Gunsmith #359 : 2 Guns for Vengeance (9781101545270)

by Roberts, J. R.

  “Well then, maybe you just came up with a plan,” Randolph said.

  “What plan?” Lane asked.

  Randolph looked at Lane, and then back at the other men.

  “We take them separately,” Randolph said. “All we’ve got to do is separate them.”

  “And how do we do that?” Lane asked.

  “Did you notice they weren’t worried about us burning the house down with a woman in it?”

  “So?”

  “So, that means she ain’t inside. She’s somewhere else.”

  “Where?” Lane asked.

  “Maybe Brigham,” Randolph said. “We’re gonna find her and use her to split them up.”

  “I still ain’t keen on facing either of them,” someone said.

  “Any one of you,” Randolph said, “who doesn’t like twenty-five to one odds for the money I’m payin’ you can light out right now.”

  He looked around at the assembled men, catching as many of them as he could right in the eyes.

  “That’s fine,” he said, “but if you stay now, you stay for good, or you’ll have me to deal with. I’ll kill you before the Gunsmith has a chance to. You all got that?”

  They muttered and nodded, and Lane said, “Yeah, we all got it, Ben.”

  “All right, then,” Randolph said. “For now we head back to Ariza. I’ve got to plan this perfectly.”

  They all turned their horses and rode away from the Powell house.

  “That’s it,” Clint said to the other three men on the porch. “They’re heading out.”

  “You think they’re quitting?” Powell asked.

  “No,” Smith said. “That Ben Randolph fella ain’t gonna quit.”

  “I agree,” Clint said. “They need a new plan, and they won’t be back until they have one they think is perfect.”

  “Maybe that gives us a little more time,” Smith said.

  “Time?” Westin asked. “For what?”

  “To get some more men,” Clint said. “If Randolph comes at us with twenty or more men, we’re going to need help.”

  “Can you get more men?” Powell asked.

  “We’ll have to see,” Clint said. “There are probably some men in town who will hire out.”

  “But not gunmen,” Westin said. “I mean, not as good with a gun as you two.”

  “No,” Clint said, “but most of Randolph’s men aren’t gunmen either. We just need to offset the numbers he’s going to throw at us.”

  “And how will you do that?” Powell asked.

  Clint looked at him and said, “We’ll start with your money. Also, you have some men working for you.”

  “Not ones who are good with a gun,” Powell said.

  “Right now we just need somebody to stand watch.”

  “I’ll stay here until you find somebody,” Smith said.

  “Okay,” Clint said, looking at Powell. “Let’s go inside and talk about it.”

  Clint, Powell, and the lawyer went into the house.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Powell had three men working for him, mostly for maintenance around the house. He pulled the three of them in, told them what was going on, and what they wanted from them. Two of them said fine, they’d stay and stand watch. One of them didn’t want any part of gunplay, and left.

  With one of the men out on the porch on watch, and one in back of the house just in case, Smith was allowed to come back in.

  They gathered in Powell’s office and Clint said, “Your wife is in town, so she’s safe if they set fire to the house, but Chelsea is still here.”

  “The cook?” Powell asked.

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “Maybe she’s just a cook to you, but she’s a woman and doesn’t need to be here when the lead starts flying.”

  “Yes, of course,” Powell said. “Someone will have to take her to town.”

  “I’ll do it,” Westin said.

  “You’ll have to take a different route to town,” Clint said. “They might be waiting for you on the main road.”

  Westin looked nervous.

  “I’ll ride in with them,” Clint said.

  “You think that’s wise?”

  “Smith will be here with you,” Clint said. “You do everything he says and you’ll be all right. Besides, I think Randolph is going to need at least a day to come up with a new plan.”

  “What if he hires more men?” Powell asked. “What if he comes with forty?”

  “He can come with a hundred if he wants,” Clint said. “Gangs are like snakes. If you cut off the head, the body dies. If we kill him, there’ll be no one to pay them, and they’ll scatter.”

  “Then why not do that?” Powell asked. “Sneak up on him and kill him?”

  “Well, first,” Clint said. “I don’t bushwhack people. Second, I still want to see if we can find out who actually killed the other five men.”

  Powell looked at Smith.

  “I don’t bushwhack people either,” Court Smith said. “Every man I’ve ever killed has been facing me.”

  “All right,” Powell said, defeated. “I’m paying you, so I have to go by what you say.”

  “I’ll go and tell Chelsea to get packed to go to town,” Clint said. “Is she in the kitchen?”

  “She should be,” Powell said.

  Clint turned and left the room. As he did so, he heard Powell asking who was going to cook supper.

  Chelsea was, indeed, in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour.

  “You better get cleaned up,” Clint said as he entered.

  “Why?” she asked. “Have you got something in mind?” She lowered her voice. “We could go in the cupboard.”

  “You’re going to town,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “So you’ll be safe,” Clint said. “There’s going to be trouble here.”

