The Gunsmith 385 (11 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

Clint and Sheriff Catchings were walking toward the café when Travis stepped out. He stopped and waited for them to reach him.

“Travis,” Clint said, “this is Sheriff Catchings.”

“Sheriff.”

“Mr. Travis.”

“Just Travis.”

The sheriff nodded.

“The sheriff is going to ride out to the Rocking W with us.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

“Glad I ate, then,” Travis said.

“I'll get my horse,” Catchings said, “and meet you—well, right here.”

“Okay,” Clint said.

Catchings walked away. Clint and Travis turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward the livery.

“How'd you talk him into that?” Travis asked.

“Charm,” Clint said.

“You showed him your badge, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did.”

 * * * 

“Hey,” Catchings said when Clint and Travis rode up on him, “that's some horse.”

“Thanks,” Travis said.

“I meant—”

“He knows what you meant,” Clint said. “Don't pay any attention to him.”

“We better get started,” Catchings said. “It's getting late in the day.”

“It's not that long a ride,” Clint said.

“It is in the dark, and it's treacherous between here and there, even if you know the way.”

“Okay then,” Clint said, “lead on.”

“Would you mind doing something for me first?” Catchings asked.

“What's that?”

“Pin that badge on.”

“I'd prefer not to,” Clint said. “Why?”

“I think with both of us wearing badges,” Catchings said, “there's less chance that there'll be shooting. I'd feel better if you wore it.”

Clint thought a moment, then said, “Okay. I'll wear it.”

He took it out and pinned it on.

“Thanks,” Catchings said. “I feel better now.”

“I don't,” Travis said. “As the only one without a badge, I guess I'll have to expect to be shot first.”

“If you're really worried, I'll deputize you,” Catchings said.

“Do you have an extra badge?” Clint asked.

“I have no deputies at the moment,” Catchings said. “I have plenty of badges.”

“No, that's okay,” Travis said. “I think I'd rather not wear a badge. Let's just get going.”

They rode out of town, Catchings in the lead.

 * * * 

Part of the way there, Travis called out for them to stop. He dismounted, made a show of checking his horse's hooves.

“Everything okay?” Clint asked.

“Give me a hand, will you?”

Clint rode back to where Travis was, while Catchings remained where he was.

“What is it?” Clint asked, dismounting.

“Take a look at this,” Travis said.

Clint walked over and leaned down next to him.

“Somebody rode out to the ranch ahead of us,” he said to Clint, keeping his voice down.

“How do you know?”

“Fresh trail,” Travis said, “and by the stride I'd say he was movin' fast.”

“Okay.”

“You think the sheriff sent somebody to warn Collingswood?” Travis asked.

“I'm going to say no,” Clint said. “As a rich man, he probably has men in town, watching things for him. Word probably got out that we were asking about him. Maybe even from the desk clerk.”

“Am I gonna hear about that again?”

“I'm just saying, Travis,” Clint said. “Maybe it was the telegraph clerk. Whatever. Look, let's just keep going, and stay alert. All right?”

“Okay.”

Clint stood up and said loudly, “Should be okay.”

They both mounted up and rode to where Catchings was waiting.

“Everything okay?” the lawman asked.

“Fine,” Clint said.

“False alarm,” Travis said.

“Then let's move,” Catching said, once again taking the lead.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Collingswood's warning came barely an hour ahead of Clint, Travis, and the sheriff arriving.

“Here's your chance,” he said to Barry.

“You want me to kill him here?”

“No,” Collingswood said. “In town. Or on the road between here and there. I don't care where, but not here. Understand?”

“I get it,” Barry said.

“Then you better get out of here before they get here.” Collingswood pointed to Charlie Beck, the man who had brought him the word on the Gunsmith. “Follow Charlie back to town. He'll take you off the main road.”

“Okay.”

But Barry didn't move.

“What?” Collingswood asked.

“I need some money.”

