The South Fork Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

“Well, you know, Dash,” Lawrence said, “it doesn’t really matter, since you are not a member of the club.”

  “I had plans for Adams.”

  “Change them.”

  “Don’t know if I can.”

  “My plans for you involve the dam,” Lawrence said, “nothing more. You have the bank draft you need to purchase your supplies.”

  “I do,” Charles said, touching his pocket.

  “And to hire the men you need to do the job,” Lawrence went on.

  “Yes,” Charles said.

  “Then that’s the only thing you should be thinking about.”

  “You’re right,” Charles said, “it should be the only thing I’m thinking about—but it’s not.”

  “You’re going to have to come to terms with it,” Lawrence said. “I’m out on a limb for you with this dam.”

  “Don’t worry about the dam, Evan,” Charles said. “It’ll be taken care of.”

  “It better be,” Lawrence said. “Don’t let me down.”

  * * *

  Frick and Clint continued to walk. They got around to the back of the house, and Clint kept Frick away from the place where he’d found the chicken bones.

  “That’s our preserve back there,” Frick said with a wave of his arm. “Our members are always hunting.”

  “I haven’t heard any shooting since I’ve been here,” Clint commented.

  “That’s because no one’s been out while you’ve been here,” Frick said. “But I think they might like to take you out with them.”

  “I told you,” Clint said, “I don’t hunt and kill for sport.”

  “I understand that,” Frick said, “but now you are a member of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Whatever you shoot,” Frick said, “we can give to Pandora to cook, rather than mount it.”

  Clint nodded, still not sure he wanted to take part in such a hunt, but maybe he wouldn’t have to. He was now a member, and he’d found somebody on the inside who might talk to Jeremy Pike and tell him what he wanted to know. The only thing was, he didn’t know how to get a message to Pike from here.

  He just hoped that Pike got the message he’d sent over to Solomon’s from his hotel.

  * * *

  Henry Frick left Clint alone behind the house and went back inside. He was not happy at all with the way things had gone since bringing Clint Adams to the club. He found he liked the man much more than he ever thought he would.

  He went to the kitchen and told Pandora that that night’s dinner needed to be special.

  “It’s in honor of our new member, Clint Adams.”

  “I understand, sir,” Pandora said. “I’ll do my best.”

  Frick thought the cook looked different, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly.

  “Thank you,” he said, and left the kitchen.

  In the dining room he came up short when he saw Dash Charles standing there, apparently waiting for him.

  “Mr. Frick,” Charles said to him, “I think we should have a talk.”

  FORTY

  Pandora succeeded in outdoing herself with the dinner, which included both beef and poultry. The table was covered with food, and the members in attendance were Henry Frick and his inner circle, as well as the other poker players.

  But Clint was sensing something in the air that he hadn’t felt before. It might have been coming from Upton, who was still sore from having lost at the poker game. Or it might have been coming from some of the other members. Maybe they had been outvoted in that morning’s meeting.

  Clint was seated next to Frick, and across from Upton, who—as it turned out—was the one to extend the invitation to hunt.

  “That is what this club is all about,” he told Clint. “We are a hunting club.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Then we’d like you to come out with us tomorrow morning,” Upton said.

  Clint looked around the table, saw all the members looking at him expectantly.

  “I’d be honored to hunt with you,” he said.

  There was a “hear, hear” from the entire table, but Clint looked over at the kitchen door and saw Pandora watching him, looking very unhappy.

  * * *

  Later Clint was in one of the lounges with Frick, Upton, and Lawrence. They all had brandy and cigars, and Upton had told him they wanted to discuss the hunting.

  “Henry,” Upton said, though, before starting, “maybe you should leave this to Evan and me.”

  “But—”

  “After all,” Lawrence chimed in, “you don’t hunt. You won’t be there tomorrow.”

  Frick looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end, he turned to Clint and said, “I’ll say good night, then,” and left the room.

  “Was that necessary?” Clint asked.

  “Henry brought you in, Clint,” Upton said, “but in reality, he’s on the way out.” Clint looked at Lawrence.

  “It’s true,” the younger man said. “There is new thinking coming into play, and Henry is part of the old regime.”

  “But isn’t he friends with Carnegie?” Clint asked. “And isn’t Carnegie—”

  “Dale Carnegie is behind the new thinking,” Upton said, “and he’s made it clear that Henry Frick is not part of it.”

  “I see.”

  “Now why don’t we sit and go over what’s going to happen tomorrow?”

  Clint nodded, even though he had no desire to go hunting with these two, or anyone.

  * * *

  About an hour after he’d turned in, he heard a light knock on his door. He got up, grabbed his gun, and padded barefoot to the door, wearing only his skivvies. He half expected to see Pandora there, so he was totally surprised to see Jeremy Pike in the hall.

  “Let me in, quick,” Pike said, “before somebody sees me.”