  “Now?”

  “Soon,” he said. “Well, probably tomorrow. But I want you gone today.”

  “Am I riding to town alone?”

  “No,” he said, “I’ll take you. You’ll have to go upstairs and get packed now.”

  “And once you get me to town?”

  “Then I’ll come back here.”

  “Right away?”

  “Well . . . we’ll see,” Clint said.

  She walked up to him, took his face in her flour-covered hands, and kissed him.

  “I’ll be ready soon.”

  She left him standing there with white fingerprints on his face.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Clint went back to the office to wait for Chelsea with the other men.

  “I’ll ride back with you,” Westin said.

  “I want Gordon to check on my wife,” Powell said.

  “I could do that.”

  “I have some other work for him to do,” Powell said. “Paperwork.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “Gordon, why don’t you go out front and have that fellow get our horses while you spell him for the time being.”

  “Okay.”

  Clint looked at Smith.

  “I’ll be fine,” Court said. “If Randolph shows up, I’ll try my best to kill him.”

  “If he shows up?” Powell repeated. “But you said he wouldn’t be back today.”

  “He won’t,” Clint said.

  “Probably not,” Smith said.

  “What?” Powell said as the two men left the room. He looked at Westin, who shrugged and followed Clint and Smith.

  Rather than riding in a buggy into town, Chelsea chose to saddle a mare she said was hers. When she mounted up, she rode Western-style, and handled the horse well.

  “Let’s take the main road,” Clint said to Westin.

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said, but that was when you and Chelsea were going to ride in alone. With me along, I don’t think anybody will try anything.”

  “Why not?” Chelsea asked.

  “Randolph hasn’t had time to form a new plan yet,” Clint said. “Even if we do run into some
body, they’ll probably just be on watch.”

  “Okay,” Westin said. “It’s your call.”

  Clint wasn’t surprised that Randolph had not even put anyone on watch. With his plans in total disarray, it was no surprise he’d crawled back into his hole and taken all his men with him.

  They rode into Brigham with no incidents. Clint took Chelsea to the hotel and got her a room. He told the clerk that Andrew Powell would be paying.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He walked Chelsea to her room.

  “Now don’t go out unless you have to.”

  “Like to eat?” she asked.

  “There’s a café down the street. Use that.”

  “And where is Mrs. Powell?”

  “She’s also in this hotel.”

  “Can I go and see her?”

  “If you like. In fact, it might not be a bad idea for you two to watch out for each other.”

  “You think those men might come for her? Or me?”

  “Maybe her, not you. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  Clint thought a moment, then said, “I’ll have to get a man to watch over the two of you.”

  “Before you go back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll be back to see me?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I’ll be back before I leave.”

  “Good,” she said, sitting on the bed, “I’ll have something to look forward to.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll be here very long. This whole thing is going to come to a head soon.”

  “And after that? You’ll be leaving?”

  “When it’s all done, yes,” he said. “It’ll be time for me to go.”

  “Maybe me, too,” she said. “Might be time for me to find a new job.”

  “You might be right,” Clint said. “Sounds like things might change in the Powell household after this.”

  “They were headed that way long before this,” she said.

  “That’s their problem,” he said. “I just want to find out who killed my friend.”

  “Well,” she said, touching his arm, “just be careful you don’t get killed while you’re doing it.”

  “That’s always the first thing I remind myself when I get up in the morning,” he told her. “Don’t get killed. Remember what I said. Don’t spend too much time outside the hotel.”

  “I’ll remember,” she said.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said, and left.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Clint decided to go to the sheriff for protection for the two women.

  “How are things goin’ with you and Mr. Powell?” Sheriff Doby asked as Clint walked in.

  “Just fine,” Clint said.

  “You solve that problem of his?”

  “Not yet,” Clint said, “but I could use some help.”

  “With what?”

  “Mrs. Powell and her cook, Chelsea Piper, are across the street at the hotel. I’d like someone to keep an eye on them.”

  “It’s my job to keep an eye on everybody in this town,” the lawman said.

  “Well, I need somebody to keep a special eye on them,” Clint said. “Can you recommend anyone in town I could pay to do that?”

  “Pay?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well,” Doby said, rubbing his jaw, “maybe I could take the time—”

  “I’d rather have someone who doesn’t also have to keep an eye on the town, thanks all the same. Just a suggestion would be good.”

  The sheriff hesitated, then said, “Maybe I have someone for you . . .”

  Doby told Clint there was a small saloon at the north end of town, just an old door across some barrels used as a bar and a few tables.

  As he entered, he saw it was even smaller than he’d been told. The bartender looked up at him without removing his elbow from the bar, or his chin from the hand. There were two men seated at a table, each with a beer in front of them.

  “Help ya?”

  “Beer any good?”

  “It’s cold,” the barkeep said. “Best beer in town.”

  “I’ll take one.”

