Clint returned to Doc Mathis’s office and put the question to him.
“You can stay as long as you want,” Mathis said. “In fact, I prefer having you here, in case anything goes wrong.”
“Do you think the Locksleys will send men here after Mary?” Clint asked.
“I think if they send anyone, it will be during the night, trying to catch us unaware. Also, that would be the cowardly thing to do.”
“You don’t have much of an opinion of them, do you?” Clint asked.
“I don’t have a high opinion of them or of myself,” the doctor said. “Not after what they did to that girl.”
“How could you have stopped them?”
“I could’ve tried.”
“And maybe ended up on a horse yourself.”
“This town needs a doctor too bad,” Mathis said. “I don’t think the town would have let them do that to me. But I wasn’t thinking that way then.”
“Well,” Clint said, “don’t get too heroic now, Doc. Leave that to me.”
“My pleasure.”
“I’m going to clean up for my supper date.”
“You still have a couple of hours.”
“I thought I’d stop at a saloon first.”
“I can give you a drink here.”
“I’d like a cold beer,” Clint said, “plus I’d like to listen to what’s being said in town.”
“There’ll be lots of talking, but nobody will do anything until the Locksleys say so.”
“Well,” Clint said, “now that I’ve talked to both of them, maybe they’ll talk to each other and come up with a course of action.”
“It’ll be whatever she says, I’m sure.”
“I wasn’t impressed with Eric Locksley,” Clint said, “but I have to admit his wife comes across as a formidable woman.”
“She scares every man in town,” Doc Mathis said, “especially her husband.”
“Must make it hard for him to go home each night,” Clint said, “after being the man in charge all day.”
“I wouldn’t even want to imagine it,” the doctor said with a shake of his head. “I’ve never been married, but that sounds like hell.”
“I’ve never been married either,” Clint said, “and I agree.”
He went into the spare room, used the pitcher and basin there to clean up, then put on a clean shirt.
“What saloon would you recommend?” he asked Doc.
“Try the Dry Wash Saloon,” Doc Mathis said. “Plenty of big mouths over there.”
“Where is it?”
The doctor gave him directions.
“Any gambling?”
“No, just drinking.”
“That’s very good,” Clint said. “I’ll see you later, Doc.”
“Wait,” Mathis said as Clint went to the door.
“Yes?”
“What do I do about food for Mary and me?”
“I’ll have something brought up,” Clint promised, “or will do it myself.”
“Okay,” Mathis said. “Mary has got to eat to get her strength back.”
“Understood.”
Clint left, and headed straight for the Dry Wash Saloon.
* * *
Harley Trace entered the sheriff’s office and said, “Adams is in the Wash.”
“That means that Doc is alone with the girl,” Crabtree said.
“Yeah.”
“Is she awake?”
“I dunno.”
“You haven’t seen her?”
“I only seen Adams, and the doc, leaving and comin’ back.”
Crabtree thought things over.
“Whataya gonna do, Sheriff?”
“Nothin’,” Crabtree said, “at least not until Mr. Locksley tell me.”
“Then what do I do?”
“Keep watching the doc’s place. If the girl leaves, follow her. See where she goes. Then tell me.”
“Okay,” Trace said, “but when can I get somethin’ to eat?”
“Get somethin’ quick now,” the lawman said, “and then get back there.”
“Yessir!”
As Trace left, Crabtree sat back in his chair. What action, he wondered, was Eric Locksley going to take? Or would his next orders come from Angela Locksley?
He was getting tired of waiting.
* * *
Eric Locksley sat in his office, wondering what his next move should be. If he was going to take action against the Gunsmith, he was going to need at least half a dozen men, maybe more. Where would he find that many men willing to go up against the man?
He stood up, hands behind his back, and stared out the window. He was staring straight ahead, and not down, so he did not see Clint Adams approach the building.
* * *
Angela Locksley got dressed in her riding clothes—trousers, a cotton shirt, boots, and a flat-brimmed hat. None of it was expensive; it was all designed for riding or, in other words, for getting dirty. She hated the idea, but it had to be done. There was a man she knew she could send after Clint Adams, but she was going to have to go out and find him herself.
SEVENTEEN
Clint spent about an hour at the bar in the Dry Wash Saloon, sipping beer and listening to the conversations around him. It took a while, but somebody finally came in and started talking about Mary Connelly.
“Didja hear who brought her back into town?”
“Naw, who was it?”
“Clint Adams.”
“The Gunsmith?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Jesus,” somebody said from across the room, “what’s Locksley gonna do now?”
“Ya mean what’s his wife gonna do?”
