by J. Roberts
“You want it?”
“Sure.”
“Be my guest.”
He grabbed her bowl and dumped the remaining stew—easily half of it—into his own bowl. He covered it with onions (you can’t ruin onions) and polished it off.
They had pie to complete the bad meal, apple for Alice and peach for Clint. He finished his; she ate half of hers.
“There’s something else you’re going to have to learn,” he told her.
“What’s that?”
“When you get a chance to eat,” he said, “you’re going to have to do it. It doesn’t matter what the food tastes like. You don’t know the next time you’ll get a hot meal.”
“You call this a hot meal?”
“It’s what was available,” he said.
She stared down morosely at the remainder of her apple pie, then picked up her fork and finished it.
Tate had the woman’s hips in his hands, her big butt slapping him in the groin as he fucked her from behind. He was paying for the pleasure, but he found himself still thinking about that horse.
“Come on, mister!” the whore yelled. “Harder, damn it! You said you ain’t had a woman in months, and that’s as hard as you can do it?”
She jarred him out of his reverie and her words stung, so he slapped her on the ass a few times so that the skin became rosy. Let her sting a little!
“That’s it!” she said. “Hit me harder . . . fuck me harder . . . come on!”
He frowned, began to slam his dick into her as hard as he could. If he’d known she had such a big mouth, he’d have picked somebody else.
Then he stopped, thinking maybe he could put that big mouth to better use.
He slapped her ass again, then pulled out of her and said, “Turn around, you dirty bitch!”
Del had chosen a little blonde, very slender and young looking. He doubted she was sixteen, like the madam had told him, but she sure looked sixteen. When he had her naked, he saw that her little teats were firm, with big, hard, brown nipples, and the hair between her legs was as golden as the hair on her head.
He got her on her back right away and stuffed his dick into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he pounded away at her. She stayed with him, even drummed her heels on his butt, so she sure as hell wasn’t no sixteen years old—but she was good.
Del and Tate stood at the bar at the nearby saloon. The whorehouse didn’t have any whiskey for them, so they were sharing a bottle along with two beers, and comparing whores.
“Mine wouldn’t stop talkin’ until I stuffed it in her mouth,” Tate said.
“Mine was quiet,” Del said, “didn’t make a sound even when I pinched her nipples. The madam wanted me to believe she was sixteen, but she was too damn good to be that young.”
“I don’t know what you see in them young ones,” Tate said.
“I like ’em to look young,” Del said with a grin. “They don’t gotta be young.”
Tate didn’t believe Del. He’d seen the man beat up on too many thirteen- and fourteen-year-old whores to believe him.
“You still thinkin’ about that horse?” Del asked.
“Yup,” Tate said.
“Goddamnit,” Del said, “then let’s go and take another look at the animal. Maybe he’s worth stealin’, after all.”
Tate knew it was the whiskey talking now, but he was hearing the same words.
SIXTEEN
Clint led Marshal Eads over to the sheriff’s office, stopped just outside the door.
“Put your badge on,” he instructed.
“I can wear it?”
“Yes,” Clint said. “I want him to see it, but I’ll do the talking. Got it?”
She pinned her badge on proudly and then said, “I understand.”
“No matter what,” Clint said, “unless he asks you a direct question, just let me talk.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m not going to say anything stupid.”
“Don’t say anything,” Clint said.
“Right.”
He opened the door and they stepped in. The office was as run down as the town, dust everywhere. There even seemed to be a layer of dust on the man who was sitting behind the desk.
“Help ya, folks?” he asked.
“Sheriff,” Clint said, “we’d like to talk to you about Pearl Starr.”
The man sat back in his chair and regarded them. He was in his early fifties, built square and solid. He turned his head to the right, looked at his gun belt, which was hanging on a peg on the wall.
“You don’t have to worry about your gun,” Clint said. “This is Deputy Marshal Eads, from Judge Parker’s court. I’m Clint Adams.”
“Adams . . . the Gunsmith?” the man asked, surprised.
“That’s right.”
Alice turned so she was facing the man head on, and he could see her badge.
“Deputy,” he said with a nod. “My name’s O’Neal. What do you think I can tell you about Pearl Starr?”
“Whatever you know that we don’t,” Clint said. “When was the last time she was seen around here, who’s in her gang, do they ever come into town for supplies?”
“We have a small mercantile store here,” the sheriff said. “There’s a bigger one in Whitfield, across the river. That’s where they’d go to pick up supplies, not here.”
“Is there anything else that might attract them to your town?”
Sheriff O’Neal gave it some thought then said, “The whorehouse maybe.”
“No whores in Whitfield?”
“There are, but here, too. If Starr and her gang are camped on this side of the Canadian, this would be the closest place for whores.”
