Under a Turquoise Sky

by J. R. Roberts

  Markstein walked around to join him, pressed his palms to the desktop and leaned down to have a look. Ed Martin backed off in deference to his new boss.

  Clint, for want of something better to do, looked around the large one-room office. There was a second, smaller desk against the wall on one side that looked as if it didn’t get used much. In another corner some equipment was stacked. In another corner, a file cabinet.

  The door opened behind him and he heard someone enter.

  “Ah. Here’s Joe,” Ed Martin said. “Joe, this here’s your new partner, George Markstein. Mr. Markstein, this is Joe English.”

  George Markstein looked shocked. Clint turned, took one look at Joe English and felt his own jaw drop. He looked over at Chance, who was smirking with delight.

  “That is my partner?” Markstein asked.

  “You’re Joe English?” Clint asked.

  “Yep,” Chance said, “that’s who it is.”

  “Oh, well,” Martin said, “I guess you gents didn’t know—”

  “Never mind explaining, Ed,” Joe English said, slamming the door. “They know now, and if they don’t like it that’s their problem.”

  Clint stepped forward, put out his hand and said, “Clint Adams. I’m happy to meet you.”

  “I know that name,” English said. “The Gunsmith, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, what an unexpected pleasure.” Clint felt his hand being taken in a firm grasp. “My name is Joanne English,” the beautiful blond woman said.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “Hello, Buck.”

  “Joe.”

  “Your friends look like they’ve never seen a woman before,” she said.

  “I’m willin’ to bet they ain’t never seen a woman like you before, Joe,” Chance said.

  “You’re always the flatterer, Buck.”

  She released Clint’s hand after giving it an extra squeeze, then walked past him.

  “I suppose you’re my new partner,” she said to Markstein. “I guess you know I wasn’t happy about Hector selling out to you.”

  “I gathered that, Miss…is it Miss?”

  “It is.”

  “Miss English,” Markstein said. “Your refusal to correspond with me made that very clear.”

  “Yeah, well,” she said, “I suppose the best thing to do now is try to get along.”

  “I hope that’s how you really feel, Miss English,” Markstein said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “I usually say what I mean.”

  “He means that somebody hired some guns to kill him before he could get here,” Clint said.

  Joe English turned on Clint.

  “And you think it was me?”

  “We don’t know who it is,” Clint said. “All we know is that you didn’t want him as a partner.”

  She glared at Clint. He could see the fine lines around her eyes and her mouth. She was closer to forty than thirty, but was still one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen—especially now that she was angry.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” she snapped. “I’ll have you know I didn’t want anyone as a partner, not Mr. Markstein, specifically. I have nothing against him, and would not try to kill him. I’d be more likely to try and buy him out.”

  “Not much chance of that, I’m afraid,” Markstein said, “but my last offer to buy you out still stands, Miss English.”

  “Not a chance,” she said, whirling on him and away from Clint, “so I guess we’re just stuck with each other for a while.”

  “Fine,” Markstein said. “I’d like to talk about these blueprints.”

  “Now?” she asked. “You just got here. I can have someone show you to your quarters so you can get some rest.”

  “Yes, well,” he said, “I am rather tired. Mr. Adams will also need some quarters—”

  “We’ve got nothing,” she said. She turned to look at Clint. “Sorry, but we never figured on entertaining guests up here. You can do what Chance does when he comes up here.”

  Clint looked at Chance.

  “Bedroll,” he said with a shrug.

  “You’re welcome to eat with us,” she said. “We’ll be doing that in about an hour. In the morning breakfast is at six.”

  “Thanks for the hospitality,” Clint said.

  She studied him for a moment to see if he was being sarcastic, then decided he wasn’t.

  “You’re welcome.” She turned to look at Martin. “Ed, have someone show Mr. Markstein where he sleeps.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “Chance? You know where to bed down?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You staying with us?”

  “For a while.”

  She looked at Clint.

  “The men who were going to try to kill Markstein were going to try to kill me, too,” Clint explained. “Also Chance. I think we’ll stick around to make sure Markstein doesn’t catch a bullet in the back. If that’s okay.”

  “I insist on it,” she said. “Over supper you can tell me who these men are and how they tried to kill you.”

  “Be my pleasure,” Clint said.

  “Come on, Clint,” Chance said. “We can take care of the horses and I’ll show you where we bed down.”

  “George?” Clint said.

  “I think I should be all right here in camp for a while, Clint.”

  “We’ll keep him alive,” Joe English said, “if just to prove that it’s not me trying to kill him.”

  “Fair enough,” Clint said.

  Clint followed Chance outside, where they untied all three horses and led them away.

  “You’re a sonofabitch, you know that?” Clint asked him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “You knew that Joe English was a woman,” Clint accused, “and a damned beautiful one.”

  “Hey, I didn’t know you didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “She is beautiful, though, isn’t she?”

