Red Water

by J. R. Roberts

  “No. I suppose not. Did you . . . umm . . . come to town alone?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Do you know anyone around here?” Allie asked in a manner that was trying to be casual but was most definitely forced.

  “Just Gwen and you,” Clint told her. “Why do you ask?”

  Allie shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and chewed on her lower lip all at the same time. “I don’t know. I was just making conversation.”

  “It seems you’re not the only one to have trouble in that area. At least you’re doing better than the marshal.”

  Suddenly, Allie’s eyes brightened and she no longer looked as if she were about to squirm out of her skin. “You already went to see the marshal?”

  “Yeah,” Clint grumbled. “He’s a real piece of work.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “Yes, I did. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No,” Allie sighed. “I just feel foolish . . . again. It seems like I can’t do anything but make a fool out of myself when you’re around.”

  Clint pulled in a breath and let it out. Since that didn’t do much to help ease his nerves, he took another breath and then asked, “Did I miss something here?”

  She shook her head. “No. Someone just came along to let us know that Marshal Flynt was in town and he wanted to see all the men about something important. I saw some of his deputies posted at the end of Sales Street as if they were watching both ends of the town. I asked what the fuss was about and . . .”

  Since she was starting to stumble over her words again, Clint said, “And you were told about the outlaws.”

  “That’s right,” Allie replied with a nod. “These strangers are supposed to be real dangerous and the marshal is paying a handsome reward for information about them.”

  “I’m a stranger, so you thought you’d come to see if I was one of the outlaws? That’s not exactly a wise plan. If I was one of the wanted men, it could have been dangerous for you to confront me.”

  Averting her eyes from him, she said, “That’s why I only came to confront your horse.”

  “You’d recognize an outlaw by his horse?” Clint asked.

  “One of the deputies saw the outlaws’ horses. I knew you’d put yours up in this stable, so I came along to get a look.”

  “Did I pass the test?”

  When Allie laughed, it seemed as if she’d finally let go of what had been weighing her down. Not only did her smile seem more genuine, but she even stopped turning away from him. “Yes. You passed. Can I . . . that is, would you mind having lunch with me?”

  “I was about to leave town.”

  Before Clint could say another word, Allie winced as if his answer had truly hurt. Always a sucker when it came to hurt women, Clint quickly added, “But I can put it off for a bit. I did just have breakfast, though.”

  Immediately regaining her smile, Allie said, “That’s fine! I own a little place on Franklin Avenue, just off Sales Street. Come by there when you get hungry and I’ll make something for you. It’s the least I can do after accusing you of being some sort of criminal.”

  Clint wanted to tell her she hadn’t offended him in the least. In fact, she’d given him a little more information about a few things, but there was no reason to tell her that either. “Lunch sounds good,” he said.

  Judging by the smile on Allie’s face, that was enough. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  Watching her stroll out of the stable, Clint wondered just how much Gwen had told her about the previous night. Either way, Clint had found enough good qualities in Red Water to wash out the foul taste Tanner Hall had left in his mouth.

  NINE

  After deciding to stay in Red Water for a little while, Clint had been content to find a saloon far away from Marshal Flynt and a poker game to distract him until lunch. While walking through town, Clint realized that all of Red Water basically branched off Sales Street. Those roads were all avenues and some weren’t much more than alleyways. Once he found his way back onto Sales Street, Clint took a look up and down.

  Allie had been right. There were armed men posted at either end of the street, men he had to assume were Flynt’s deputies. More than that, their positions allowed them to get a good look at who came and went within Red Water. The deputies also must have been able to see anyone approaching or leaving the town’s borders.

  It was a good way to keep an eye on Red Water while also making it easy to take a shot at anyone they didn’t like. Just seeing the men posted in those spots didn’t set right with Clint. When he turned his back on the men to head into a saloon, Clint was downright uncomfortable.

  Turning to look back at one end of Sales Street, Clint instantly realized why he felt so uncomfortable. One of the deputies was staring straight back at him as though only a few feet instead of a hundred yards separated them.

  Despite the knot that was forming in his stomach, Clint put a smile on his face and moseyed toward that end of the street. He kept his steps slow and easy, which still brought him to within a few paces of the deputy fairly quickly.

  Seeing the deputy’s grip tighten around the rifle he was carrying, Clint raised his hands and said, “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “What is it you do want, mister?” the deputy asked.

  “Just out for a walk, is all.”

  “Yeah? Then keep walkin’.”

  It seemed this deputy had learned his manners directly from Marshal Flynt. Clint resisted the urge to knock the tough glare from the younger man’s face and kept his own smile where it was. “I hear there’s trouble about.”

  The deputy’s eyes narrowed a bit as if he were studying Clint even closer. “Could be.”

  Clint used every bit of acting skill he had, mixed in with a whole lot of bluffing to try to convince the younger man that he was intimidated by him. “There’s no trouble from me,” he insisted. “I’ve already been to see the marshal and he told me all about the killers riding through these parts.”