“What about Belle Starr?” Alice asked. “Has she been seen lately?”
“I haven’t seen Belle or Pearl in months, maybe more.”
“So you know them on sight?” Clint asked.
“Yes.”
“Why is that?” Alice asked.
“I used to be friends with Sam Starr.”
“Not with Belle?” Clint asked.
“No,” O’Neal said, “Sam.”
“I didn’t know Sam had any friends on the side of the law,” Clint said.
“You know Sam?”
Clint nodded. “I know Sam and Belle, but I haven’t seen Belle in years.”
“And Pearl?”
“I’ve never seen her.”
“What about Pearl’s men?” Clint asked.
“What about them?” O’Neal looked uncomfortable.
“Do you know any of them on sight?”
O’Neal fidgeted in his chair.
“Sheriff?”
“I might.”
“Like who?” Clint asked. “Know any names?”
“She rides with a man called Hunter Holcomb,” O’Neal said. “He’s her right hand.”
“I don’t know the name,” Clint said.
“He’s young, and very tough.”
“And the others?”
“They tend to change.”
“No idea who’s riding with her now?” Clint asked, pressing the man.
“Not for sure,” he said. “Might be a man named Randy Green.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s a rank-and-file type, follows orders. Hunter’s the only one you’d really have to worry about.”
“So you’d suggest we go to Whitfield?” Clint asked.
“That’s where they’d go for supplies.”
“There are two men in town, got here just before me today,” Clint said. He described them. “Know them?”
O’Neal hesitated just too long to suit Clint.
“No, can’t say I do.”
Clint nodded.
“Okay, Sheriff, thanks for your help.”
“You stayin’ in town?”
“Overnight at the hotel,” Clint said. “We’ll be leaving in the morning.”
O’Neal nodded.
“Sheriff, I don’t know you, so don’t
take offense at what I’m about to say.”
“Say your piece, Adams.”
“I’d take it personal if anyone sent word to Pearl Starr that we were looking for her.”
O’Neal looked at Alice.
“That somethin’ you’d take personal, too, Deputy?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “very personal.”
“I see,” O’Neal said. “So you think I’m lyin’ to you.”
“We didn’t say that,” Clint said.
“So what are you sayin’?”
“I think we were very clear in what we said,” Clint replied. “All I’m asking is that you keep it in mind, Sheriff.”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Adams,” O’Neal said. “I’ll do that.”
SEVENTEEN
Just outside the sheriff’s office they stopped.
“You think he was lying?” she asked.
“Part of the time.”
“Which part?”
“That’s the question,” Clint said.
They started walking.
“He told us about Hunter, and Randy Green. But he lied about the two men in town. He recognized my description of them.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re Pearl Starr’s men, does it?” she asked.
“Why would he lie otherwise?” Clint asked.
“So what do we do?”
“We find them,” Clint said.
“Where?”
“The whorehouse is as good a place to start as any,” he said.
“The whorehouse?”
“Sure,” he said, “haven’t you ever been in a whorehouse?”
She didn’t answer.
He hadn’t expected her to.
As Clint and Deputy Eads left his office, Sheriff O’Neal stood up, strapped on his gun, then sat back down again. He wasn’t sure what to do. He had a vague idea where Pearl Starr and her men might be camped, but not a good enough one to ride directly to them with the news. It could take him days to find them.
On the other hand, did he want to give the Gunsmith a reason to take personal affront with him? Give the man an ax to grind with him?
The two men Clint Adams had described sounded to him like Del and Tate, two of Pearl’s men. Maybe he should just find them, give them the word, and get them out of town. But he’d have to do that without Adams finding out—without him ever finding out.
He stood up, sat down, stood up, sat down again. He was undecided about what to do, but in the end it was self-preservation that took hold.
Adams probably knew he was lying about Del and Tate. That meant the gunman was looking for them right now.
Sheriff O’Neal decided to stay right where he was, in his office . . . where it was safe.
EIGHTEEN
As they approached the whorehouse, Clint could feel Alice Eads pulling back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I-It’s like you said,” she answered. “I’ve never been inside a whorehouse before.”
“They’re just women, like you,” he said. “You can’t catch anything from them.”
“I know I can’t catch anything,” she said peevishly, “but they’re not women like me. I’m nothing like they are!”
Clint wondered why she was protesting so vehemently. “Okay, Alice,” he said, “they’re nothing like you. Do you want to stay out here and wait?”
She considered it, but in the end she decided to go in with him.
“No, that’s okay,” she said. “I’ll come in. You might need me. There’s two of them.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I might need you. Thanks. Let’s go.” He decided to keep a close eye on her once they were inside.
Once Clint was able to convince the madam he was not there to sample her wares, she answered his questions.
