The Town Council Meeting

by J. R. Roberts

  “I’m not saying anything . . . yet,” Clint said. He looked at the judge. “Can you arrange that for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Right away?”

  “How about after the sandwiches?” the judge asked. “And after we get some of our money back.”

  While they ate, the judge had Joby go out and fetch Sheriff Yatesman.

  “Judge wants to see you, Sheriff,” Joby said.

  Yatesman turned and was surprised to see the front doors of the saloon open.

  “Saloon open for business, Joby?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  One of the deputies looked at the sheriff.

  “Can we go in and get a drink, Sheriff?”

  “No,” Yatesman said. “Go in the back and change places with your brother.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sheriff?” Joby said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Yatesman said, “tell the judge I’ll be right in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Yatesman waited, seeing Arnie Coleman come walking over.

  “What’s goin’ on, Sheriff?” he demanded.

  “The saloon’s open again, Arnie,” the sheriff said. “I’m goin’ in to talk to the judge.”

  “What about?”

  “I don’t know,” Yatesman said. “Guess I’ll find out when I get inside.”

  “Well, tell the judge somethin’ for me.”

  “What?”

  “Tell ‘im I don’t know how long I can keep my men back,” Coleman said. “They’re gettin’ pretty liquored up.”

  “I’ll tell ‘im,” Yatesman said.

  Yatesman had noticed that since the temporary bar had gone up his men were drinking heavily. All but the kid on the roof with the rifle. Yatesman figured he was there to take a shot at Adams first chance he got. He decided not to do anything about it, though. Just let nature take its course.

  He turned and went inside.

  “What’s on your mind, Judge?” Yatesman asked.

  “Sandwich, Sheriff?”

  “No, thanks,” Yatesman said. “I had some outside.”

  “I want you to bring Arnie Coleman in here,” the judge said, “and sit him at that corner table.”

  “Am I supposed to ask ‘im, or tell ‘im?” Yatesman asked.

  “You’re supposed to bring him,” the judge said.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Sheriff,” Lawson said. “Somebody else is gonna do your job for you. All you’ve got to do is bring him in.

  “Now wait a minute—”

  “Come on, Sheriff,” the judge said. “Just do it.”

  Yatesman glared at Lawson, then looked over at Clint Adams.

  “What?” Clint asked.

  “Just surprised you’re still here,” the sheriff said. “That’s all.”

  “What’d you think I did, slipped out the back past your deputies?”

  “No chance.”

  Yatesman turned to go out, then stopped and looked at the judge.

  “One more thing, Judge. Coleman says his men are getting all liquored up. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold them back.”

  “Okay, Sheriff. Thanks.”

  Yatesman left. Moments later he came back in with Arnie Coleman, who didn’t seem to need to be forced. Coleman glared at Clint while Yatesman led him to the corner table.

  “What’s this about, Sheriff?” Coleman asked.

  “You got me, Arnie,” Yatesman said, “but you said you wanted in, so you’re in.”

  The sheriff turned and walked out.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Clint got up, walked over, and sat down opposite Arnie Coleman.

  “What do you want?” Coleman asked.

  “I’ve got some questions for you, Coleman.”

  “What makes you think I’ll answer any questions you have?”

  “Because you know I didn’t kill your boss.”

  “You’re crazy—”

  “No,” Clint said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you over here, where nobody else can hear us. We both know I didn’t kill Ed Kennedy.”

  Coleman thought a moment, then squinted.

  “So who are you sayin’ did it?”

  “I think his wife had something to do with it,” Clint said. “Barbara.”

  “What do you know about Barb—about Mrs. Kennedy?” Coleman demanded. He could see in the man’s eyes that he was right, at least partially.

  “I know she’s a woman with appetites,” Clint said. “Appetites her husband wasn’t satisfying . . . so who was, Coleman?”

  “What do you know—you don’t know her!”

  “Sure I do,” Clint said. “I met her yesterday. Last night.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “I got out of here while a deputy was looking down the front of a saloon girl’s dress.”

  “You got out? What’d you do? And why the hell did you come back?”

  “Yeah, you wish I’d kept going, right?” Clint said. “That would have proved I did it. But I didn’t and we know it. She did, and she had help.”

  “You’re crazy,” Coleman said.

  “You think so?” Clint asked. “Wait till I tell you where she went this morning.”

  “Where?”

  “Over to the Triple R,” Clint said.

  “What the hell was she doin’ there?” Coleman demanded.

  “She saw Andy Rivers,” Clint said. “Spent about forty minutes in the house with him.”

  “With the old man?” Coleman said. “Not Stark?”

  “Stark came later,” Clint said, “just after she left.”

  He’d watched Barbara ride away, had let her go. Then, as he was about to leave, Stark rode up.

  Now he got it, especially with the look on Coleman’s face.

  “She rode out, Stark rode in,” Clint said. “But they were both out there for a while. And look at you, worried that she was with Stark.”

  Coleman looked away.