“Don't try to con me, Barry,” Collingswood said. “You have the four thousand you took from Rick Hartman. Get out!”

Barry and Hastings followed Charlie Beck out the back of the house.

Dad came into the room.

“Riders approaching.”

“How many?”

“Three. Two of them are wearin' stars.”

“Two?”

Dad nodded.

“Okay,” Collingswood said, “tell Lewis and Watson to stand by.”

“All right. Should I arm myself?”

“Why not?” Collingswood said.

Dad nodded and left the room.

Collingswood walked to his desk, took a derringer from the top drawer, and put it in the pocket of his smoking jacket.

 * * * 

Clint, Travis, and Sheriff Catchings rode up to the front of the house. A half a dozen hands watched them from the corral.

“None of them are armed,” Clint pointed out.

“You noticed that real quick,” Catchings said.

“That's how I've managed to stay alive this long,” Clint told him.

As they mounted the steps to the front door, it opened. That was a mistake, Clint thought. It told them they were expected.

As good as a confession.

THIRTY-NINE

The old man showed them into a den. Collingswood was seated behind a huge desk. Why, Clint wondered, did rich men always buy desks that were so big?

“Mr. Collingswood,” the sheriff said.

“Sheriff,” the man said. “Who are your friends?”

“This is Clint Adams,” Catchings said, “and his partner, Travis.”

“Clint Adams,” Collingswood said. “That name is not unknown to me.”

“Good,” Clint said.

“What can I do for you gents?”

“I'll let Mr. Adams answer that, I think,” Sheriff Catchings said.

“Very well,” Collingswood said, looking at Clint. “Mr. Adams?”

“Do you know a man named Rick Hartman?” Clint asked.

“Can't say I do.”

“Well, he's a friend of mine,” Clint said. “He was shot recently, and I've been tracking the men who shot him.”

“And?”

“And I tracked them to here.”

“To Liberty?”

“No,” Clint said, “to your ranch.”

Collingswood frowned, looking very puzzled. He looked past them at the old man standing in the door.

“Dad, we have any killers come to the house recently?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“I didn't say they were killers,” Clint said. “I only said my friend had been shot.”

“Well, you've come all this way, I thought—”

“How do you know how far I've come?” Clint asked. “I never said.”

Collingswood hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts. The old man had made a mistake by opening the door too soon, and now Collingswood had made two assumptions by mistake.

“Mr. Collingswood,” Clint said, “you might as well admit you hired them, because when I find them, they're going to tell me.”

“I don't understand,” Collingswood said. “What makes you think I hired them?”

“They'd have no reason to do it on their own,” Clint said, which wasn't strictly true. It could have been personal between Barry and Rick—but according to Rick, it wasn't. “And they led me right here.”

“Well,” Collingswood said, “as I've told you, we have no . . . strangers here, no one who has shot anybody, no one who is running from the Gunsmith.” He looked at the sheriff. “Jack, why would you even bring these men here?”

“I'm the law, Mr. Collingswood,” Catchings said. “I have to check everything out.”

“Well,” Collingswood said, “I'll be talking to the mayor about this.”

“You do that, sir,” Catchings said. “but if you don't mind, I think we'll have a look around the place.”

“But I do mind.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm offended by your presence,” Collingswood said, “and the presence of these men.” He looked past them again. “Dad, show these gents out.”

Catchings exchanged a glance with Clint, who gave his head a slight shake.

“Thank you for your time,” Catchings said.

Clint gave Collingswood a hard look and said, “I'll see you again.”

“I look forward to it,” the man said.

“This way, gentlemen,” Dad said.

 * * * 

Outside they stopped before mounting their horses.

“Two of those men by the corral are armed now,” Travis said.

“I see,” Clint said.

“I could have insisted he let us look around,” Catchings said. “Why did you wave me off?”

“They're not in the house,” Clint said. “That'd be foolish.”

“The barn, then?” Travis asked.

“My bet is they're gone,” Clint said, “maybe on their way to Liberty.”