  The first thing Clint noticed was that the glasses were clean. When he tasted the beer, it was, indeed, cold.

  “Pretty good, huh?”

  “Real good,” Clint said. “I’m looking for a man named Dan O’Day—if that’s a real name.”

  Clint had the feeling the sheriff may have been having a laugh at his expense.

  “O’Day? Right there.”

  Clint turned, looked at the two seated men.

  “Which one?”

  “The back one.”

  The man in question was leaning over the table, staring into half a mug of beer.

  “How long has he been sitting there?” Clint asked.

  “Years,” the bartender said. “Oh, do you mean—okay, he’s been there a few hours.”

  “With that same beer?”

  The barkeep nodded.

  “Okay, give me another one, then.”

  “Comin’ up.”

  Clint carried his beer and the extra one to the table. The man didn’t move.

  “Dan O’Day?”

  There was a long moment and then the man slowly lifted his eyes from the mug. He was younger than Clint had expected, judging from the way he’d looked sitting at the table with his head bowed and shoulders hunched. He appeared to be about thirty-five.

  “O’Day?” Clint asked, again. “Cold beer?”

  The man looked at the mug and said, “For me?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to hire you.”

  “For what?”

  “Can I sit?”

  “Gimme the beer.”

  Clint handed it over and O’Day took a sip.

  “Okay,” he said, “sit. Whataya need?”

  “I need a man to stand guard over a couple of ladies,” Clint said. “The sheriff suggested you.”

  “The beer’s mine no matter what?” O’Day asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, well,” he said, pausing to sip again, “I think the sheriff is playing a joke on you.”

  “Why? Why would you think that?”

  “Well, for one thing, he don’t like me,” O’Day said. “And if he suggested me to you for a job, he probably don’t like you either.”

  “What’s he got against you?”

  O’Day hesitated, then said, “I used to be his deputy.”

  “What happened?”

  “I quit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s a bad lawman, and I told him so.”

  “But if you were a deputy, it means you know how to use a gun.”

  “That’s the problem,” O’Day said. “I used to be good with a gun, but since I quit, I’ve had a beer in my hand more often than a gun.”

  Clint studied the man for a few moments. He didn’t really have time to start looking for somebody else.

  “Hold out your hand,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Your gun hand. Hold it out.”

  O’Day extended his right hand, palm down.

  “That’s pretty steady.”

  “That’s because I’ve been drinkin’,” O’Day said. “Once I dry out, my hand starts to shake.”

  “Okay, so don’t dry out.”

  “What?”

  “Look,” Clint said, “I’ll pay you good money to do this job.”

  “For how long?”

  “Maybe a few days.”

  “And you don’t want me to dry out?”

  “Not completely,” Clint said. “Not if it keeps your hand steady.”

  “What are you payin’?”

  Clint told him.

  “Well . . . what’s the job?”

  “I’ll do it,” O’Day said when Clint was finished, “although I don’t know why the Gunsmith would trust a stranger with these two ladies.”

  “
Remember, you have the sheriff’s recommendation,” Clint said.

  “I explained that to you.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I think our arrangement will work for us and be a thumb in the sheriff’s eye.”

  “That suits me,” O’Day said.

  “Finish your drink and I’ll introduce you to the two women.”

  “I don’t think I need to meet them,” O’Day said, “but you can point them out to me. Do you know where they are now?”

  “You want to start now?”

  “Might as well.”

  “Let me give you some money—”

  “No,” O’Day said, “don’t give me any money. I might just drink it away. You can pay me after.”

  Right then Clint thought he’d made the right decision.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Clint and O’Day stopped outside the small café down the street from the hotel. Clint looked in the window and was surprised to see both Chelsea and Andrea sitting together at a table.

  “Pretty ladies,” O’Day said. “Which one is Mrs. Powell?”

  “The one on the left,” Clint said. “Do you know Powell?”

  “Ran into him once or twice when I was wearin’ a badge,” O’Day said.

  “Well,” Clint said, “all you’ve got to do is keep them alive until I tell you the job’s done.”

  O’Day looked at Clint with bloodshot eyes, but steady hands. Clint knew the sheriff was probably trying to stick him with a drunk, but he doubted that the lawman would steer him toward someone who might be bought off by Ben Randolph.

  “You can depend on me, Clint,” O’Day said.

  Clint was usually a good judge of character, so he said, “I know I can, Dan.”

  “You might as well let them know I’ll be watchin’ them,” he said, “but tell them not to look for me.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Dan.”

  “I guess I should thank you for gettin’ me out of the saloon.”

  “Mr. Adams,” Andrea Powell said as Clint approached their table.

  “Join us, Clint,” Chelsea said.

  “Are you here to sound the all-clear?” Andrea asked.

  “Not at all,” he said, sitting between them. “Nothing has happened yet. I’m here to tell you that I have a man watching you both. He’ll protect you.”