  “Anything going on there, Chance?”

  Chance looked surprised.

  “What? With me and Joe? I wish. She don’t look at me twice. I think she thinks I’m too young for her.”

  “What are you, thirty?”

  “Almost.”

  “And she must be almost forty.”

  Chance’s eyes bugged. “You think so?”

  Apparently he hadn’t thought she was that old.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  They walked a few paces and then Clint said, “Tell me about this Ed Martin.”

  “Solid mining man,” Chance said. “He’s managed a couple of operations, but he’s been with Joe from the beginning.”

  “The beginning?”

  “Three years ago, she and her partner, Hector Ramirez, hit it big. Martin’s been manager from the start.”

  “How’d she get along with her partner?”

  “He was an old friend of her father’s,” Chance said. “When he sold out, she felt betrayed. Can’t say I blame her.”

  “What about her and Martin.”

  “What about them? Oh, you mean—naw, I don’t think there’s anythin’ between them. Joe’s got no time for anythin’ like that.”

  They came to a clearing just out of sight of the cabin. Clint could see where old campfires had burned.

  “This’ll do,” he said.

  “Why all the questions about Joe?” Chance asked as they unsaddled their mounts. “You interested?”

  “I just met the woman, Chance.”

  Chance laughed and said, “Oh yeah, you’re interested.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “What kind of quarters do you have?” Clint asked George Markstein over supper.

  “A cabin,” Markstein said. “A little rustic, but it will do.”

  Clint, Markstein and Chance were sitting at a table in a cabin that had been set up as a mess hall for the miners. Sitting with them were Joe English and
Ed Martin.

  Their table was the center of attention—and conversation—as the miners checked out their new boss. Word had also gotten around about who Clint was, and he was drawing a lot of curious stares.

  “So tell me, Mr. Adams,” Joe English said, “what attempts have been made on Mr. Markstein?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “the first…”

  He told her about Mike Dolan, which might or might not have been a setup to make it look like Markstein had been killed in a stupid argument over a room. Then he told her about the men who had been following them, and how they had tried to set up an ambush at Beale Springs.

  When he was done, she turned to Markstein.

  “Look, Mr. Markstein—”

  “George,” he said, “please.”

  “George,” she said, “I don’t know any of these men. I would never ask somebody to try to kill you.”

  “That’s very—” Markstein started, but she cut him off.

  “If I wanted you dead,” she went on, “I’d kill you myself.”

  That seemed to shock Markstein and he sat up straight for a moment and stared at her. She was sitting across from him, and he was sitting to Clint’s right. Chance was on Clint’s left. Ed Martin was sitting to Joe’s right.

  “You know,” Markstein said, finally, “I think you mean that.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “that certainly clears the air.”

  “And leaves the question,” Chance said, “who did hire those men to kill George?”

  “That’s a question we’re going to find the answer to,” Clint said, “before we leave this camp.”

  “Why would anyone be foolish enough to try to kill George,” Joe asked, “if they knew they’d have to face you at the same time?”

  “Two reasons,” Clint said. “One is money.”

  “And the second?”

  “Most men are reputation hunters,” Clint said. “That makes me a big target.”

  “What a way to live,” Joe said, shaking her head.

  “It’s the only way I have.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments, and then Markstein said, “The men seem…curious.”

  “Yes,” she said. “About Clint Adams, and about you. They wonder if you’re going to want to make any changes, if their jobs are safe.”

  “Surely I can’t make any wholesale changes without your agreement.”

  She stared at him.

  “Maybe you didn’t read your contract as carefully as you think, Mr. Markstein,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “My partner sold you fifty-one percent of this mine,” she said. “I own the other forty-nine.”

  “I am senior partner,” Markstein said.

  “Yes.”

  Clint studied Joe English. He was having second thoughts about whether or not she had hired Breckens to kill Markstein. Surely him being senior partner was motive enough.

  “Well,” Markstein said, “that doesn’t sound right to me, Miss English.”

  “What do you suggest, then?”

  “I suggest you buy one percent from me,” Markstein replied. “That way we will be equal partners.”

  She looked surprised.

  “You would do that?”

  “I think it’s only fair.”

  “It’s more than fair,” she said. “Thank you, George.”

  “You’re welcome…Joe.”

  After supper Joe English stood up and introduced George Markstein as her partner. Markstein then addressed the miners and told them that all their jobs were safe.

  “In fact,” he added, “with the new shafts being considered, there will probably be new jobs available.”

  “When will we know that, sir?” someone asked.

  “I have to go over the blueprints with Miss English and Mr. Martin,” Markstein said. “As soon as I’m fully informed, we’ll let you all know what’s happening. Meanwhile it’s business as usual. Thank you.”

  There was a smattering of applause, but clearly everyone’s minds were not put at ease.

  Outside the mess hall Markstein said to Joe, “I don’t think I put their minds at ease at all.”