“I'll be able to tell,” Travis said. “We just have to pick up their trail.”

Clint looked at the lawman.

“When we catch them,” Clint said, “they'll give him up.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he's arrogant,” Clint said. “Once they're caught, they'll want him to be caught, too.”

They mounted up.

“Travis,” he said, “let's go pick up that trail.”

FORTY

After riding away from the ranch house, they circled around behind it and Travis was able to pick up the trail.

“Three horses,” he said, “rode away from here just recently.”

“On their way to where?” the sheriff asked.

“Can't tell yet,” Travis replied, “but I'd say Liberty.”

“Then we better get back there.”

“Let's follow the trail,” Clint suggested. “Once we're sure that's where they're headed, we can get back on the main road.”

“Agreed,” Travis said.

They followed the trail as far as they needed to and then Travis said, “Yeah, they're definitely heading for Liberty.”

“Then we better get there fast,” Catchings said.

“You got any idea who might have ridden out to the Rocking W and warned them we were coming?” Clint asked.

“I have one or two ideas,” Catchings said. “We can check on them when we get to town.”

They suspended any further conversation and rode hard for town.

 * * * 

When they arrived, Clint and Travis put their horses in the livery while the sheriff took care of his own.

“Anybody come riding into town in the past hour?” Clint asked the liveryman.

“If they did, they didn't leave their horses here,” the old gent said.

“Is there another livery in town?”

“Nope,” he said. “If they came to town and they didn't put their horses here, then they's hidin' 'em.”

“That's what I figure,” Clint said. “Okay, thanks.”

They left the livery and walked to the sheriff's office. Catchings had already taken care of his horse and was there, behind his desk. He looked like he was deep in thought when they entered. There was a pot of coffee on the potbellied stove.

“Coffee's not ready yet,” Catchings said. “I been givin' this some thought. I come up with two fellas coulda ridden out to the Ricking W to warn Collingswood.”

“Who are they?” Clint asked.

“Charlie Beck and Pete Stacker.”

“What do they do?” Travis asked.

“Nothin' much, which is why they'd do anythin' for a dollar.”

“So where do we find them?” Clint asked.

“Usually in a saloon.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “tell us what they look like and we'll split up and look.”

“Pete's tall and skinny with big ears, and Charlie is half Indian, black hair, wears a bowler.”

“Got that?” Clint asked Travis.

“Find one of them and then find me,” Clint said. “Don't brace them alone.”

“They're not dangerous,” Catchings assured them.

“Maybe not, but they might have somebody dangerous with them,” Clint said.

“Don't worry,” Travis said, “I'll be fine.”

“Do what I say, Travis, understand?” Clint said. “Not alone. Say it!”

“Okay, okay,” Travis said, “not alone.”

Travis left the sheriff's office. Catchings got up from behind the desk and grabbed his hat.

“We might as well all split up.”

They headed for the door.

“Um, he's not your son, is he?” the sheriff asked.

“What, Travis? No. Why?”

“Well, he's young enough and . . . he kind of looks like you.”

“No, he doesn't.”

Catchings shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”

Outside they split up. Catchings told Clint to check the saloons; he had a few other places he could check.

“You find them,” he suggested, “bring them back here and we'll question them.”

“Okay.”

He watched as the lawman walked away. He hoped the man was on the level, and not working for Collingswood. Rich men often had the local law in their pocket. Catchings seemed to be okay, but they were strangers, so he couldn't really count on him. Or Travis for that matter. The only one he could trust without reservation was himself.

That was not something he ever forgot.

 * * * 

Tom Barry watched as Clint Adams left the sheriff's office with the lawman. They stopped just outside, exchanged a few words, and then split up.

“There,” Hastings said, “he's all alone. Let's take him now.”

“Wait,” Barry said.

“For what?”

“Let the sheriff get far enough away,” Barry said, “and then we'll take care of the Gunsmith.”