The Gunsmith 406

by JR Roberts

  Clint Adams was just marking time is Festus, Wyoming when he had a run-in with the biggest rancher in the county. Vance Restin had no respect for anyone, but when he realized that Clint was the Gunsmith, he tried to hire him for a special job  escorting the rancher’s daughter to Sacramento. When Clint turned him down—no matter how much money the rancher offered—he found himself forced into a situation where he had to take the job or suffer the consequences. And when the job turned out to be a whole lot more than it was made out to be, Clint found his life in mortal danger!

  THE PUT UP JOB

  THE GUNSMITH 406

  By J. R. Roberts

  Copyright © 2015 by Robert J. Randisi

  First Smashwords Edition: October 2015

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Cover image © 2015 by Tony Masero

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book * Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  Chapter One

  Clint had only been in Festus, Wyoming a few hours when he got his first taste of what ranch Vance Restin was really like.

  He had just come out of the Six of Spades Saloon after washing his lunch down with a cold beer. Festus was a mid-sized town that was on its way up, with new buildings popping up on almost every street. From the talk he overheard in the saloon while leaning over his beer, everybody seemed pretty excited about the town’s growth.

  Just outside the batwing doors he was stretching and taking a breath when he noticed some commotion across the street.

  Two men seemed to have gotten to the door of the General Store at the same time, one going in – bigger, more well-dressed man – and the other coming out, and bumped into each other. The man going in seemed to take great exception to the incident, and Clint could hear his booming voice from across the street.

  “Why the hell don’t you get out of the way, man?” he demanded. “Don’t you see me here?”

  The other man spoke more softly. Clint couldn’t hear the words, but he had the impression he was apologizing.

  “Never mind that, just get out of my way!”

  The man stepped aside, and as he did a small boy started out the door. Again, the larger man became impatient and actually pushed the lad aside. The boy stumbled, but his father caught him before he could tumble from the boardwalk.

  As the larger man entered, a woman came out the door, stumbling as if she had also been pushed. Clint assumed the arrogant man had done so. Effectively, he had shoved the entire family out of his way, rather than wait for them to exit the store first. Clint hated men who felt they were entitled that way, that people should step aside whenever they saw them.

  He knew he shouldn’t, but he stepped into the street and crossed over.

  “You folks okay?” he asked.

  The little family turned to face him, and the father said, “Yes, sir. We’re fine. That was just Mr. Restin.”

  “Restin?”

  “He’s a bad man,” the boy said.

  “He’s a horrible, horrible man,” the woman said. “He thinks people should get out of his way right quick whenever they see him.”

  “And why would he think that?” Clint asked.

  “Easy,” the woman said. “He has the biggest ranch in the county and thinks he owns everything in town--and his men are all over the place.” She glared across the street.

  Clint turned to look in the direction of her glare, saw four men standing in front of the hardware store. He’d seen some men inside the saloon who looked like ranch hands, as well. These four were lounging insolently, wearing guns and making comments to any woman who walked by.

  “They’re as ill-mannered as their boss,” she said, her pretty face showing her distaste.

  “Now, Jennifer—”

  “Never mind!” she snapped at her husband. “We got a right to speak up. This man’s a stranger, and he asked.”

  The boy was looking through the door at the inside of the store and he said, “We better get outta the way, he’s comin’ out.”

  “Is that so?” Clint asked.

  “Yeah,” the boy said. “Better move, Mister, or he’ll knock you down.”

  Clint grinned at the boy and said, “Let’s see …”

  “Mister—” the man said.

  “Leave him alone, Ben,” the woman said. “I want to see this.”

  Clint could see through the door that the man they called Restin was heading his way. He deliberately stepped into the doorway so they’d get there at the same time.

  As Restin came face-to-face with Clint – standing several inches taller, and some twenty or thirty pounds heavier – he glared. He was also about ten years old.

  “Stand aside!” he barked.

  “I’m going inside,” Clint said.

  “Well, stand aside,” the rancher said, again. “You can go in after I’ve left.”

  “I think you should stand aside and let me in,” Clint said. “Show some consideration to a stranger in your town.”

  The man’s face turned red as his anger grew.

  “Now look, friend,” he said, “I don’t stand aside for anyone, especially not some saddle tramp driftin’ through town. Now I’ll say it again. Move aside.”

  “Nope,” Clint said. “You move.”

  “You’re askin’ for it!”

  “I’m just asking to go inside,” Clint said.

  “My men are right across the street—”

  “Well, you can wave at them after I go inside,” Clint said. “Here, let me help you move aside.”

  Clint grabbed the front of the man’s jacket, yanked him out of the store, spun him around and shoved him. He’d only meant to push him aside, but Restin’s right foot went back and stepped off the boardwalk, and the man went tumbling to the dirt, kicking up a cloud.