Before long the conversation was taking place in the entire saloon from across the room. He wasn’t learning anything he didn’t know, except for the fact that no one in the room wanted to do anything more than talk about it.
And then there was the bartender. He just stood behind the bar and listened. He didn’t take part in the conversation at all. Clint found this odd, since most bartenders had opinions.
Little by little the men talking about Mary Connelly drifted out of the saloon, until the conversation broke down into separate conversations again.
Clint said to the bartender, “No opinion?”
“On what?”
“Whatever they were talking about?” Clint said. “Mary Connelly.”
“Oh, that,” the man said. “You’d have more opinion about that than I would.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
The bartender, a big man in his fifties who had obviously been around, asked instead, “Would you like another beer, Mr. Adams?”
Clint smiled and said, “Sure, one more.”
The barman brought it over and said, “On the house.”
“Thanks.” Clint sipped it. “So you knew me when I came in?”
“I saw you in Yellowstone once.”
“That must have been a long time ago.”
“Oh, yeah,” the man said. “My first job as a bartender.”
“And yet you recognized me.”
“As soon as you walked in,” the man said. “Also, I ain’t seen any other strangers in town.”
“What’s your name?”
“Max.”
“Thanks, Max, for not saying anything.”
“Well, you weren’t sayin’ anything,” the bartender said. “You was just listening. I figured to let ya.”
Clint nodded.
“You find out anything?” Max asked.
“Only that everybody has an opinion, but nobody wants to do anything.”
“People around here don’t do anything unless they’
re told to.”
“By Locksley?”
“Yup.”
“So when they put that poor girl on a horse and rode her out of town . . .”
“They did it because they was told to. And it was Locksley, with a few other men, who actually put her on the horse.”
“Ah,” Clint said, “there’s something I’d like to know.”
“Who were the other men?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, the sheriff,” Max said, “and . . .” Max frowned.
“None of the men who were in here?”
“No,” Max said. “Jeez, I can’t remember who it was.”
“Can’t?” Clint asked. “Or don’t want to?”
“No,” Max said, “I’m tellin’ you the truth. It really didn’t matter who they were, they was just doing what they were told. So I really can’t see their faces in my head. Locksley, the sheriff, and some other hands.”
Clint realized what he was saying was true, it didn’t matter who the other men were.
“So how much time do you think I have?” he asked Max.
“For what?”
“Before Locksley sends some of those hands against me, and I have to kill them.”
“This time,” Max said, “I think he may have some trouble convincing people. He’s probably gonna have to hire some guns.”
Clint nodded. He actually would feel better killing gunmen than citizens of the town doing what they were told to do by Locksley and his wife.
“You’ve been a big help, Max,” he said.
“I’m a big help in here,” Max said, “but I’m a useless shell out there.”
“None of the hands putting that girl on the horse were yours?”
“All I do with my hands,” Max said, “is pour drinks.”
Clint finished his beer, set the mug down, and said, “Keep pouring drinks, Max.”
EIGHTEEN
Clint left the Dry Wash and walked to City Hall. He found Gina Hopewell waiting for him outside. She was wearing a dress that was fancier than the one she’d had on that morning.
“I’m not late, am I?” Clint asked.
“Not at all,” she said. “I actually left early, went home, and changed for supper.”
“You look very pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have a place picked out?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “It’s right near here.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They started walking, and Clint noticed that Gina appeared a little nervous.
“Did you meet me out front so we wouldn’t run into your boss?” Clint asked.
“Well . . .”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I understand. There’s no point in looking for trouble if you can avoid it.”
“I hope you’re not angry.”
“Not at all,” Clint said. “Just take me to some good food.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” she promised.
* * *
He wasn’t disappointed. She took him to a small restaurant on a side street, and if the food wasn’t so good, he might have thought she was still trying to hide them from her boss.
“Do you want to ask more questions about Mr. Locksley?” she asked while they ate.
“Well, I’ve actually found out more than I need to know today,” he said, “so no, I don’t need to talk about him. I’d rather talk about you.”
They spent half an hour talking about how she came to be in Heathstead, and how she got the job working for Eric Locksley. And as they talked, Clint did think of some other questions he could ask about Locksley.
“I know I said I had no questions,” he said to her over dessert, “but I have a few.”
“That’s all right,” she said. “Go ahead and ask.”
“What do you know about the girl, Mary Connelly, and Locksley’s son, Jack?”
“You mean about their relationship?”
“I mean about whether they were going to be married or not.”
Gina looked around, but there was nobody sitting near them. She lowered her voice anyway.
