The Gunsmith 386

by J. R. Roberts

  “That’s terrible, ma’am,” Clint said, “but I assure you, we’re not robbers. We were just walking.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “Well, I’ll be talking to the sheriff in the morning.”

  “That’s fine, ma’am,” Clint said. “You do that.”

  She gestured with the shotgun barrel and said, “Now get the hell off my property.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Clint said. “Our pleasure.”

  He led Eclipse out of the woman’s yard and onto the street, followed by Cain, who was waiting to hear the old woman cock her shotgun.

  The sound never came.

  FORTY

  They picked up their other horses from in front and in back of the hotel then walked all three to a livery stable. They had to knock on the doors to get in, but soon enough a man swung them open and said, “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “We’ve got three horses for you to take care of,” Clint said, “and we’ll pay double.”

  The man swung the doors wide open and said, “Come on in, then. Wow, that’s a big one.”

  Clint had decided not to take the horses to the livery where old Jake worked. He just didn’t have any confidence in the old drunk to take proper care of them. This man was younger, though by no means a youngster. At least he was sober.

  They waited while the man took all three horses to their stalls, then when he came back, Clint handed him some money.

  “How long?” the man asked, looking at the money in his hand.

  “Hopefully,” Clint said, “one day.”

  “This is more than double, then.”

  “Keep it,” Clint said. “Take real good care of them, especially the big one.”

  “You bet,” the man said.

  “And if anyone else knocks tonight,” Clint said, “don’t answer the door.”

  “Fine with me,” the man said. “I was asleep anyway.”

  They left, waited for the man to close the double doors and lock them before moving off.

  • • •

  “Check on the horse,” Dunn told Sands.

  “Again?”

  “Just do it!”

  Sands got up from the table and left the room.

  Clement poured himself some more wine.

  “When do you think this little matter will wrap up?” he asked Dunn.

  “I hope tomorrow,” Dunn said.

  “Is he reliable?” Clement asked, jerking his chin toward Sands’s vacated chair.

  “Reliable enough.”

  “We haven’t talked about it, but this is a job, right?” Clement asked. “Not something personal?”

  “It started out as a job,” Dunn said. “It’s still somethin’ I’m gettin’ paid for, but now it’s become personal.”

  “Because it’s been so difficult to kill him?”

  Dunn nodded.

  “A man like that, I suppose he’s been through this many times,” Clement said.

  “Well,” Dunn said, “I hope this’ll be the last time.”

  Just at the moment Dunn spoke, Sands came running in from the back door.

  “He’s gone!”

  “What?”

  “The horse is gone,” Sands said. “The back door is open. The lock’s broke.”

  “That rear lock was kind of rusty,” Clement admitted. “Maybe the horse kicked the door?”

  “Maybe,” Dunn said, standing up, “or maybe somebody came and got ’im. Come on, let’s look around.”

  He and Sands went out the back door.

  • • •

  Clint suggested they stop at a saloon.

  “Why?” Cain asked. “Let’s just go back to the house.”

  “Come on,” Clint said, “I’ll tell you my thinking over a beer.”

  “Well, I could use a beer,” the big half-breed said. In fact, he’d been feeling that way ever since he left the whorehouse.

  They stopped in the first saloon they came to. It was well lit, half full, probably because it offered no gambling. There was only one girl working the floor, and she looked exhausted. There were three men at the bar. Clint and Cain took up a position at a far end, where they wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Two beers,” Clint said, waving at the bored-looking bartender. The man reacted immediately and set two full mugs in front of them.

  “Okay,” Cain said after drinking half his beer down gratefully, “what is on your mind?”

  “I’m wondering what they will do when they discover Eclipse missing. That lock was rusty. They might just think he kicked the door open.”

  “Or,” Cain said, “they’ll think you were here.”

  “Right.”

  “Might make them nervous.”

  “Right again.”

  “So we stand here and nurse a couple of beers and let them sweat.”

  “My thinking exactly.”

  • • •

  Dunn and Sands checked the floor in the carriage house, Dunn holding a lamp high.

  “Footprints,” he said, pointing.

  “Could be ours,” Sands said.

  Dunn pointed down.

  “That’s a big man’s foot.”

  “Not the Gunsmith’s?”

  “I doubt it,” Dunn said, “but there are two sets here.”

  “Then he’s here,” Sands said, “and he has help. And we don’t have his horse anymore.”

  Dunn moved the lamp, looked at the broken lock, then checked the door.

  “No chance the horse kicked it open?”

  “There’s always a chance,” Dunn said. “Come on, let’s follow these tracks.”

  Using the lamp, they followed the tracks. It was helpful that the horse’s tracks were so big, as were those made by one of the men. Even in the lamplight, they were able to follow.

  They were walking by a darkened house toward the main road when a light came on and a voice called out.

