East of the River (2 page)

“So you sent telegrams to everyone, telling them not to come?”

Dial shrugged and said, “Well, yeah, it seemed the right thing to do.”

“Except for me.”

Dial again shrugged his big shoulders. He was built like a bear, and since Clint had seen him naked, he knew that the man had almost as much hair all over his body. He tried to block the picture out of his mind, replace it with the naked woman on the bed.

“I told you, I tried to get hold of you, Clint,” Dial said. “I really did!”

Clint had been on the trail for at least two weeks, so if he gave the man the benefit of the doubt, he couldn't really fault him.

“Crap,” he said, sitting back heavily in his chair, “What the hell am I going to do in this hole without that game?”

“Well . . . we do have a cathouse.”

“I don't pay for girls, Harry,” Clint said.

“I forgot that,” Dial said. “Well, I could pay—”

“No,” Clint said, “That's okay, Harry. Don't worry about it.”

“Well, I feel responsible for you coming all this way for nothin',” Dial said.

“That's because you are responsible,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, well . . .” Dial shrugged.

“Okay,” Clint said, “I'll get a night's sleep and head out in the morning.”

“For where?” Harry asked.

“I don't know,” Clint said. “St. Louis, I guess, and then across the river. Unless you know of another game taking place somewhere?”

“Not east of the Mississippi.”

“See?” Clint said. “I knew nothing good could come from crossing to this side of the river.”

“What's wrong with this side of the river?” Dial demanded.

“Oh, nothing much,” Clint said, “except that it's east.”

“Now, wait—”

“No offense meant, Harry,” Clint said.

“Really? How the hell could I possibly not take offense at that?”

“Can I get a good steak in this town?”

“Yes,” Dial said, “I can take you someplace for a good steak, but first I have to go and finish what I started.”

“What's tha—Oh, right,” Clint said. “I interrupted you.”

“Come back to the hotel with me,” Dial said, standing up. “We'll get you a room. After that you can see to your horse. And by that time I should be ready to take you for that steak.”

“Okay,” Clint said, standing, “but I'm telling you now, it's going to have to be one hell of a steak to make this trip worth it.”

“I said it would be a good steak,” Dial said. “But that good? I don't know.”

Twenty miles away, in the town of Dexter, Indiana, young Sam Archer entered the family general store. He was wearing his hat cocked at a rakish angle and his gun too low on his thigh.

His older brother, Thomas, was waiting on two middle-aged women while his other older brother, John, was in the storeroom. The oldest of the four brothers, Mort, was out at their farm, which was on the outskirts of town, in Orange County, while the store was in Marion County.

As the two women left with their purchases, Thomas looked at his brother and asked, “What are you supposed to be?”

“Whataya mean?”

“That hat,” Thomas said. “Straighten it out.”

“What?” Sam asked. He went to a mirror on the wall by the new hats. “I like it like this.”

“It looks stupid.”

“It does not!”

“Let's get a neutral opinion,” Thomas Archer said. “John?”

Sam turned to see his brother John entering the room from the back.

“What?”

“What do you think of the way little brother's wearin' his hat?”

John looked at Sam and said, “It's stupid.”

“It is not!”

“And what's with that gun?” John asked.

“What's wrong with my gun?” Sam demanded.

“It's too low,” Thomas said.

“I wear it there for a fast draw.”

“What do you need with a fast draw?” Thomas asked.

“And when did you get one?” John asked.

“Come on,” Sam said, “you know I'm fast.”

John looked around, making sure the store was empty before he continued.

“Little brother, for what we do you don't need a fast draw.”

“Besides,” Thomas said, sliding a pencil behind his ear, “either one of us could pick up any gun in this store and outdraw you with it.”

“You could not!”

“Yeah,” John said, “we could. What are you doin' here, kid?”

“Mort sent me for supplies.”

“Where's the wagon?” John asked.

“In front.”

“Well, pull the damn thing around back and load up,” Thomas said.

Sam looked in the mirror again, uncocked the hat, then recocked it and walked out the door. John walked over to where Thomas was standing behind the counter. Both men were wearing white aprons.

John looked around carefully to make sure they were alone before he spoke.

“We're gettin' short,” he said.

“How short?” Thomas asked.

“That depends on how much Sam takes back to the farm with him.”

“Then I guess it's time for us to go out again,” Thomas said.

“Yeah.”

“Time to talk to Mort.”

John leaned on the counter. “I'm gettin' real tired of havin' to check with Mort every time this comes up.”

“He is the oldest, John,” Thomas said. “And this is a family business.”

“Yeah,” John said, “I know. Okay, I'm gonna go in the back and help little brother load up, then I'll saddle up and ride out to talk to Mort.”

“Fine,” Thomas said. “I'll hold down the fort here.”

 

Mort Archer heard his brothers approaching before he saw them. He stepped outside onto the porch and saw Sam driving the wagon and John riding his horse. There was only one reason John would be coming out to the farm this early in the day.

He stepped off the porch and started walking toward them.

John saw Mort step down off the porch.

“Sam!” he shouted. “Unload in the barn first.”

Sam nodded and turned the team toward the barn. John continued to ride toward his other brother.

“Is it time?” Mort asked as John dismounted.

“Yeah, big brother,” John said. “It's time.”

“Okay,” Mort said. “Come inside and let's talk.”

Harry Dial had been right about the steak. It was good, but it was not worth the long ride. Clint sat back and patted his stomach.

