Forty Mile River

by J. R. Roberts

  Ike gulped down his beer and set the glass down.

  “See ya later.”

  When he left, Clint still had half his beer. He sipped at it, looking around the mostly empty saloon tent. There were a couple of gamblers sitting at tables, waiting for some suckers. One of them was shuffling and reshuffling his cards; the other one was playing solitaire. They would sit and wait for miners to come in with some dust, or a few gold nuggets, and then relieve them of it. He had met them both. Jerry Masters was forty, had been gambling for a living for ten years. He was the shuffler. The other man, ten years older and gambling all his life, was Wes Handler. Clint had heard of Handler before, and was surprised to find the man in a mining camp in Alaska. He had not played poker with either one.

  So, too, did the whores wait in their tents, hoping to get their hands on some of that gold before the gamblers got it.

  There were a couple of saloon girls standing in a corner talking, waiting for customers to come in. Later, when the miners quit work and came to town, the girls would be busy delivering drinks and avoiding the grasping hands.

  Clint waved to Zeke and said, “Two beers.”

  Zeke delivered them.

  “You gonna drink with both hands?”

  “One’s for Handler,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

  Clint picked up both beers and carried them to Wes Handler’s table.

  “Beer?” he asked.

  Handler looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks. Wanna go head-to-head?”

  “Not today,” Clint said, setting the beer at Handler’s elbow, “but I’ll sit awhile and talk.”

  “By all means,” Handler said.

  Clint pulled out a chair and sat.

  “What’s on your mind?” Handler asked.

  “I was just wondering,” Clint said. “What brings a man like you all the way up here?”

  “I heard the pickings would be easy,” Handler said. “Not many gamblers would make this trip. In fact, there’s only me and Jerry over there.”

  “I realize that, but are the pickings really that good?”

  “To tell you the truth, no,” Handler said. “It seems like the whores are getting to a lot of these men before I can.”

  “That’s what I was figuring,” Clint said.

  “What about your partner? Does he play?”

  “Ike? No, he’s not a gambler. He holds on tight to every nugget he gets out of the ground.”

  “Too bad,” Handler said. “Are you sure you don’t want a game?”

  “I’m sure,” Clint said. “I didn’t come up here to gamble…with cards anyway.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be here,” Handler said. “Just don’t give the kid over there first shot at you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And thanks for the beer.”

  “Sure.”

  Clint picked up his beer, stood up, and walked back to the bar.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  As Clint and Ike Daly walked into the saloon, Bent Miller and Hector Tailor were down the street, watching the Gunsmith and his partner from a distance.

  Bent said to Hector, “I’m gonna kill him.”

  “Not today,” Hector warned.

  “No,” Bent said, “not today, and not tomorrow. But I’m gonna be the one who does it.”

  “Well, make sure you wait for the word from me or Mr. Parker. That way you can kill the Gunsmith and get paid for it.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bent said. “I’m a patient man.”

  “Good,” Hector said. “We’ll need some buckboards to get this equipment to our site. I want you to take two of the men and go and get there.”

  “You want me to get the buckboards?”

  “I can’t let these men go off unsupervised,” Hector told him. “They might never come back.”

  “Then I’ll just take my two guys and we’ll bring the buckboards back.”

  “Okay,” Hector said. “However you want to do it, but we need them as soon as possible. Here.” He handed Bent some money. “Rent them, don’t buy them.”

  “Yessir, boss.”

  Bent went to get his two men, who weren’t exactly happy about the idea.

  “I was gonna go to the saloon,” Billy Rohm said.

  “I was headin’ for the whorehouse,” Ed Stash said.

  “All that’s gonna have to wait,” Bent said. “You and me are gonna fetch some buckboards from town.”

  Rohm scratched his head, then said to Stash, “Well, we can locate the saloon and the whorehouse while we’re gettin’ the buckboards.”

  “We can hit them later, right?” Stash asked Bent.

  “Once we get all the supplies to the camp, you guys can do whatever you want.”

  “Well, okay,” Stash said. “Let’s go.”

  “What about Adams?” Rohm asked as they walked to town. “When are you gonna take care of him?”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Bent said. “I’ll do that when the time is right.”

  “And when’s that?”

  “When I say it’s time,” Bent Miller said. “Now stop talkin’ about Adams, or maybe I’ll just send you two guys after him.”

  “Not me,” Stash said. “I don’t want no part of the Gunsmith.”

  “Me neither,” Rohm said. “He’s all yours, Bent.”

  Clint came out of the saloon and saw Bent Miller walking past with two men. Miller simply inclined his head in a greeting that Clint returned. Clint didn’t know where they were going, but it was probably on some errand for Hector Tailor. Clint thought the young man was showing more sand than he ever thought he’d have.

  “Who’s that?” somebody asked from behind him.

  He turned and looked. It was one of the saloon girls, and she had crept up behind him as quiet as a cat. It was the kind of carelessness he rarely displayed. If she’d had a knife, he would have been in trouble.