  “Stand still!”

  They stopped, looked up onto the porch at the old woman holding a shotgun.

  “Goddamnit!” she said. “Too many damn people walkin’ around in the dark tonight.” She squinted. “You ain’t the same men.”

  “Which men, ma’am?” Dunn asked.

  “Why should I answer your questions?”

  “Well, we’re guests of one of your neighbors, Mr. Clement,” Dunn said.

  “I know Clement,” she said. “Don’t like him.”

  “His house was robbed, and we’re tryin’ to figure out who did it.”

  “Robbed, huh?” she said. “They tol’ me they wasn’t robbers.”

  “Who told you that, ma’am?”

  “Them men with the horse.”

  Dunn looked at Sands.

  “Can you describe them?” Dunn asked.

  “Only one. He was a big fella. And the horse. He was a big one, too.”

  “Do you know where they went?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “and I don’t give a damn. I tol’ them to get off my land, and I’m tellin’ you the same thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dunn said. “Thanks for your help.”

  They walked to the road, at which time she went back inside and the light went out.

  “Let’s get back to Clement’s house,” Dunn said. They began to walk along the road.

  “She didn’t describe Adams,” Sands said.

  “She couldn’t describe the second man,” Dunn said. “It was him, all right. Goddamn, I really wanna kill him!”

  “We’re gonna need help.”

  “We’ve got it.”

  “Your friend Clement?” Sands asked. “He’s gonna help us kill a man?”

  “He owes me big,” Dunn said.

  “Yeah, about that,” Sands said. “You never did tell me t
he whole story.”

  “That’s right,” Dunn said. “I never did.”

  He didn’t say anything else after that, so they continued on to the Clement house in silence.

  FORTY-ONE

  Inside, Clement was having coffee.

  “So?”

  “Looks like Adams came for the horse, and had some help,” Dunn said. He walked to the table, poured himself some coffee. “We’re gonna need your help, Brock.”

  “I have been helping you.”

  “We’re gonna need men.”

  “To help you kill the Gunsmith?”

  Dunn nodded. Sands poured himself some coffee, drank it nervously.

  “Don’t tell me a man with your money ain’t never had anybody killed,” Dunn said.

  Clement wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked at Dunn.

  “If I have ever done that, I had good reason,” their host said. “To do it again, I’d need a good reason.”

  “You know the reason,” Dunn said. “It would square us.”

  “Square us,” Clement said.

  Dunn nodded.

  Clement pushed his chair back.

  “Why don’t we go into the den,” he said, “and have some brandy.”

  “Ain’t got any whiskey?” Sands asked.

  “Brandy’s fine,” Dunn said, giving Sands a hard look. “Let’s have some brandy.”

  They followed their host into the den, where he poured. The only other person in the house was the cook. Everything else Clement did for himself.

  “Dunn, you’ll have your men tomorrow morning.”

  “Are they good with guns?”

  “They can use them.”

  “Will they do what I tell them?”

  “If I tell them to.”

  “And if you pay them enough, right?” Sands asked.

  “Actually,” Clement said, “that is correct.”

  “How will you get word to them?” Dunn asked.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Clement said. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

  Dunn and Sands exchanged a glance.

  “All right,” Dunn said. “We’ll wait ’til mornin’, then.”

  “And do what until then?” Sands asked.

  “Just relax.”

  “You mind if I worry a little?”

  “No,” Dunn said, standing up, “but it’ll keep you awake.”

  “That’s for sure,” Clement said. “I learned a long time to leave my worrying outside my bedroom.”

  “You got money,” Sands said. “Makes it easy.”

  “Money just brings worry, Mr. Sands,” Clement said. “And more money brings more worries.”

  “Well, I’d like to try me some of them worries sometime,” Sands said.

  • • •

  “When do you want to go?” Cain asked Clint. They were working on their second beers.

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “What have you come up with?”

  “I’m wondering how worried they’ll be by morning. Worried men are careless.”

  “On the other hand,” Cain said, “if they do not discover that the horse is missing until morning, they will not have spent the night worrying.”

  “Good point,” Clint said, “but I had another thought.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve been tracking these two men a long time,” Clint said. “I’d like to see them in the daylight.”

  “Between now and then they might get some help.”

  “I’m tired of this,” Clint said. “I’ll face however many men they want to throw at me. You don’t have to come along.”

  “I have come this far,” Cain said. “I will go the rest of the way with you.”

  “You’ll need a shotgun, then,” Clint said, “for close-up work. We can get one in the morning.”

  “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Drink up, then,” Clint said. “We better turn in. We got a busy morning ahead of us.”

  Cain nodded, and drank.

  “One more thing,” Clint said.

  “What’s that?”

  “What really happened with you in that whorehouse?”