  Clint backed away, allowing Pike to enter, then closed the door and turned to face his friend.

  “What are you doing here?” Clint asked.

  “I got your message,” Pike said. “Thought this was the only way we could talk.”

  Pike walked to the bed and sat down. He was wearing a dark shirt and trousers, a jacket with a gun in a shoulder rig.

  “What’s happened so far?”

  “I’ve been approved as a member,” Clint said, “and they want me to go on a hunt with them tomorrow.”

  “That’s good!”

  “Look,” Clint said, “I think your concern should be the dam, after all.” He sat down on the other side of the bed. “I talked with Charles, the engineer. I think he’s going to suggest a cheap way to fix it.”

  “There’s nothing else?” Pike asked. “You haven’t heard anything else that the government might be interested in?”

  “You’re talking about political things?” Clint asked. “Or something financial? I might have somebody you could talk to who’s heard more than I have.”

  “Who?”

  He told him about Pandora, the cook. Not that they’d slept together, just that she was on the inside, cooked, and served all the meals. And could have heard a lot of things said at the table.

  “She’d be great,” Pike said. “What does she want?”

  “I think,” Clint said, “you could get what you want just by setting her up in her own restaurant.”

  “I’d have to sell that idea to my bosses,” Pike said.

  “Then sell it,” Clint said.

  “Okay, look,” Pike said, “I’ll find out if I can do that and get back to you. Meanwhile, you better just do what you have to do to stay here.”

  “You mean hunt?”

  “Yeah,” Pike said, “I mean hunt. Look, if I get this okayed for the girl, this’ll be the last thing I ask of you.”

 
Clint frowned, looked down at the gun in his hand.

  “Will you do it?”

  “I’ll do it,” Clint said. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  “Thanks, Clint.”

  Pike got up and went to the door.

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Pike said, “and take good care of that girl.”

  “I will,” Clint promised.

  Pike slipped from the room into the hall, and was gone. Clint went to the front window, but didn’t see any sign of the Secret Service man leaving. He might have gone out the back way.

  He slid his gun back into the hanging holster and sat on the bed. If Pike could get through to his boss in one day, this could all be over by tomorrow. He was anxious to be gone from Pittsburgh—and South Fork—heading back to the West, but he wasn’t sure he could leave without making sure that the dam was going to receive the proper treatment.

  He still thought it was about the dam.

  FORTY-ONE

  In the morning he rose early and went down to the dining room for breakfast. The men were all there, dressed for hunting. Only Henry Frick was missing.

  “Where’s Henry?” he asked.

  “He had to go back to Pittsburgh,” Upton said.

  “Jason drive him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will he be back?”

  “Yes, tonight,” Lawrence said.

  “After the hunt,” Upton said.

  “What are we hunting for exactly?” Clint asked.

  “We have a wild boar out there,” Upton said. “We brought some over from Africa. This is the last one—and the biggest. We’ve been meaning to have a try at him.”

  “He’d make good eating if you could bag him,” Lawrence said to Clint.

  “Especially with Pandy doing the cooking,” Old Man Foster said.

  Clint was surprised that the older man was also dressed for hunting.

  “So we’re all going?” Clint asked.

  “Yes,” Upton said, “all of us.”

  Upton saw Clint looking at Foster.

  “Foster’s the most accomplished hunter among us,” he told Clint.

  “Even if he is a little past it,” Lawrence said, keeping his voice low.

  Since Clint had been the last one down to breakfast, he was the last one to finish eating.

  “When you’re done,” Upton told him, “grab your rifle and meet us out back.”

  “Will I need my horse?”

  “No,” Upton said, “we hunt on foot.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “I’ll meet you there.”

  While he finished eating, Upton and Lawrence loitered at the entryway to the dining room. Pandora came out, leaned over Clint so she could pour him some more coffee. She looked over her shoulder, saw that Upton and Lawrence were still there.

  “You gotta be careful out there,” she whispered to Clint.

  Clint didn’t flinch. She was keeping her voice down for a reason.

  “Careful of what?”

  “Not what,” she said. “Who. Them.”

  “Come on, Adams,” Upton shouted. “Finish that coffee and let’s get going!”

  Pandora straightened up abruptly and hurried back to the kitchen.

  What was that warning about? he wondered.

  * * *

  He went to his room to retrieve his rifle and pistol, then hurried around to the back of the house. The hunters were gathered there, holding their rifles and shotguns. Upton, Lawrence, Bledsoe, Foster, and the two poker players, Green and Chelton, were all present.

  “Are we going in a group?” Clint asked.

  “Well, we are,” Upton said. “We usually hunt in groups of threes.”

  “That leaves me the odd man out,” Clint said.

  “In more ways than one,” Upton said, turning his rifle toward Clint.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just stand fast,” Upton said. “All the guns are pointed at you.”

  Clint looked around. Sure enough, the barrels of six weapons were all pointing at him.

  “Them,” Pandora had said.