“You feelin' better?” Dial asked.

“A little,” Clint said. “Okay, I know it's not your fault, but I rode a long way for nothing.”

“I understand that,” Dial said, “and I'm sorry. I can probably scare up a game for you.”

“I'm not interested in a pickup game,” Clint said. “I was in the mood for some serious poker.”

“Well . . . there is a place you might find a game,” Dial said.

“Oh? Where?”

“Dexter.”

“What's Dexter?”

“A town in the neighboring county,” Dial said. “We're in Marion. Dexter's in Orange County.”

“Big town?”

“Bigger than this one.”

“That isn't saying much.”

“It's big enough,” Dial said. “Got everything you'd need to salvage the trip.”

“Is that right?”

“Coupla saloons, with girls and games, some restaurants, two hotels . . .”

“Sounds like any other town.”

“Go to the Ox Bow Saloon,” Dial told him. “Talk to Eddie Randle. If there are gamblers in town, he'll know. Say, since when did you become a big gambler?”

“When a good game comes around, I'm interested,” Clint said. “Wasn't Bat Masterson supposed to be here?”

“Bat was the first one to cancel,” Dial said. “Ran into some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Nothin' he couldn't handle,” Dial said. “At least, that's what his telegram said.”

“Bat thinks he can handle anything—and he usually can,” Clint said.

They got up, paid the bill, and left.

“What are you going to do now?” Dial asked.

“Check on my horse,” Clint said. “Then I guess I'll go to my room.”

“Come by my place first,” Dial said. “I'll give you a couple of beers on the house.”

“You got a deal.”

 

Clint made sure Eclipse was fed and bedded down for the night, then went over to the saloon. Dial was waiting for him at the bar.

“Paul, a beer for Mr. Adams,” he said. “On the house, followed by a second.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And bring me one.”

Clint picked up his beer and took a couple of swallows. It was ice cold. He looked around. The place was almost empty.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” he asked.

“Here? This is my place.”

“You own the hotel, too?”

“Yup.”

“Why?” Clint asked. “This town looks like it'll blow away soon.”

“I'm doin' okay here, Clint,” Dial said. “The town's gonna come back.”

“You really think so?”

“I'm gonna make it come back.”

“How much of it do you own?”

“About half,” Dial said. “Nobody else wanted it.”

“Why do you want it?”

Dial shrugged.

“I rode in here one day and just about the whole place was up for grabs,” Dial said. “I guess I saw a chance to own my own town.”

“And do what with it? Die?”

“We won't die,” Dial said. “I'm gonna have a few of these games every month. It'll help me raise the money I need to fix this place up.”

“Where are you going to get your supplies?”

“Well, until I can get the general store up and running again, I'll go to Dexter. The Archer boys have a general store there.”

“Archer?”

“Four brothers,” Dial said. “They run the store, and they have a farm outside of town.”

“Well, I wish you luck, Harry,” Clint said. “I think you're going to need it.”

“You make your own luck, Clint,” Dial said. “That's what I'm tryin' to do.”

Clint finished his beer and set the mug down.

“What about that second one?”

“Next time,” Clint said, although once he left Ajax, Indiana, he knew he'd never be back.

“We'll take the kid with us,” Mort said.

“What?” John asked.

“Sam,” Mort said.

“I know who the kid is, Mort,” John said. “Why would we take him with us?”

“It's time for him to learn the family business, don't you think?”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing he wants to,” Mort said. “He's been askin' me when he can go.”

“Sam's eighteen, Mort.”

“He's a man,” Mort said. “And he's got to pull his weight.”

“So put him to work here.”

“On the farm?” Mort asked. “Sam's no farmer. Believe me, I've tried. Just like you and Thomas.”

“We have to run the store.”

“And the farm gets run into the ground.”

“Mort,” John said, “we can give up the farm.”

“No,” Mort said, “we need it. It's a good cover.”

“So's the store.”

“As long as we're farmers and storekeepers,” Mort said, “nobody's gonna think we're also bank and train robbers.”

“Not to mention stagecoaches.”

“Yeah,” Mort said, “them, too.”

Sam came busting in the front door carrying a box of supplies.

“I got everything put away in the barn, Mort,” he said, putting the box on the table. “Here's the rest of it.”

“Put it all away, kid.”

“But, Mort, I wanna go back to town.”

“Not yet,” Mort said. “John and me are talkin' about our next job.”

“We got a job comin' up?” Sam asked, excited.

“That's right.”

“You said I could go on the next one, Mort,” Sam said. He looked at John. “That's what he said, John.”

“I know it.”

“What's the job?” Sam asked.

“We haven't decided yet,” Mort said. “We'll have to talk to Tom about it, too.”

“I can ride into town and get 'im.”

“Don't worry,” John said. “He'll be here as soon as he closes up. He knows we're gonna talk about this tonight.”

“You got somethin' in mind?” Mort asked John.

“We could hit the bank in Munro,” John said.

“We hit that bank already.”

“Yeah, but it's the biggest one in the county,” John said. “We'll just have to do the one job. Why? You got any ideas?”

“I was thinkin' about somethin' we never done before,” Mort said.

“Like what?”

“Like hittin' two stagecoaches at the same time.”

“Yeah, that is somethin' we never done before,” John said, “with good reason.”

“Right,” Mort said, “because there was only three of us, but now we're four.”

“That's right!” Sam said.

“You're supposed to put the rest of the supplies away, Sammy,” Mort said.