  Despite the fact that Clint wasn’t much of an actor, the deputy was the sort of young man who was anxious to think he could cause someone to shake in their boots. He took to Clint’s performance the way a cat laps a saucer of milk. Nodding slightly while shifting his rifle to a more comfortable grip, he said, “They’re killers, all right. I’ll be on the posse to bring them in.”

  “Is that why you and the other deputy are watching the street?”

  Following Clint’s gaze toward the other end of Sales Street, the deputy nodded again. “Them killers might try to come into town for supplies and such. If they come anywhere near here, we’ll pick them off.”

  “That’d make things a hell of a lot easier, wouldn’t it?”

  “Sure would.”

  “So . . .” Clint sighed as he drifted even closer to what he really wanted to know. “Who are these men you’re after?”

  The deputy grinned as if he’d been waiting all day for someone to ask that question. “Real murderous cocksuckers led by a man named Laramie. Him, some known killer named Jerrison, and a black fella have been stealing everything that ain’t nailed down.”

  Clint let out a slow whistle and said, “Sound like real hard cases.”

  “The worst. They’re the sort that would just as soon shoot you as look at you.”

  “I suppose they’ll hang once you get ahold of them.”

  “If you’re set on watching a hanging, I wouldn’t hold my breath,” the deputy said. “The only thing we intend on dragging back into town is a few carcasses. You want in on the reward, then you’ll show up at Dale’s.”

  “Well, then,” Clint replied. “It’s good to know we got men like you watching over us.”

  With that, Clint gave a quick wave to the deputy and started walking back down Sales Street. It was a test of his resolve to keep from reacting to the arrogance spewing out of the younger man like pus from an open sore.

  TEN

  Clint couldn’t find a poker game in Red Wat
er, but he didn’t have much trouble starting one up. He made the rounds to a few saloons, found his way back to the first one that had struck his fancy, and then broke out a deck of cards. After a few hands of gin with a local and a whole lot of big talk about gambling for big money, Clint was able to pick out a few interested faces among the men leaning against the bar.

  Like most saloons, big talk didn’t amount to much. After plenty of bragging, the locals clustered around one table and started a boisterous penny-ante game. Clint was just happy to while away a couple of hours and purposely lost a few dollars so the others wouldn’t lose interest. When he felt the first grumblings in his belly, Clint played for keeps.

  To the locals’ credit, they stayed put even after Clint had doubled his money. When Clint finally got up to leave, the other players made him promise to return, but still seemed relieved that he was gone. Before Clint got outside of the saloon, he could overhear the men at the table planning to win their money back at the next game. Clint smirked and made sure to remember the name of the place so he could win some more traveling money before leaving.

  It wasn’t difficult to find Franklin Avenue. It was one of the larger branches off Sales Street and one of the only ones that was wide enough to accommodate a carriage without the wheels scraping against the boardwalk. One such carriage was parked directly outside the store that Allie had told him about. Even though he recognized the name from the one she’d mentioned back at the stable, Clint still wasn’t convinced it was the place he wanted to be.

  “Franklin Fixtures,” Clint recited. Those were the only two words on that sign, but he looked around for another sign just to be sure. What threw him off was the display of cast iron spigots, pipes, and even a few potbellied stoves in the window.

  Just as Clint started to wonder if the things in the window were merely decoration, he saw a pair of men shuffle out of the store carrying a safe to the back of the parked carriage. Since there were no other places along Franklin Avenue with a name that was anything close to the store in front of him, Clint walked around the carriage and to the front door.

  Allie stood just inside the place, directing the men with the safe. She spotted Clint and immediately waved at him. “There you are! I was just about to have lunch without you.”

  “What kind of restaurant is this?”

  Blinking at Clint and then looking up at the sign directly over the door, Allie asked, “Restaurant?”

  “Yes,” Clint replied. “You told me to come here for lunch?”

  “This is called Franklin Fixtures. What kind of food did you think was served here?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a place in San Antonio called the Blue Corkboard that serves one hell of a good ham steak. To this day, I don’t know what the hell that name is supposed to mean.”

  Allie laughed and said, “Well, the fixtures in this name is just that. I sell just about anything made from iron, even a few bathtubs.”

  “And what about lunch?” Clint asked.

  “I’ve got extra sandwiches in the back. I thought we could share them.”

  Studying her through narrowed eyes, Clint said, “Taking pity on a poor traveler on Founder’s Day, huh?”

  “I don’t recall much from last night, but I do recall your face.” Allie reached up to run a hand along Clint’s cheek and added, “It’s just as nice as I remember. If this is a little too forward, then—”

  “Nonsense,” Clint said before Allie could talk herself out of anything. “But there’s got to be a better place to take someone who’s new to your town.”

  “I don’t know. I was kind of hoping—”

  “What about Dale’s?”

  Although Allie had been a little flustered before, that condition only got a little worse now. She tried to remedy the situation by looking around and fussing with her hair until it passed. Unfortunately, she was still fussing when she realized it wasn’t about to pass. “Umm, Dale’s is just a saloon with a . . . it’s got a . . . ummm . . .”