  And she had meant . . . all of them.

  FORTY-TWO

  “Put your hands up,” Upton said.

  Clint obeyed. Upton lowered his own rifle, stepped forward, and took Clint’s rifle and pistol from him.

  “Is this what it’s been about all along?” Clint asked. “Getting me out here to hunt me?”

  “We’ve hunted everything else,” Upton said. “We’ve never hunted a legend.”

  “And the meeting today?” Clint asked. “It wasn’t about making me a member.”

  “It was about making you our quarry,” Upton said. “And we voted yes—although the vote was not unanimous.”

  “Frick.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he all right?” Clint asked. “Have you killed him?”

  “Of course not,” Lawrence said. “He’s a member of our club.”

  “He really did go to Pittsburgh,” Upton said. “He’ll stay there until this is over.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Clint said. “There’re people who know I’m here.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Upton said. “We’ll just tell people it was a hunting accident.”

  “They won’t believe it,” Clint said. “Not the people I’m working with.”

  “What people?” Foster asked.

  “The government,” Clint said to the older man. “They’re very interested in what goes on at this club. They sent me in to find out.”

  Foster looked at Upton. The other men looked around at each other.

  “He’s lying,” Upton said. “He’s trying to save his hide.”

  “Not my hide,” Clint said. “Yours.”

  “What are you talking about?” Upton asked.

  “If you send me out there and then come hunting me,” Clint said, “I’ll have to kill you.” He looked at the others. “All of you.”

  Upton laughed.

  “How do you figure that?” Upton asked. “We know the terrain, you don’t. We’re armed, you aren’t.”

  “I’ve killed men before,” Clint said, “you haven’t. That’s the difference.”

  The other men looked to Upton for guidance.

  “No,” he said. “We have the advantage.” He looked at his friends. “We’re not changing our plans. Even if he is working for the government, what do they know? He’s here, and he’s not going anywhere but out there. Besides that, what does he know? Nothing.”

  Upton looked at Clint.

  “We’ll give you a ten-minute start. That’s a hundred acres out there. If you make it to the other end, then maybe you’ll go free.”

  “I’ll come after you,” Clint said.

  Upton laughed.

  “You won’t make it. If we don’t get you, there’s game out there that will.”

  “Upton,” Clint said, “you can stop this right now.”

  “See, fellas?” Upton said. “He’s scared. The Gunsmith is scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” Clint said. “I feel sorry for you. You don’t know what you’re doing. And you’re getting them into something they can’t handle.”

  “I can handle anything,” Old Man Foster said, “with this.” He was holding a new side-by-side double-barreled hunting rifle. “Maybe these men don’t know what they’re doing, but I’ve hunted all over the world, all kinds of big game. I’m looking forward to this.” He jerked the barrels of his rifle. “Get moving, Gunsmith.”

  Clint looked at the rest of the men.

  “You heard the man, Adams,” Upton said. “It’s time. Your ten minutes start . . . now!”

  FORTY-THREE

&nb
sp; Clint moved.

  He trotted down a path into the preserve, came across what was left of the chicken bones he figured Dash Charles had given to his friends. He moved about twenty yards past that point, farther into the trees, when he heard it.

  “Adams.”

  He turned at the sound of his name. He saw Dash Charles standing there.

  “Are you in on this?” Clint asked. The man’s gun was in his holster.

  “Not me,” Charles said. “I do my killing face-to-face, on equal terms.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I told Frick what they were planning,” Charles said, “only he already knew. He didn’t know how to help you, though. I told him I did.” He took his gun out of his holster. “He told me where they always start their hunts from. I figured I’d wait for you here.”

  “Where are your friends?” Clint asked. “The ones who ate the chicken you stole?”

  “I’ve got them doing something else, down by the dam.”

  He reversed the gun in his hand and tossed it to Clint, who caught it deftly. He spun the cylinder to make sure it was loaded. It was the same caliber as his own, so he had plenty of extra shells on his gun belt, which they’d left him with.

  “Thanks. And here I thought you were going to give me a try.”

  “I thought about it,” Charles said. “I’d stay and help ya, but I just ain’t that helpful.”

  “This’ll do fine,” Clint told him.

  Charles tossed him a salute and ran off into the brush.

  * * *

  Upton looked at his watch and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

  “It’s only been eight minutes,” Bledsoe said.

  “So what?” Upton asked. “Foster and Green, you’re with me. We’ll circle to the east. The rest of you circle around to the west.”

  “He’s mine,” Foster said. “I’ll get him.”

  “We’ll see, old man,” Upton said. “We’ll see.”

  They split up, two groups of three.

  * * *

  Clint moved a little farther into the preserve before he decided his best move was to stop and wait. He found a likely spot, where he could sit in some brush out of sight, and hunkered down. Then he heard something farther in the brush behind him, something snorting and rutting. He realized it must be the boar they were talking about.