“Nope, not me,” Clint said. “I’ll have a beer.”
“Comin’ up.”
He brought over a frothy beer and set it in front of Clint. He lifted it to his mouth and was about to drink when he saw, in the mirror, Loretta Burns enter the saloon. Actually, first she stuck her head in, and when she saw him, she came in the rest of the way.
“Aw no,” the bartender said. “Is she gonna be trouble again?”
“She wasn’t the trouble the last time,” Clint said. “That was Angel and Joey. Remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the bartender said, “but do me a favor and get her out of here.”
Clint picked up his beer, turned, and walked toward Loretta.
“Hey,” she said. “I was looking for—Hey!”
He grabbed her arm and took her through the batwing doors, outside with him. There he released her and sipped his beer.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I was trying to tell you, I was looking for you.”
“Don’t go walking into saloons alone, Loretta.”
“I wasn’t alone,” she said. “You were there.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to hire you.”
“We talked about this already.”
“No, no,” she said, “not to kill somebody. I want to hire you to find that chest for me. My black box.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I’m leaving town tomorrow,” he said. “In fact, I was going to leave tonight.”
“Which way are you going?” she asked.
In fact, he was going west, but he knew what would happen if he told her that.
“You’re going west, aren’t you?” she asked.
He hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
“So then you can look,” she said. “No harm done.”
“Loretta—”
“I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t want—”
“A thousand dollars.”
He hesitated, again. Took another swallow of beer.
“Can I have some of that?”
He looked at her, then shrugged and held the glass out to her. She took a sip and passed it back. Two old maids walked past and sniffed at the both of them.
“God, I hate women like that,” she said.
“What’s so important about this chest?”
“It’s mine,” she said. “It belongs to me. I’m lodging a complaint with the stage company. So in a way, you’d be taking their money.”
“Well,” he said, “that’s okay, then, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“If I was to find the chest, I would need a buckboard to bring it in, right?”
“Right. I would pay for that. First, though, you could ride out and find it. You have a horse, right?”
“I have a very good horse.”
“Then it probably wouldn’t take you long.”
“It depends on how far away from here you were when the chest fell off the stage. I’d have to go back to the first stage station and see if they saw the chest. If not, then I have to keep going.”
“At that point, I’ll add another thousand dollars,” she said.
He stared at her.
“That’s two thousand.”
“I can add.”
“I wasn’t inferring you couldn’t.”
She took his beer and sipped it again, then passed it back. At this point she almost seemed human.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, and stepped onto the boardwalk.
“What about your beer?”
“You finish it.”
He started to walk away.
“Hey.”
He turned.
“Does this mean you’re not leaving tonight?”
“That’s right,” he said. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
“Are you going back to the hotel?”
“Yes.”
She put the beer glass down on the walk and hurried after him. “Can I walk with you?”
“Come on.”
He started walking, and she had to run to catch up.
EIGHTEEN
In the morning Clint rose, sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head. He was going to do it. Not because she was beautiful, not because of the two thousand dollars. But because he was curious.
What the hell was in that box?
Before going to their respective rooms the night before, they had agreed to meet for breakfast in the morning. She was already sitting at a table in the hotel dining room when he got there. It was sufficiently far enough away from the door and windows that he did not have a complaint.
“Well?”
“Steak and eggs is good.”
“No, I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” He sat down, poured himself some coffee from the pot on the table. The waiter came over.
“Steak and eggs,” he said. “Two.”
“Comin’ up.”
As he walked away, Loretta leaned forward and asked, “So?”
“I’ll do it.”
She sat back, smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Sure.” He drank some coffee. “You should do that more often.”
“What’s that?”
“Smile.”
The smile dropped away.
“I haven’t had much to smile about in a long time.”
“That what you’re running away from?” he asked.
“What?”
He shrugged.
“Bad marriage?”
“The worst.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough for me to swear off men.”
“Ooh” he said, “that’s pretty bad.”
“Yes,” she said, “it is.”
They didn’t talk much over breakfast. Apparently, he’d gotten everything out of her that he was going to.
“Good?” he asked, trying at one point.
“Very good,” she said. “Thank you.”
After a few minutes she put her knife and fork down and stared at him.
“You want to ask me more questions, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“Fine,” she said. “If you ask me some, I get to ask you some.”
“Like what?”
“How many men have you killed?” she asked. “What does it feel like to kill a man? Do you like—”
He held up his hand to stop her.
“Point taken,” he said. “Let’s just eat in peace.”