“Jack and Mary were never going to get married,” she said. “Jack thought they were, but she wasn’t in love with the boy.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Believe me,” she said. “That girl was after somebody else.”
“Do you know who?”
“Actually,” Gina said, “I don’t. I just know she had no feelings for Jack.”
“Did Locksley know this?”
“I think he did.”
“And his wife?”
“That woman,” Gina said, “seems to know everything.”
“So when she sent her son away, and had Mary ridden out of town, she knew it wasn’t about them.”
“Right.”
“Then why did she do it?”
“I told you this morning,” Gina said. “She’s mean.”
* * *
When they finished supper, they left the restaurant. Outside he asked, “May I walk you home?”
“I’m not going home,” she said. “I have some other stops to make.”
“Oh.”
“I visit some of the sick people in town,” she said. “Bring them food.”
“That reminds me,” he said. “I have to bring some food to some people as well. Should we go back inside?”
“No, not here,” she said. “I have a place where I pick the food up. Come on, I’ll show you.”
She led him to a familiar café, and when they walked in, Amy the waitress smiled at him.
“You’re back.”
“You know each other?” Gina asked.
“I’ve been picking up some food here for the doc,” Clint said.
“I’ve got your meals ready, Gina,” Amy said. She looked at Clint. “Should I make a couple for you?”
“Two would be great, Amy. Thanks.”
A few minutes later Amy came out with meals for Gina and said to Clint, “Yours will be ready soon.”
“I better deliver these while they’re hot,” Gina said.
“All right,” Clint said. “I’ll see you another time.”
Gina started to leave as Amy went back into the kitchen, then stopped.
“I live in a small house on Bennett Street. It’s number fourteen. Come by when you have a chance.”
“I will,” Clint said. “Thanks.”
Impulsively, she kissed his cheek, and then left.
* * *
Amy came out later carrying a tray covered with a napkin.
“Gina’s gone?”
“Yes,” he said. “She had to deliver her meals while they were hot.”
“You gonna be in town much longer?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“If you want company, Gina’s not the girl.”
“Why not?”
“No experience.”
“Can you think of somebody who does have experience?” he asked.
“Sure thing, honey,” she said. “Me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
As he started to leave, she put her hand on his arm.
“Don’t hurt that girl,” she said. “Me, I’m cast-iron. But that girl isn’t. Understand?”
“I do understand, Amy,” he said. “You’re a good friend.”
Amy nodded, her hands behind her back. Clint left.
NINETEEN
But there were other experienced women in town, and at that moment Wes Tolbert was enjoying one of them. Her name was Annie Jackson. At thirty-five she was one of the more experienced whores in the house. That was the
reason Tolbert asked for her. He hated wasting time with younger girls who didn’t know what they were doing.
Annie would do anything a man wanted. All he had to do was pay for it. Tolbert didn’t mind paying for the things he wanted. At that moment she was on her knees, working on his big cock with her mouth and her hands. She encircled the base with the finger of one hand, fondled his testicles with the other, while working her mouth up and down wetly on him. Every so often she’d take him so deep in her mouth that she would gag herself, and have to come up for air. But each time she would smile and go right back to work on him.
She had long blond hair, which he wrapped his thick fingers in. She was sucking him wetly when there was a knock on the door.
“Don’t answer it,” she said breathlessly.
“It might be important.”
She tightened her fist around his penis.
“This is important.”
“It might be work,” he said. “When I make money, I spend more money on you.”
She opened her fist.
“All right, then,” she said. “Answer it.” She got to her feet and stretched. She was long and lean, with small breasts and slender hips. He preferred that to women with tits like cows.
He walked to the door naked and opened it.
Angela Locksley looked down at his rigid penis, still glistening with Annie’s saliva, and said, “I’m not impressed.”
Tolbert looked down at himself and said, “You’re a hard woman, Mrs. Locksley.”
“I have work for you,” she said. “Finish up in here and meet me downstairs.”
“Finish up quick?” he asked. “Or take my time?”
“Somewhere in between, Tolbert,” she said. “I may be hard, but I’m not heartless. Let the young lady do her job.”
She looked past him at Annie, who was still stretching. Something in Angela’s eyes excited Tolbert. She reached down, ran the tip of her finger along the underside of his penis, then put it to her lips and licked it. With that, she turned and walked down the hall.
Tolbert closed the door and went back to Annie.
“Get on the bed,” he ordered.
She pouted.
“I wasn’t done.”
“On the bed!”
She shrugged, got on the bed on her back, and made herself comfortable. Annie spread her legs, but when he climbed on the bed, he spread them even more and brutally stabbed his cock deep into her.
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