  FORTY-TWO

  In the morning when Dunn came down from his second-floor bedroom, there were four men sitting in the living room. In the dining room Clement was eating breakfast. Sands had not yet come down.

  “These your best men?” Dunn asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have they had breakfast?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You mean you ain’t fed them?”

  “I said they’d be here for your use,” Clement said, “I said nothing about feeding them. Go and have your breakfast. Where is Mr. Sands?”

  “He’ll be down.” Dunn sat, took some eggs, ham, and biscuits. If Clement wasn’t worried about feeding the men, why should he be?

  Sands came down minutes later and joined them.

  “Them the men?” he asked.

  “They are,” Dunn said.

  “Don’t look like much.”

  “They can shoot,” Clement said, “and they will not run when the action begins.”

  “You seem to know what’s important with men like this,” Dunn said.

  Clement didn’t comment.

  “We ain’t talked about your business,” Dunn said.

  “That’s because it’s my business,” Clement said.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  They ate.

  • • •

  Clint met Cain in the lobby and they went to a café for breakfast. Over steak and eggs they spoke of their day.

  “You want to wait for them to come for us?” Cain asked.

  “No,” Clint said, “I want to call the play.”

  “So we just walk up to the house?”

  “Yep.”

  “No matter how many of them there are?” Cain asked.

  Clint nodded.

  “Why?”

  “It’ll unnerve them,” Clint said, “especially if there’s five or more. They won’t expect us to stand against those odds.”

  “I wouldn’t expect to either.”

  “We can ambush them if you want.”

  Cain shook his head.

  “Not your way, or mine,” Cain said. “We’ll face ’em head-on. Unnerve ’em.”

  “Yes.”

  Cain waved for the waiter.

  “If I am to die today, I want another steak.”

  It sounded like a good idea to Clint.

  • • •

  After breakfast Dunn and Sands faced the four men. As they entered the living room, the men stood up.

  “Mr. Clement tell you why I wanted you?” Dunn asked.

  “No,” one of them said. “He said you’d do that.”

  “We’ve been hired to kill somebody,” Dunn said. “Anybody here got trouble killin’ for money?”

  The four men all shook their heads, while one—who seemed to be the spokesman—said, “No.”

  “Good.”

  “When do we do this?” the man asked.

  “With any luck, this morning.”

  “Who’s the man?”

  Dunn studied the four men, then asked, “Is that important? You’re gettin’ paid.”

  “Just curious.”

  “His name’s Clint Adams,” Dunn said. He watched for reactions. “Anybody wanna back out?”

  The four men didn’t react.

  “No,” the spokesman said. “We’re in.”

  “The Gunsmith is past his time,” one of the others said.

  Dunn looked at him. He was probably all of twenty-four.

  “That so?”

  “Old,” the youn
g man said. “He won’t be no trouble.”

  Dunn didn’t bother telling the boy how many men Adams had killed recently, how many he and Sands had already sent against him.

  “Maybe,” Dunn said.

  “We goin’ out lookin’ for him?” the spokesman asked.

  Dunn looked at Sands, then back at the men.

  “No,” Dunn said, “he knows where we are. He’ll come here.”

  “Today,” Sands said.

  “We best get set up to receive him,” Dunn said. “Oh, one more thing.”

  “What’s that?” the spokesman asked.

  “He won’t be alone.”

  “How many?”

  “Just one more.”

  “No problem,” the young man said.

  Dunn was willing to bet that this jasper would be the first one killed.

  • • •

  Clint and Cain finished their breakfast and left the café. They stopped in front and checked the street. It would have been easy if Dunn, Sands, and whoever else they recruited were waiting there for them.

  “What about the sheriff?” Cain asked.

  “We’ll deal with him after the fact,” Clint said.

  “If we’re alive.”

  “There is that.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Clint approached the house alone.

  The front door opened and a man stepped out, followed by a second.

  “Adams?” the man asked.

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “Which one are you, Dunn or Sands?”

  Dunn looked mildly surprised that Clint had managed to come up with their names.

  “I’m Dunn, he’s Sands.”

  “What’s this been about, Dunn?” Clint asked.

  Dunn shrugged.

  “Just a job.”

  “Really? For money? All this has been for money?”

  “Started out that way,” Dunn said. “Got kind of personal when you started killing my men.”

  “Got personal for me when you tried to bushwhack me,” Clint said. “Even more when you stole my horse.”

  “Well,” Dunn said, “you got him back, unharmed.”

  “Somehow,” Clint said, “that doesn’t settle things.”

  Suddenly, a third man came out the door, unarmed, dressed well. Clint figured he was the owner of the house.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “can we take this activity away from my house?”

  “Afraid not, friend,” Clint said. “You opened your house to these . . . gents . . . and you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.”