She picked up her knife and fork. “Fine with me.”
They both shut their mouths and tucked in.
After he paid the bill, they walked out to the lobby.
“Will you be staying here?” he asked. “In the hotel?”
“Yes. You’ll find me here when you come back.”
“How long will you stay?”
“Until you get back.”
“And you’ll be okay?”
She smiled slightly. “I’ll stay away from the sheriff, and strange men,” she said.
“Do you have a gun?”
“I did,” she said.
He looked at her.
“It’s in my trunk.”
“One more reason to get it back, then,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Well . . . I have to check out, and pay my bill,” he said.
“I have some shopping to do,” she said. “Do you want some money now? For expenses?”
“No,” he said. “When I get back will be fine.”
“Be still my beating heart,” she said. “An honest man?”
“There are a few of us around.”
“If we’re not careful, Mr. Adams,” she said, “you may improve my opinion of men.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ll do my best, Miss Burns.”
She turned and walked out of the hotel. He walked over to the desk.
NINETEEN
Clint went to the livery and
had Harley saddle Eclipse. The liveryman walked the horse out of the stable.
“I’m gonna miss this big fella,” he said, handing the reins over to Clint. “He listens to me when I talk.”
“He does that to you, too?” Clint asked, mounting up.
“You take care of him, now.”
“We usually take care of each other,” Clint said.
“Well,” Harley said, “I get the feeling he takes better care of you than you do him.”
Clint stared at Harley for a moment, then said, “You’re probably right about that, Harley.”
“You ever get back this way, you stop in and see old Harley,” the man said.
“I will.”
Harley looked up at him and said, “I was talking to the horse.”
“Ah,” Clint said.
He rode out of Westbrook, wondering if he’d ever locate Loretta Burns’s black chest. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have any reason to return to town. He could simply send her a telegram. Then—if honesty was so important to her—she could wire him the money she promised to pay him.
If she didn’t, he wouldn’t have lost anything—except maybe respect for women like Loretta Burns.
Sheriff Lane watched as Clint Adams rode out of town. He’d seen Clint and the Burns woman having breakfast together, and the outcome wasn’t hard to figure. In fact, maybe she’d fucked him last night to get him to go along, but Lane was convinced that Clint Adams was going out to look for that chest.
As Clint disappeared from view down the street, Lane crossed the street and entered the telegraph office.
It wasn’t a difficult thing to backtrack the stage route. After all, they stuck to the main road. If the box had fallen off the back of the stage and landed in the roads, though, somebody would have found it by now. He kept his eyes peeled for any kind of rutted marks in the ground. If it was as big and heavy as she said, it would have had to be dragged off the road.
He rode for half a day, and his progress was slow. He’d stop from time to time to take a look off the road—in a dry wash or a gulley—to see if he’d find the box, or remnants of it. Anyone who had already found it might not have taken the entire box away with them. They could easily have broken it open and taken anything of value. That would mean they’d leave behind broken pieces. But by the time he reined Eclipse in for some water and beef jerky, he hadn’t found anything.
Eclipse was moving fine, showing signs of being his old self. This horse had more stamina than he any other he had ever rode, except maybe for the big black gelding Duke. The two horses were very close in size and condition, but Duke could go for days and never show sign of strain. The gelding was definitely the most remarkable animal Clint had ever ridden, but Eclipse was a close second.
He refilled his canteen, mounted up, and started off again.
He rode for the second half of the day, found nothing. It would probably take him most of the next day to get to the stage stop. He might have made it today if he’d simply ridden straight there, but he was studying the ground for signs. He wasn’t the best tracker in the world, and to look for signs he had to ride slowly. Of course, it might have been smarter to ride directly to the station. If the station manager told him the chest was not on the stage when they stopped, he’d know he’d wasted some time. Of course, if the man told him the chest was there, he’d have to backtrack again, figuring he’d missed it somewhere between the station and town.
He passed some side roads to other towns, but didn’t see the benefit of stopping. He continued to ride until it started to get dark, and then camped for the night.
He built a fire, put on a pot of coffee, and had a supper of beef jerky. He was traveling light so there’d be no need for a pack horse.
He was pouring himself another cup of trail coffee when he heard a sound. The snapping of a twig beneath somebody’s feet. And then a lot of snapping. It was probably the rider who had been following him all day. He figured maybe the sheriff had sent somebody after him, maybe to tail him until he found the box.
He stood up and drew his gun.
“You’re not being very quiet,” he called out. “Come into the light.”