  “Uh-oh,” Ben said.

  The four men across the street started forward …

  Chapter Two

  “Here,” Clint said, to Restin, “let me give you a hand. I didn’t mean to dump you in the street.”

  The man glared at Clint and slapped his outstretched hand aside.

  “You’ll pay for this!” he snapped.

  Clint withdrew his hand and stepped back as the four men reached their employer.

  “Hey boss,” one of them said, as two others reached down and helped him to his feet, “what’s goin’ on here?”

  “You got trouble?” one asked.

  “I don’t have trouble,” Restin said. “This fella here has the trouble.”

  One of the men looked at Clint and said, “That right, Mister? You want trouble?”

  Clint studied the four men more closely and realized he’d misread them the first time. They were not ranch hands – they were hired guns. He knew it from the way they stood, and the way they wore their guns.

  “Kill this man!” Restin said to his men.

  “Really?” Beth said, stepping forward.

  “Beth—” her husband said.

  But his wife continued. “Because he pushed you out of the way you’re gonna have four of your gunmen kill him? Because he hurt your ego? You’re a crazy man, Mr. Restin.”

  The rancher looked at her, then at her husband.

  “You should control your wife, Ben,” he said. “Get her out of the way.”

  “It’s all right, ma’am
,” Clint said, putting his hand on the woman’s arm. “I can handle this.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” she said. “I know you done what you did because of us—”

  “It’s okay,” Clint assured her. “Just go over there and stand with your boy.”

  “Mama?” the boy said.

  “It’s all right, Harry,” she said, stepping over to him and putting her hands on his shoulders. “It’s all right.” She glared at her husband, who was apparently useless for anything beyond carrying packages – which he was.

  Clint turned to Restin and his four men.

  “Restin, these men pull their guns, a lot of innocent people are going to get hurt,” he said, “but I promise you one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll be dead.’ Clint said. “And I’ll kill you first.”

  One of the four men moved up alongside another and whispered something to him.

  “Are you sure?” the man asked. He was the one who asked Clint about trouble.

  The first man nodded.

  The other man stepped up next to his boss and said something into his ear.

  “What? Are you sure?” Restin asked.

  His man nodded.

  Restin looked at Clint.

  “Look,” the rancher said, “it was just a misunderstanding. Let’s forget it.”

  “Why don’t you apologize to these nice people?” Clint asked. “Then we’ll forget it.”

  People had gathered around to witness the confrontation.

  Restin looked over at the family of three. The man appeared concerned, the boy excited, and the woman, Beth, angry. She held the boy close to her.

  “I’m sorry, Ben,” Restin said, “Mrs. Ballard. My apologies.”

  “And the boy,” Clint said.

  “Young man,” Restin said, tightly, “you have my apologies.”

  “You’re a bad man!” the boy said.

  “So I’ve been told,” Restin said. He turned to his men and yelled, “Come on!”

  He stormed away, the four men following him. The one Clint now knew had recognized him kept looking over his shoulder, to make sure Clint wouldn’t shoot him in the back.

  Everyone remained silent until Restin and his men were gone.

  “That was great!” Beth exclaimed.

  “What happened, there?” Ben asked. “Why did he do that?”

  At that moment somebody started yelling, “Clear the streets!”

  Clint turned and looked, saw a man with a badge break through the crowd.

  “Come on,” he shouted, “move it along.”

  As the crowd began to disperse the lawman turned and looked at Clint.

  “Adams, you’re coming with me.”

  “What for?” Beth asked. “He didn’t do anything.”

  “Mrs. Ballard,” the sheriff said, “just … mind your own business.”

  “This is my business!” she said. She turned to Clint. “Come to our house for supper tonight. After he finishes with you.”

  “Mrs. Ballard—”

  Ben Ballard said, “She won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Just follow Harry,” she said. “He’ll bring you.”

  “Adams!” the sheriff snapped. “Come with me.”

  “All right!” Clint said, to all of them.

  Chapter Three

  “What the hell, Adams?” the sheriff asked, sitting behind his desk. “When you got here and came to me, you promised you wouldn’t look for trouble. Now I find you takin’ on the biggest man in the county.”

  “He was taking me on,” Clint said. “He sent his four hired guns after me.”

  “How the hell did you avoid gunplay?”

  “One of them recognized me.”

  “Ah. And what’s this about you and the Ballard family? What’s that about?”

  “Nothing,” Clint said. “We just met in front of the General Store. Who are they?”

  “A family,” Sheriff Moreland said, “just a family. Ben works in town. Beth makes dresses and sells them in the General Store.”

  “And what’s the story with this fellow Restin?”

  “The same story as anybody with money,” the lawman said. “His success went to his head. Now he treats people like shit, and keeps hired guns around to make sure he stays alive.”

