burle said, “I have them.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“What if I did want to volunteer?”
Burle smiled.
“I would say thanks but no thanks, I don’t need you,” he answered.
“Okay,” Clint said, “then I guess you’re prepared.”
“I am.”
“For anything?”
“That’s right,” Burle said. “For anything.”
“If you say so.”
Clint started for the door. When he got there, the sheriff said, “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the concern. I appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
“Now you can tell your friends that you think I know my job.”
Clint grinned, opened the door, and said, “I’ll tell them.”
SEVENTEEN
Clint left the sheriff’s office and crossed the street. At that moment he saw Dutch Craddock walk to the door of the sheriff’s office and enter. So checking in with the local law was the way he did business.
Clint decided to wait. He found an alley, leaned against the wall, and watched. Ten minutes later Craddock came out. Clint waited until he walked away and was out of sight, then crossed the street and went back in.
“Now what?” the sheriff asked, looking up from his desk.
“I saw Craddock coming in,” Clint said. “I waited.”
“For what?”
“I’d like to know who he’s after.”
“Why?” Burle asked. “You want to warn him?”
“Well . . . no, but—” Clint said.
“Okay, look,” Burle said, “I’m gonna show this to you, but I don’t want to hear it got around town. If it does, I’ll know it was you.”
“Okay.”
“Here.” Burle handed Clint a wanted poster.
Clint took it and read it.
“Have you heard of him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he here in town?”
Clint handed the poster back.
“There’s no way to know for sure.”
“Well,” Burle said, “if you see him, I’d liked to know about it.”
“Of course,” Clint said. “If I see him, you’ll be the first to know.”
Clint turned and headed for the door, but stopped short and turned back.
“Sheriff, that poster. Did you have it among yours, or did Craddock give it to you?”
“He had it on him,” Burle said, “and he has many more copies.”
“I see,” Clint said. “Do you think he’ll be showing it around town?”
“I asked him not to,” Burle said, “but who knows?”
“Yes,” Clint agreed, “who knows?”
* * *
Clint decided to stay off the street and get some sleep for a few hours. Once the others—other than he and Bat—were on the streets, anything could happen. And if Burle was sure he had the deputies he needed, there was no need for him to be concerned.
He slept for only two hours, but awoke fairly well refreshed.
And hungry.
He went down to the hotel dining room, and was not surprised to find some of his friends there.
“Gents,” he said, “mind if I join you?”
Bat Masterson, Luke Short, and Heck Thomas all welcomed him expansively.
“Get some sleep?” Bat asked as Clint sat.
“Two hours,” Clint said, “but it seems to be enough.”
The waiter came over and Clint ordered steak and eggs for the second time that day. His companions all seemed to be lunching on beef stew.
“Bat tells us you saw Dutch Craddock ride into town,” Heck Thomas said. “Who’s he after?”
“I went to the sheriff and found out,” Clint said. “Craddock is carrying a sheaf of posters on Tom Horn.”
“Horn?” Bat repeated.
“What’s Tom done?” Heck asked.
“It has something to do with the Tonto Basin thing in Arizona.”
“I thought that was being called the Pleasant Valley War?” Heck said.
“Either way,” Luke said, “it had to do with sheep.” He made a face.
“Well,” Clint said, “somebody’s put a price on Tom’s head, and Craddock seems to think that Tom is coming here.”
“If he does,” Heck said, “we can warn him.”
“Craddock won’t take that well,” Clint said. “While we’re trying to avoid trouble with the likes of Hardin, Miller, and Allison, we’d be looking for it with Craddock.”
“He won’t stand against us,” Heck said. “Not against all of us.”
“Probably not,” Clint said. “But Dutch Craddock doesn’t want for courage.”
“It wouldn’t take courage to face us all,” Luke Short commented.
“It would be folly,” Bat said, “pure folly.”
Clint’s food came and they all fell to eating in silence for a time.
EIGHTEEN
“Where’s Craddock stayin’?” Luke Short asked over coffee.
“Here,” Clint said.