There was some more snapping, some muttered curses, and then a person came lunging out of the brush, almost losing her balance and falling.
Loretta Burns, looking much the worse for wear.
TWENTY
She was wearing riding clothes, but the shirt looked torn and dirty, her hat was hanging down her back, and her hair was a mess, with leaves and branches in it.
“Goddamnit!” she said, then stood up straight and stared at him.
“You lost?” he asked.
“I thought I was.”
“Where’s your horse?”
“I left it . . . back there,” she said, waving. “Do you have any food? I haven’t eaten all day.”
“When I left you, you said you were going shopping,” he said.
“I did,” she said. “I bought some riding clothes, and a horse.”
“So it’s you who’s been following me all day?”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew,” he said. “I just didn’t know who it was.”
“Then why didn’t you just let me catch up with you? And eat with you?”
“I thought you might have been a man the sheriff sent after me.”
“Well, I’m not,” she said. “How about that food?”
“All I have is coffee and beef jerky.”
“Anything would be good right about now.”
“Fine,” he said, holstering his gun. “Have some and I’ll go and get your horse.”
“Thank you.”
As she hunkered down by the fire and poured herself some coffee, he started back through the brush. Eventually he found her horse, a mare tied loosely to a tree. A couple more pulls and the animal would have gotten away.
He walked it back to camp, where she was scarfing down a piece of beef jerky, chewing and washing it down with coffee.
“Take it easy,” he said. “That has to last us.”
“Why didn’t you bring something else?” she asked. “Don’t you cowboy types travel with things like beans and bacon?”
“I am not a cowboy,” he said, tying her horse off next to Eclipse, and removing the saddle. “You’ll have to brush her down.”
“Why?”
“If she’s going to be fresh in the morning, you’ll have to rub her down, brush her, and feed her.”
“I usually have someone who does that for me,” she said.
“Well,” Clint said, “that’s not what I’m here for.”
“I’m paying you.”
“To find your box,” he reminded her. “And by the way, while you stayed in town.”
“I never said that,” she said. “I never said I’d stay in town.”
“You said you’d stay at the hotel.”
“I said I’d be registered at the hotel.”
“Okay,” he said, “never mind.” He squatted by the fire and poured a fresh cup of coffee. She had taken his cup, so he took out the extra. “You better get to your horse.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he said. “You’ll want her to be fresh when you head back to town.”
She stood up, but protested, “I’m not going back to town.”
“Where are you going, then?”
“With you.”
She walked to the horse and started to run her down with her hands.
“No,” he said, “like this.”
He got up, started to show her how, and then simply did it for her.
It was just easier.
TWENTY-ONE
After the mare was rubbed down and fed, they sat around the fire and argued some more.
“I can’t go back to town,” she told him.
“Why not?”
“I’m frightened all the time,” she said. “It’s not a feeling I like.”
“Well, I don’t blame you,” he said.
“There’s a lot to be afraid of, if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Then you know why I can’t stay,” she said. “I would surely be robbed, and raped.”
Clint frowned. What she was saying was probably true. He probably should never have left her behind.
“You weren’t afraid to go after me.”
“Yes, I was,” she said, “but I had to do it, anyway. I’m not used to being a coward, Mr. Adams.”
“If we’re going to ride together,” he said, “you’re going to have to start calling me Clint.”
“Then we are going to ride together?” she asked. “You’ll let me come?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, you can come. But you have to do everything I tell you.”
“I will.”
“If you don’t,” he said, “I swear I’ll drop you at the next town—and it won’t be as civilized as Westbrook.”
She looked up from her coffee and said, “Westbrook was civilized?”
In the morning, she rolled out of the bedroll with a loud moan. “Oh my God,” she said. “My back.”
“Get up and stretch it out,” he said. “And then come have some coffee. We have to get moving.”
“What’s the rush?” she asked. “The chest isn’t going anywhere.”
“Unless someone else has found it already.”
She was stretching and stopped to stare at him. “What?”
“You didn’t think of that?”
She came to the fire and accepted a cup of coffee from him.
“Actually, no,” she said, “but I can see how foolish I was. Of course someone else could have found it. What will we do then?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said.
She nodded.
“Tell me, could falling off the back of the stage have caused it to fall apart?”
“No,” she said. “It’s too well constructed.”
“So it’ll just sit there until somebody finds it.”
“Until we find it,” she clarified.
“Depending on how fast the stage was going when it fell off,” Clint said, “it might or might not roll.”
“Roll?”
The Deadly Chest Page 5