  “His name’s Bent Miller,” Clint said. “I don’t know the other two.”

  “Bent,” she said. “I heard of him. He’s supposed to be a bad man.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “I heard of you, too.”

  “Have you?”

  She folded her arms beneath somewhat chubby breasts and said, “Everyone has. You’re the Gunsmith.”

  “And what’s your name?”

  “Lori.”

  “What brought you up here?”

  She shrugged. “Somethin’ to do. I didn’t have much of a life to leave behind.”

  “That seems to be the reason most people come up here.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? I’m doing a favor for a friend.”

  “That funny little fella I see you with?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a long way to come for a friend.”

  Now Clint shrugged, not knowing what to say to that.

  “You go to the whores?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t pay for women.”

  She studied him for a moment, then said, “No, you wouldn’t have to. Well, I don’t take money from men, but it gets real cold up here at night. I’ve got my own tent behind this place. Come and see me. We’ll snuggle and…get warm.”

  She had light brown hair, a fine body that was starting to go soft in her thirties—which to Clint wasn’t a bad thing.

  “I might just take you up on that offer.”

  She smiled, unfolded her arms, and said, “You won’t be sorry.”

  She went back into the saloon.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Clint worked the rest of the day with Ike and the men at the river, all using sluice boxes to pan for gold nuggets.

  Clint hadn’t told Ike, but when they arrived and saw Ike’s “claim,” he was disappointed. He was also disappointed with what they were getting out of the river. Behind them, up a slope, equipment was being installed that would allow them to excavate the ground, looking for veins of gold. Of course, the deeper you went, the better chance
you had of finding it. They didn’t have the kind of equipment Calvin Parker had sent up the river.

  At the end of the day, Ike was pleased with the take. He told the men they could head for the saloon or the whorehouse, whichever they preferred.

  “What about you?” Ike asked Clint.

  “Saloon,” Clint said, “and then I think I’m going to visit a friend.”

  “A friend?”

  Clint nodded. “For the night.”

  When Clint got to the saloon, it was busier than he’d seen it before. The poker games were in full swing, and so were the fights. The men who weren’t gambling or fighting were drinking with both hands.

  Many of the miners who were actually getting gold out of the ground were spending it just as quickly. Every night the whores in town were kept busy. And the saloon girls had to run their legs off to keep the miners drinking so they wouldn’t have time to fight.

  And while inside the saloon the pickpockets were at work, outside drunken miners were being tolled for the nuggets or dust they had left.

  Ike told Clint he’d meet him at the saloon when he was done with one of the whores.

  “Might take me a while to pick one, though,” he said. “I don’t have a type. I like ’em all.”

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said. “I’ll be there until they close.” Where else would he go? There was nothing else to do. The only other way to spend time was reading in his tent. This was why he couldn’t have spent his life as a miner, the way Ike had. In fact, he’d already been at it longer than ever before. He was thinking that once he and Ike got the operation up and running, it would be time for him to leave Alaska. Ike could handle the whole operation, and send his share to a bank in Texas.

  Bent Miller ducked his head and entered Hector Tailor’s tent. Tailor had two lamps going, and had set a table up in the center. He had the plans for their mining operation spread out on it.

  “This isn’t good,” he said to Bent.

  “What?”

  Hector pointed.

  “Our claim butts right up against Ike Daly’s.”

  “And you didn’t know that when we came up here?” Bent asked.

  “No,” Hector said, “we didn’t.”

  “Well, that’s a big coincidence,” Bent said.

  “Ike doesn’t have the biggest claim along the Forty Mile,” Hector said. “Ours is the biggest, but between us, I think we have the two richest.”

  “I know what that means,” Bent said.

  “What?”

  “Your boss wants their claim.”

  “Well, if he knew what I know, yes, he’d want it,” Hector said. “So I’m going to make it happen.”

  “I guess that means I’m going to make it happen,” Bent Miller said.

  Hector abandoned the plans, turned, and faced Bent.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Time to kill the Gunsmith?”

  “No,” Hector said. “The Gunsmith is not the driving force behind that claim.”

  “You mean…”

  “Ike Daly,” Hector said. “If he was dead, Adams would lose interest. He’d sell out.”

  “Not if he knew we killed his friend.”

  “That’s why it has to look like this place killed him,” Hector said. “There are enough pickpockets, grifters, and thieves up here.”

  “All I have to do is make it look like he was killed while being robbed.”

  “Exactly.”

  “When do you want it to happen?” Bent asked.

  “The sooner the better,” Hector said. “Tonight wouldn’t be out of line.”

  “I’ll have to find him,” Bent said. “I better get started. The whores would be a good bet. Where will you be?”

  “Right here.”

  “Might be a better idea if you were in the saloon,” Bent said, “where everyone can see you.”

  “Good point.”