  “I get it,” Clint said. “She can’t be satisfied by one man. She had you and Stark going. But which one of you killed Kennedy?”

  Coleman glared at Clint.

  “I’d never kill Big Ed. Never.”

  “But you’d sleep with his wife, right?”

  “If you met her,” Coleman said, “then you know.”

  “So who did it, Coleman?” Clint asked. “Stark? Or did the lady shoot her husband herself?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ anythin’ against her!”

  “Well, you’re not going to frame me for this murder, Coleman,” Clint said. “If it was you, I’ll get you. Same for Stark. And the same goes for her. Think about it.”

  Coleman gave Clint a hard look, then it softened. He turned his head, then got up and walked out.

  Clint went back to the game.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Clint sat down at the table again.

  “You find out what you wanted?” Lawson asked.

  “Would you believe me if I told you?” Clint asked.

  “I would,” the judge said.

  “Me, too,” the mayor said. He looked at Lawson. “After all, he did come back.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Lawson said. “Go ahead.”

  Clint looked at Chambers, who nodded.

  He told them what he had found out, what he thought, and what Coleman had told him. He didn’t tell them about the night he’d spent with Barbara Kennedy.

  “The young wife,” the judge said, shaking his head.

  “What a surprise.”

  “But who’d she get to do it?” the mayor asked. “Coleman or Stark?”

  “Stark’s the gunman,” Lawson said. “My money’s on him.”

  “Your money was on me, too,” Clint reminded him.

  “Good point,” the bookkeeper said.

  The judge looked at Clint.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think Coleman did it,” Clint said. “I think maybe
she wanted him to, but he wouldn’t.”

  “Then why didn’t he warn his boss?” the judge asked.

  “Because, in his way, he was being loyal to both of them.”

  “And that got Big Ed killed, right?” the mayor said.

  “Apparently.”

  “So it was Stark?” the judge asked.

  “Or her,” Clint said. “I wouldn’t put it past her to do it herself. The only thing I don’t understand is, why did she go to Andy Rivers’s ranch this morning?”

  He’d figured out that it had to be Stark who had pinned him down, probably to give her time to get to Rivers’s ranch. But what had she done once she got there?

  “Rivers wouldn’t have helped her,” the judge said.

  “Then her going to his ranch must have been just a ruse, to throw me off the trail.”

  Okay, now it made more sense. She’d gone out to meet Stark, and he knew Clint would be on her trail. So he sent her to Rivers, knowing Clint would follow. And he’d pinned Clint down long enough for her to get there. Only, why hadn’t he just killed him?

  Because Clint Adams was still the number one suspect.

  “What do you plan to do?” Lawson asked.

  “Well, that depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On Coleman, for one. He’s got to convince his men I didn’t do it.”

  “Why would he do that?” Lawson asked.

  “Because he knows I didn’t. They’re all acting on his word.”

  “Let’s say that happens? Then what?”

  “Then I’d have to confront Stark,” Clint said. “He either did it or knows she did it.”

  “And he’s gonna tell you?” the judge asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if he tries to kill you?” Lawson asked.

  “He had one chance, and he passed it up,” Clint said. “The only way he’d try again is if he was sure I was in the clear. Then there’d be no reason to keep me alive. And dead they might still be able to pin the murder on me.”

  “Okay,” the judge said, “then I’ll tell Yatesman to have Coleman tell his men that you’ve been cleared.”

  “Coleman’s gonna go along with that?” the mayor asked.

  “He might,” Clint said. “After I talked to him, he just might.

  Yatesman was getting tired of being called in and sent out of the saloon. He liked it better when it was closed.

  “Now what?” he asked the judge.

  “I want you to go out and tell Coleman that Adams has been cleared.”

  “What?”

  “That means he didn’t do it,” Lawson said.

  “How do you know?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’m the judge,” the judge said. “I know things like that. Now go out and tell Coleman that Clint Adams did not kill his boss. And tell him to convince his men of that fact.”

  “Judge, this ain’t right,” Yatesman said. “I’m the sheriff, and I ain’t cleared nobody.”

  “You haven’t done much of anything, Sheriff,” Lawson said. “Cleared or unclear.”

  “Fine,” the lawman said, “you want him cleared, he’s cleared. It ain’t no skin off of my nose.”

  Yatesman stormed out.

  “Now what?” the judge asked Clint.

  “Now we sit back, play a few more hands,” Clint said, “and wait.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  When the sheriff delivered the news to Arnie Coleman the Bar K foreman did not react the way the lawman had expected.

  “Well then,” Coleman said, “I guess we better break this up.”

  “Just like that?” Yatesman asked. “You were so convinced he did it.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Coleman said.

  “What did Adams say to you inside?”

  “Look, he got out of the saloon, and out of town, and he came back. If he did it, why didn’t he just keep goin’?” Coleman asked.

  “And that’s enough to convince you?”

  “Well, the judge has cleared him,” Coleman said. “He’s just about the smartest man in town. If he thinks Adams didn’t do it . . .” Coleman shrugged again.