  “Yes?”

  She pulled in another breath, let it out in a huff, and said, “It’s got a cathouse on the second floor. It’s just a saloon and a cathouse.”

  “Well,” Clint said in a valiant effort to maintain some dignity, “I’ve heard they serve a great lunch.”

  ELEVEN

  As it turned out, Dale’s did serve a good lunch. Judging by the surprised look on Allie’s face, that wasn’t a normal occurrence. Playing up the ignorance that came along with being new in town, Clint escorted her to Dale’s and engaged her in friendly conversation along the way. Once they got within sight of the place, that distraction no longer held up.

  Dale’s was a wide building with a balcony that extended all the way along the second floor. The balcony was littered with rocking chairs, stools, and anything else the working girls could sit on that gave the folks in the street a good look up their skirts. All Clint could see was a bunch of slips and ruffles, but that didn’t calm Allie’s nerves very much.

  “Looks busy,” Clint said.

  “Yes, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  Clint stopped and took hold of her shoulders so he could turn her back to Dale’s. “Lunch is my treat,” he said. “I’d really like to sit down with you, but I’d also really like to be inside that place.” Seeing the discomfort spread across Allie’s face, Clint quickly added, “And not because of the entertainment inside.”

  “Entertainment. That’s one word for it.”

  “Marshal Flynt is going to be gathering some men here and I want to get a look at what they’re doing.”

  Turning around to look at a plump redhead leaning over the balcony, Allie smirked and said, “I think I can tell you what they’ll be doing.”

  “Well, I’m not interested in that. Marshal Flynt and his deputies are forming a posse. You remember all that talk spread around town this morning?”

  “You mean about those outlaws?”

  “That’s right,” Clint said.

  “Are you going to join the posse? If so, you don’t need me to—”

  Clint shook his head. “I started off on the wrong foot here. I thought Flynt and his men were just meeting in a saloon or some restaurant to discuss the posse and I figured I could overhear something once we got here.”

  “So you don’t really want to have lunch with me?” Allie asked.

  “I do, but I figure being there with you won’t make it seem like I am there to be in the posse. I am hoping Flynt doesn’t notice us at all, so I can just get a look at how many men are with him and what sort of men they are.”

  Allie sighed and lowered her head. “I suppose that’s good to know before I start talking like a fool without you even listening to me.”

  Placing his finger under Allie’s chin, Clint lifted her face so she had no choice but to look at him. “I didn’t know what this place was and I made the suggestion on a whim. No need to read any more into it than that. If you don’t want to come with me, that’s fine, but I’d still like to see you.”

  Either Allie was overcome by Clint’s charm or she’d caught a whiff of chicken being cooked inside Dale’s. The chicken smelled so good that Clint put his money on it being the deciding factor. Whatever the reason, she nodded and turned toward the front door.

  “Fine,” she said. “But I’m taking you up on your offer to pay.”

  Clint offered her his arm and she took it.

  Once they were inside, it was easy enough to forget the primary source of Dale’s revenue. It was late afternoon and the working girls were currently busying themselves by carrying plates of chicken and pitchers of water to the tables scattered throughout the main room. A piano played a lively tune in the corner, and the stage was empty and mostly covered by a curtain.

  During the first round of chicken, Allie talked about her fixture business and the trials that came along with setting up a shop in a place like Red Water.

  “What about that safe?” Clint asked. “That didn’t look like any spigot
I’ve ever seen.”

  “That was a special order,” she said. “It’s for a bank in Topeka. They ordered three of them and that’s the first.”

  “Aren’t there . . . I don’t know . . . safe companies for that sort of thing?”

  “Sure, but I can beat their prices,” Allie said as if she were sweet-talking Clint into another sale. “A few months ago, I hired a man who specializes in shaping iron.”

  “You mean a blacksmith?”

  “Blacksmiths work on horseshoes and railroad ties,” she corrected. “What Sven does is art by comparison. He can take a slab of ore and shape it into something beautiful. He can even make little things like gears and tumblers.”

  Clint chuckled and tossed a chicken bone onto his plate. “You don’t do a lot of work in that area, do you?”

  “I appreciate the craftsmanship,” she said defensively, “but I just sell it. I also know good work when I see it. I’m the one who talked him into building safes.”

  “Sven never built a safe before?”

  Allie’s brow furrowed, but the scowl on her face was still good-natured enough. “I talked him into building safes for me,” she clarified. “I also managed to get several banks interested enough to make special orders. He should have enough to retire inside of a year.”

  “That is pretty impressive,” Clint said through a mouthful of potatoes.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What do you do to earn your keep?”

  “I’m a gunsmith.”

  Her eyes widening to the size of silver dollars, she gasped, “Really? I could put you to work. Do you know how much there is to be made by giving a little healthy competition to the bigger businesses from places like Wichita and Dodge City or even New York?”

  Sensing that he was about to be put through the wringer until he caved in to Allie’s proposal, Clint was more than happy to see Marshal Flynt and a few others stroll in through the front door. “I don’t mean to be rude, Allie, but . . .”