  “I’ll go there with you,” Bent said, “and then slip out the back. It’ll be so crowded I’ll just need to put in an appearance, make sure I’m seen, and then slip out.”

  “All right,” Hector said. “Let me get my coat.”

  “And buy drinks for people,” Bent said as they left the tent. “Lots and lots of drinks.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Clint got himself a spot at the bar when he arrived, and held on to it after that. He was not lured away by the poker games, or the girls. He was saving himself for Lori, who came by every so often to talk to him, and remind him of their appointment by touching him with her hands, or bumping him with her hip.

  He was standing with his back to the bar, holding his beer, when Hector Tailor and Bent Miller entered. They looked around, and even in the crowded interior, they spotted him. However, they made sure to go to the other end of the bar, which suited him.

  Bent Miller made room at the bar for himself and Hector. When a man turned to see who had bumped into him, Bent gave him a long, hard look that made the man take his beer and abandon his position.

  “Two beers,” Bent said to the bartender.

  “Comin’ up.”

  When the beers came, he handed one to Hector, then observed the room.

  “Make friends,” he said.

  Hector frowned.

  “That’s not something I’m good at.”

  “Just talk to the guy next to you,” Bent said. “Walk around, talk to some of the girls. And mention me, like I’m still here.”

  “Okay. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll walk around, mingle, finish my beer, and then slip out the back.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’ll have to come back when I’m finished,” Bent said. “The night has to end with both of us still here.”

  “I understand.”

  “Okay, then,” Bent said. “I’ll see you back here later tonight.”

  “How are you going to do it?” Hector asked.

  “By not staying here answering that question,” Bent said. “Do you really care how it’s done?”

  “No,” Hector said, “no, I don’t. Just get it done, Bent.”

  “All right,” Bent said, “but while I’m gone, there’s one thing you have to do.”

  “What?”

  “Talk to Clint Adams.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Clint was surprised when Hector Tailor came walking up to him.

  “How are you?” the man asked rather awkwardly.

  “I’m fine,” Clint said. “Where’s Miller?”

  The question seemed to startle Hector.

  “He’s in here somewhere, with a beer,” Hector said. “I, uh, saw him talking to one of the girls.”

  “This isn’t a place I expected to see you,” Clint commented. “You struck me as the type who’s all work and no play.”

  “Well, you know,” Hector said. “You’ve got to take some time out once in a while, and what else is there to do here?”

  “There are always the whores.”

  “I’d like to be able to take my time off without catching a disease,” Hector said. “I just need a beer or two, and then I can go back to work.”

  “How’s it coming?” Clint asked.

  “Pretty well,” Hector said.

  “Mr. Parker must have a lot of faith in you, sending you up here without him.”

  “He knows he can trust me to oversee operations.”

  “With Miller along for…help?”

  “Sometimes you just need someone who can get things done,” Hector pointed out.

  “That’s a fact,” Clint said. “You do need somebody like that around sometimes.”

  “Well, nice talking to you,” Hector said, and drifted away.

  “Who was that?” Lori asked, coming up alongside Clint.

  “Somebody trying to be something he’s not,” Clint said. He looked around, trying to locate Bent Miller.

  “Looked like he was just trying to be friendly,” she said.

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Clint said. “He’s
not the type.”

  “He looks kind of buttoned down,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Clint said. “Do me a favor, will you?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “Have one of your girlfriends cuddle up to him.”

  She laughed.

  “You want her to see if he’ll panic?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “I know just the girl,” Lori said. “She loves playing with men’s heads.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “Let’s have some fun.”

  Bent Miller finished his beer by the time he worked his way to the rear of the saloon. He put his mug down and slipped out the back.

  He knew where the whores were because he’d checked it out when he first arrived. He kept to the darkness as he worked his way to the row of tents the girls used. From the sounds coming from inside, all the tents were busy. He felt sure Ike Daly was in one of them. All he had to do now was wait.

  Ike stared down at the girl’s head as she bobbed up and down on his hard cock. He was far from a lady’s man, and the only time he was ever with a woman was when he paid one. But he didn’t care. That was what money—and gold—was for. And he had taken enough dust out of the ground that day to pay this young lady for what she was doing, and still go to the saloon and drink with Clint afterward.

  The blond head kept bobbing up and down until finally Ike lifted his butt off the cot he was sitting on and exploded into her mouth.

  “Aw, damn!” he shouted.

  She sat back on her haunches and smiled up at him.

  Bent heard several cries of delight from inside the tents. He knew the girls liked to get men in and out as quickly as they could, so somebody was going to be coming out soon. That was when he saw somebody else creeping around in the dark. This was not the kind of work he usually did, but there were those who did this for a living. He was sure the other figure in the dark was working, too.

  He located the shape again, then moved up behind it. Turned out to be a smaller man than him. It was a simple thing to clamp his arm around the guy’s throat and squeeze, cutting off his air.

  “Sorry, friend,” he said into the man’s ear, “I don’t need you plying your trade out here tonight.”