  “Well, they’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” she said. “Like the rest of us.”

  “Would you like to look at those blueprints now?” Ed Martin asked Markstein.

  “Yes,” he said, then looked at Joe and added, “You draw up some papers for the sale of that one percent. I meant what I said.”

  “All right,” she said, “I will.”

  As Markstein walked away with Ed Martin, Joe English asked Clint, “Is he for real?”

  “Like you said,” he replied, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?” she asked.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Joe led Clint to the tent Chance had told him was half saloon, half general store. When they got inside, he saw what Chance had meant. One side of the tent was a counter and merchandise, while the other side was a small bar and a few tables, most of which were now taken since supper was over, and so was the day’s work.

  Miners made a place for their boss and her guest, and she got two beers from the bartender.

  “I can’t believe he’d give up controlling interest in the mine,” she said to Clint.

  “I can’t explain it.”

  “It’s not good business.”

  “Well, from what I know of him—which isn’t much—he appears to be a successful businessman.”

  “Well then, he’s got a funny way of running his business,” she said.

  “Why don’t you just draw up the papers as quickly as you can, just in case,” he suggested.

  “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

  A man came walking over, smiling broadly at Joe, ignoring Clint.

  “Joe, it’s so nice to see you in here,” he said, taking her free hand. “You don’t come in a lot.”

  “I was just showing the place to our guest, Isaac,” she said. The way she slipped her hand from his gave Clint the feeling she hadn’t enjoyed the physical contact with the man.

  “Clint, this is Isaac Brown, one of the owners of this little establishment. Isaac, this is Clint Adams.”

  Brown looked at Clint, actually seeing him for the first time. The merchant appeared to be in his forties, tall, well-fed, but not fat.

  “Clint Adams…the Gunsmith?” the man asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, what brings such a famous gunman to our little corner of the mountain?” Brown asked.

  Clint allowed the word “gunman” to go by without comment.

  “Mr. Adams is a friend of my new partner, and brought him here safely from Kingman.”

  “Safely?” Brown asked. “Was there any reason to think that he wouldn’t get here safely?”

  “There was some indication of that, yes,” Clint said.

  “They encountered some trouble on the trail, but managed to avoid anything violent.”

  “I see,” Brown said. “Do you think the trouble may follow you up here?”

  “It’s possible,” Clint said.

  “Well, maybe we ought to send for the sheriff.”

  “Let’s not overreact,” Joe said. “I think if there’s any trouble, Clint will be able to handle it.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right about that. Well, then we’re glad to have you around, Mr. Adams.” The man turned his gaze toward Joe. “You should come around here more often, young lady. You dress up the place.”

  She smiled but didn’t say anything, and he walked away.

  “You don’t like him very much, do you?” Clint asked.

  “No,” she said, “he’s…slimy, like a snake-oil salesman.” Then she put her hand to her mouth. “Was it that obvious?”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Clint said. “I just have a feel for that kind of thing. The way you slid your hand out of his, the way you stood…”

  “You’re ver
y observant,” she said.

  “It helps in staying alive.”

  “What are your days like?” she asked. “Having to worry about that day in, day out?”

  “You get used to it after a while.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really,” he said, “but you learn to live with it.”

  “Why not take your gun off and be done with it?”

  He smiled.

  “I’d be dead in minutes if I did that.”

  “I suppose that was naïve of me,” she said. “It’s a way of life you’re stuck with. I know something about that.”

  “Oh? Are you stuck up here?”

  “It’s the only way of life I’ve ever known,” she said. “My father was a miner, and he made sure I was one. Luckily, I don’t have to actually work underground.”

  “Why don’t you sell and go on to something else, then?” he asked. Then hurriedly added, “Not that I’m urging you to sell—”

  “I understand the question, Clint,” she said. “I can’t sell. This was my father’s dream, a successful mine. Of course, he was thinking about gold, not turquoise, but this is what I found.”

  “But is it a way of life you hate?”

  She made a face, almost as if the question pained her—or maybe it was the answer.

  “I don’t hate it, but I wonder about what else is out there. I’m in my midthirties—I know, I look older—and I’d like to think I’d get to see a little more of the world, or, at least, of this country before I die.”

  He decided not to address the question of her looking older. Fact was, she was a beautiful woman, and she had to know that.

  She swirled the beer at the bottom of her glass, staring at it, then drank it down.

  “I think I’ll go to my cabin and turn in,” she said.

  “Well, good night then—”

  “Would you like to come along?”

  “To your cabin?”

  “Yes, to my cabin.”

  Clint wanted to make sure he was reading her right.

  “And that would be for…”

  “Sex, what else?” she said. “Look, I don’t have time to be coy. I haven’t had sex in a very long time, and I can’t sleep with any of the men up here. I’m the boss. I need someone who’s not going to be here for very long.”