  “Well, I gotta see if you can sell this to your men,” Yatesman said.

  “Oh, they’ll do what I tell them to do,” Coleman told him.

  The men gathered and listened to what Coleman had to tell them.

  “You’re kiddin’,” one of them said.

  “No, I ain’t.”

  “How could that be?” another man asked.

  “The judge cleared him,” Coleman said, “and I’m convinced he didn’t do it.”

  “But you were so convinced he did!” another man said.

  “We been out here for days!” still another man shouted.

  “We’re goin’ home, men,” Coleman said.

  “To do what?” someone asked.

  “To run the ranch,” the foreman said.

  “Is there gonna be a ranch?”

  “That’s what we’re gonna go back and find out,” Coleman said. “We’re done here.”

  Many of the men milled about, still unconvinced, while others went to get their horses from the livery.

  Coleman walked back to the sheriff.

  “Tell the judge we’re leavin’,” he said.

  “All your men agree?”

  “I told you,” Coleman said, “they’ll do what I tell them to do.”

  “I don’t get it, Arnie,” Yatesman said. “What really convinced you?”

  Coleman stared at the lawman. He couldn’t very well tell him that he knew from the beginning that Clint Adams had not killed Ed Kennedy.

  “Let’s just say the Gunsmith and the judge are real convincing.”

  “Did they threaten you?”

  “Nobody threatened me, Sheriff,” Coleman said. “It’s just over.”

  Coleman walked away from the sheriff toward the livery, with most of his men following him.

  Yatesman wasn’t convinced. He thought the Gunsmith and the judge must have come to some kind of arrangement. And he also thought his job was going to be in jeopardy, after this.

  He looked up on the roof and saw that Coleman’s kid was still up there with his rifle. Nobody had bothered to tell him it was over, and he was apparently too dumb to figure it out for himself. So Coleman would lead his men back to the Bar K, leaving that one up on the roof to take his first clear shot at Clint Adams.

  Yatesman shrugged.

  FORTY

  Yatesman came back into the saloon.

  “The Bar K boys are pullin’ out,” he said.

  “Joby!” the judge shouted.

  The boy came running.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Take a look outside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Joby ran to the door and peered outside.

  “Looks like their leavin’, Judge,” Joby said, “and they’re takin’ the bar down.”

  The judge looked at Clint.

  “Now what?”

  “Let’s wait and see what happens when the word gets around,” Clint said.

  “You think the real killer will come after you, now?” Lawson asked.

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “Maybe the real killer will just leave.”

  “That would be like a confession,” Lawson said. “Killin’ you would be better. Like you said, folks would never be sure if it was you or not.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “we’ll give it a few hours and then rest it out.”

  “How?” the judge asked.

  “I’ll just take a walk outside.”

  “You think that’s wise?” the judge asked.

  “Unless somebody’s got a better idea.”

  Three hours later Sammy was standing with his elbows on the bar and his head in his hands. Three hours and no customers had returned, yet.

  “Poor guy,” Chambers said, looking over at the bartender.

  “Don’t worry,” the judge said. “The customers will come back, if only to drink where
the Gunsmith spent so much time.”

  “I’m flattered,” Clint said. “Okay, gentlemen, last hand.”

  Sammy lifted his head and looked over at the table.

  “Finally?” he asked, hopefully.

  “Already?” Lawson asked.

  “Looks to me like everybody here,” Clint said, looking around the table, “could use a shave.”

  Parker Stark rode into town and immediately spotted the kid on the roof with the rifle. He’d been looking for an edge against Clint Adams and hadn’t been able to find one. In the end he’d decided to just come in and face the man. After all, he was just a man.

  But the rifle on the roof, maybe that would be the edge.

  He reined his horse in, dismounted, and tied his animal off. He knew why he and Barbara Kennedy wanted the Gunsmith dead. That was the only way to keep him a suspect—forever.

  But what was Andy Rivers’s reason for wanting the man dead? Why would he be willing to pay so much?

  He probably wouldn’t get an answer to that, unless he survived.

  He loosened his gun in his holster, took a deep breath, and started walking toward the center of town.

  Charlie Hicks stared down at the street. What was going on? Where was everybody? They wouldn’t have pulled out without telling him, so they must have all taken cover. That meant something was about to happen.

  He picked up his rifle, leaned on the edge of the roof, and sighted down the barrel.

  Then he saw Parker Stark walking down the street.

  “Judge?”

  “Yes, Joby?” the judge asked.

  “There’s a man walkin’ down the street.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “I think—wait . . .”

  Clint took the final hand, raked in his pot, then looked over at Joby, who was staring out the saloon window.

  “Yeah, Judge,” Joby said, “it’s that man who works for Mr. Rivers.”

  “Stark?”

  “Yeah, Stark.”

  Clint moved his eyes around the table, came to rest on the judge.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “Looks like it’s time for me to step outside.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Clint stood up and walked to the bar.