  “How involved is he with the town?”

  “Whataya mean, like politics?”

  “Like anything,” Clint said. “Somebody said he thinks he owns the town.”

  “Well, he owns a few businesses, and he sits on the town council. But he ain’t runnin’ for Mayor that I know of.”

  “I see.”

  “You gotta stay out of his way, Adams,” Moreland said. “I don’t want you to end up killin’ any of his men or, God forbid, him. Get it?”

  “I get it, sheriff.”

  “Now, you were tellin’ me the truth, right?” the lawman asked. “You were just passin’ through?”

  “On my way from nowhere to nowhere,” Clint said. “Your town just looked sort of interesting.”

  “Well, do us all a favor,” Moreland said. “Satisfy your interest and move on, huh?”

  “Don’t worry, sheriff,” Clint said. “I won’t be staying much longer.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Can I go now?”

  “Yeah,” Moreland said, with a wave, “go.”

  Clint stepped outside, found the boy, Harry, waiting for him there.

  “What are you doing here, son?”

  “I – I’m supposed to show you the way to our house,” the boy said. “Ma said you was comin’ ta supper.”

  “She did, huh?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Well, lead the way – Harry.”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  As they walked through town Clint said, “Harry, I hope your Mom is a good cook.”

  “She’s a great cook, sir.”

  “That’s good,” Clint said. “What about you?”

  “Sir?”

  “You can stop calling me sir, Harry,” Clint said. “Just call me Clint.”

  “All right, Clint.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Me, si – Clint? I’m just a kid.”

  “Do you go to school?”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “That’s good. And what’s your dad do?”

  “He works around town.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Anything he can, si – Clint. My dad knows how to do a lot of things.”

  “So he’s good with his hands, huh?”

  “He’s real good. He can fix anything, or build anything,” the boy said.

  “You sound real proud of him.”

  “I am.”

  Clint had a feeling the man’s wife didn’t feel the same way the boy did.

  They walked through town until they came to an area peppered with small houses. Harry led Clint to one of them, which, unlike the others, was not in a state of disrepair. If Ben Ballard was good at fixing things, it showed in the condition of his small home. The fence was perfect, and the house looked freshly painted.

  “This is it,” Harry said, waving his hand. “This is our house.”

  “It looks good, Harry,” Clint said. “It looks real good.” Clint took a deep breath. “And something else smells mighty good.”

  “That’s my mom’s pot roast,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “And it smells ready!

  Chapter Four

  Clint followed Harry into the house, which was very warm from the heat of the cast iron stove. On top of the stove were several steaming pots and pans.

  “Mr. Adams,” Ben Ballard said. He rose from the chair he was sitting in and approached Clint with his hand out. “Welcome to our home.”

  Clint shook his head. “Thanks for having me.”

  Beth Ballard turned from the stove, wiped her hands on an apron she wore around her waist. Clint hadn’t noticed till now that her hair was the color of honey. It was mostly
pinned up – mostly, because several tendrils had come loose and were hanging down around her face.

  “Yes, welcome,” she said, smiling. “I hope you brought your appetite.”

  “Oh yeah,” Clint said. “Harry’s been telling me what a great cook you are. I’m starving.”

  “Good, then you go and wash up, Harry. Supper’s about ready to be put on the table.”

  “Have a seat, Clint,” Ben said. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’ll just have some water with supper, thanks,” Clint said, sitting at the table.

  “I have some coffee made,” Beth said.

  “Then that would be even better.”

  He sat at the table and Beth brought him a cup of coffee. Ben sat across from him, and Harry came running into the room and sat on his right.

  Beth set several pots and bowls down on the table, and then sat on his left.

  “Dig in,” she said. “Help yourself.”

  “I’ll wait till Harry has his,” Clint said.

  Beth dished out meat and vegetables into Harry’s plate, passing each bowl and pot to Clint after each. When they all had food on their plates they started eating.

  “Did the sheriff give you a hard time?” Beth asked.

  “He tried,” Clint said. “Seems I promised him I’d stay out of trouble when I first came to town.”

  “Why would you have to do that?” Harry asked.

  “Well, Harry,” Clint said, “some people are just followed around by trouble.”

  “And you’re one of those people?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “I’m sorry,” Beth said, “but we don’t even know your name.”

  “His name is Clint,” Harry said. “He said I can call him Clint.”

  “Clint?” Beth said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Those gunmen,” Ben said, “they backed off. It was as if they … recognized you. And the way you made Restin apologize …”

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  Beth and Ben looked at each other across the table. Clint knew they recognized the name.

  “Then that explains it,” Ben said. “They were afraid of you.”

  “Why were they afraid of Clint?” Harry asked.

  “Just eat your supper, Harry,” Beth said. “Let the grown-ups talk.”