“Yes, we did have two men who fit those descriptions,” she said.
“Had? They’re not here now?” he asked.
“No, they left a little while ago.”
“Did they say where they were going?”
“I heard them saying something about whiskey.”
“So to a saloon, then.”
“I guess so.” The madam looked at Alice, who glared back at the woman with obvious distaste. “Doesn’t the deputy talk?”
“When she has something to say,” Clint said. “Can we talk to the two girls they were with?”
“Is this official?” she asked.
“Yes,” Eads said, “it is.”
“Then we’ll cooperate. I’ll bring the girls here.”
They waited in the entry foyer while she went to fetch them.
“Are you okay to talk to one of the girls while I talk to the other?” he asked Alice. “It’ll save us time.”
“Yes.”
“Just find out what she knows about the man she was with,” Clint said. “Anything he might have said.”
“All right.”
The madam returned with two girls, a small, slender blonde and a taller, more full-bodied brunette. Clint let Alice take the blonde, as she would have had to look up at the brunette, and he didn’t want to give her any more reason to be uncomfortable.
Clint moved into an alcove with the big brunette, and Eads went into another room with the blonde.
“He didn’t talk much, mister,” the brunette said, “except to call me a dirty bitch—but that ain’t so unusual.”
“Because most men call you that?”
She grinned at him and said, “No, because I am a dirty bitch. That’s why men like me. Especially married men.
They don’t get from their wives what they can get from me.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You got a wife?”
“No.”
“You wanna play?” she asked.
“I don’t have time,” he said, “and besides, I don’t pay for sex.”
“That so?”
“It is.”
She looked him up and down and said, “Yeah, I bet you don’t. I can see giving you a free ride.”
“Thanks, but like I said,” he replied, “no time.”
“Too bad.”
“Did the man say anything else?” Clint asked, getting back to the subject. “Maybe you heard him talking to his friend?”
“Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact,” she said. “But if you don’t pay for sex, do you pay for information? I mean, my time’s worth money, you know?”
Clint took out some money, thought a moment, then passed her three dollars.
“Thanks.” She shoved it into her cleavage before the madam could see it. “I heard them talking about three things—whiskey, supplies, and a big horse.”
“A big horse?”
“Yeah, some great big horse that one of them liked,” she said.
“Did they say where they saw this big horse?”
“Nope.”
“Or where they were going to buy the supplies?”
“Nope. At least, not that I heard.”
Maybe the girl Alice was talking to had heard more.
“Okay, thank you.”
“Don’t you wanna know my name?” she asked. “I mean, in case you change your mind—”
“Like I said,” he repeated again, “no time. Sorry.”
“You should be,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re missin’.”
He tweaked her butt as she walked back into the entry foyer ahead of him. Alice Eads was already there, looking uncomfortable.
“You done?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
Outside he stopped and asked, “What did you find out from the blonde?”
“Her name’s Wendy,” Alice said, “she twenty-two, been working here for—”
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said. “What did she know about the two men?”
“Not much,” she said. “She heard them talking about a horse.”
“That was it?”
“A big horse,” Alice sai
d.
“How big?”
She shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said, “as big as mine?”
NINETEEN
Del and Tate walked into the livery, looked around. Several of the stalls were occupied by horses, but the liveryman was nowhere to be found.
“Check out back,” Tate told his partner.
“Right.”
Del ran to the back, looked out the door at an empty corral.
“Nothin’,” Del said. “He musta went to get somethin’ to eat.”
“Here’s the horse, over here,” Tate said, standing in front of a stall.
The big black was easily the largest horse in the barn. He was standing facing in, so he wasn’t paying the two men any attention.
“Whataya wanna do?” Del asked, keeping his voice low.
“We can saddle ours, then put a bridle on him and take him out,” Tate said. “Or I could just put my saddle on him and ride him out.”
“And what about your horse?”
“We could lead ’im—but maybe the first way’s better. We don’t know how this big fella will react to a strange rider.”
“Okay, so saddle up, and then put a bridle on him,” Del said. “What about the guy’s saddle?”
“No,” Tate said. “Why steal his saddle?”
“The horse is used to that saddle,” Del said. “Might make him easier to handle.”
Eclipse turned his head at that point to stare balefully at the two men as they continued to debate their best course of action.
“Okay, make up your mind, Tate,” Del said finally. “We gotta go.”
“Yeah, okay,” Tate said. This was why he wasn’t a leader of men. Same for Del. It was also why they had never accomplished anything together until they joined Pearl. They needed somebody to tell them what to do so they wouldn’t spend so much time discussing matters.
“Okay, let’s saddle our horses, and then we’ll take care of this big fella.”
“Finally!” Del said.
Clint and Eads got to the livery in time to see the two men go in.