“Maybe we should go and talk to him,” the gambler said.
“About what?” Clint asked. “You think you’re going to talk Craddock out of doing his job?”
“Not a chance,” Bat Masterson said.
“Besides,” Heck said, “if there’s a bounty on Horn, Craddock won’t be the only man after it.”
“What did it say Horn was wanted for, Clint?” Masterson asked.
“The poster said murder.”
“Oh,” Masterson said.
“Only I know Horn’s not a killer.”
“He’s not?” Heck Thomas asked.
“Okay,” Clint said, “let’s put it this way. He’s not a murderer.”
Nobody offered an argument.
“So what do we do?” Bat asked. “Just let him ride in and face Craddock?”
“Isn’t that what Tom Horn would choose to do?” Clint asked.
“It’s exactly what he’d do,” Heck said.
“He wouldn’t appreciate us horning in,” Short said. “No joke intended.”
“In any case,” Clint said, “I’ll just keep an eye out for his arrival.”
“Maybe he won’t even come,” Bat said.
“With all the gunhands who have already arrived?” Luke Short said. “I would bet that he does come.”
“No bet,” Bat said.
“Me neither,” Clint said.
“Well,” Short said, pushing his empty coffee cup away, “I’ve got to buy a new suit for the wake.”
“I’ll come with you,” Heck said.
“You?” Short asked.
They’d make an odd couple, indeed, since Luke Short was always impeccably dressed in dark three-piece suits, often accompanied by a silk top hat, while Heck Thomas favored more common trail clothes.
“I could use a new hat,” Heck said.
“At least,” Short said.
“With all the itchy trigger fingers in town,” Clint said, “we’re probably wise to travel in twos.”
“Good point,” Short said. “I’ll be glad of your company, Heck.”
Heck was looking down at his clothes, no doubt wondering what Short meant by his “at least” comment. The two men rose and left the dining room and the hotel.
Clint poured himself another cup of coffee, and Bat nudged his cup over for the rest.
“They left us with the check,” he observed.
“What else is new?” Clint asked.
“More coffee, sir?” the waiter asked Clint.
“No,” Clint replied, “just the check.”
“For the others, too?” the waiter asked.
“Yes,” Clint said, “I’ll pay for everyone.”
“With my thanks,” Bat said, toasting Clint with his coffee cup.
Clint ignored the toast and took out his money.
* * *
Outside the hotel, Clint and Bat studied the crowded streets. It was now midday, and all of the men who had come to town for the wake were probably up and about.
But where?
As if in answer to the question, shots suddenly rang out. Several of them.
“Where?” Bat asked.
“There!” Clint pointed.
They ran in that direction. After two blocks they saw a crowd, and went to join them. In the center was Jim Miller, standing over two dead men with his gun still in his hand.
Clint stepped into the circle made by the crowd, to join Miller.
“Jim?” he said.
Miller turned his head to look at him.
“What happened?” Clint asked.
“These two were lookin’ to make a name for themselves at my expense,” Miller said. “It was a bad idea.”
“Obviously,” Clint said. “I think you can holster your gun now.”
Miller gave the suggestion some thought, then holstered his weapon. Suddenly, the sheriff appeared from the crowd.
“What happened here?” he demanded. “Who killed these men?”
“I did,” Miller said.
“Why?”
“They asked for it.”
“And you are?”
“Jim Miller.”
Somebody in the crowd shouted, “Killin’ Jim Miller!”
Miller ignored the name.
Sheriff Burle leaned over to inspect the two men, then straightened.
“Both dead, shot once.”
“It usually takes only one,” Miller offered.
“These were not gunmen,” Burle said. “They work around here.”
“That one’s gun is on the ground next to him,” Clint pointed out.
“So it is,” Burle said. He looked around. “All right, that’s enough. Go back to what you were doing. Not you, Benson. Get a few men and take these bodies over to the undertaker.”
“Sure, Sheriff,” Benson said.
“Mr. Miller,” Burle said, “I’ll need you to come to my office.” He put his hand out. “And I’ll need your gun.”
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