Town of Two Women (9781101612125) (10 page)

THIRTY-TWO

Clint had a dilemma.

If he went into town to find Tolbert, leaving Mary alone, then Tolbert might find Mary. It probably didn't matter to the gunman which of them he killed first. He could have left Mary a gun, but even with a weapon, she'd probably be no match for Tolbert.

“Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“I've got to put you somewhere else safe,” he said, “before I go to . . . talk to Tolbert.”

“But where?”

“That's a good question.”

“Why can't I stay here?”

“I'll tell you on the way.”

They went outside, and he explained it to her while he saddled Eclipse.

“I
can
handle a gun, you know,” she told him when he was finished.

“Not against this man,” Clint said. “That'll be my job.”

With Eclipse saddled, Clint lifted Mary into the saddle.

“I've never been on a horse this big.”

“The Darley Arabians are built bigger, thicker, pretty much for stamina.”

He walked them back to town, but instead of going down the main street, he took them behind the buildings, sticking to alleys. Finally, they reached Doc's office.

“Back here?” she asked.

“I don't think they'd look here again,” Clint said.

He helped her down from the horse, then took a good look at the street before he let her go up the stairs ahead of him.

“Didn't expect to see you again so soon,” Doc said as he let them in.

Clint explained the situation to Doc, who understood.

“It's probably a good idea to bring her back here, then,” he said. “You figure to resolve this today?”

“I hope so,” Clint said. “I'm going to talk to everyone involved and see what I can do.”

“And if talking doesn't work?”

“I think we know how it will go, then.”

“Don't forget Locksley's got the sheriff in his pocket,” Doc said. “If you kill his gunman, Crabtree might try to stick you in a cell.”

“I figured,” Clint said. “That's why I'm going to talk to him first.”

*   *   *

Sheriff Crabtree turned from the stove as his door opened and Clint walked in. He looked surprised, turned the rest of the way, coffeepot in his hand.

“Sure, I'll have a cup,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

Crabtree looked at the pot as if he just realized he was holding it. He shook his head, poured two cups, set one on the desk for Clint, then sat down.

“What can I do for you, Adams?”

Clint sat down, ignored the coffee.

“Locksley's hired a gun,” Clint said, “but you probably know that.”

“Why would I?”

Clint ignored the question.

“His name's Wes Tolbert. You know him?”

“I know Tolbert,” Crabtree said. “He's got a big rep. Wouldn't want him after me.”

“Well, I guess he's after me,” Clint said, “and then the girl.”

“Whataya want from me?” the lawman asked. “You got proof?”

“I'm just telling you,” Clint said, “so if I end up killing Tolbert, you'll know why.”

“You kill a man in this town and I'll have to arrest you.”

“If I was you, I wouldn't want to try that, Sheriff,” Clint said.

Sheriff Crabtree swallowed hard. “Are you threatening me?”

“I'm just advising you,” Clint said. “If you're not going to do your job, don't get in my way. If Tolbert comes for me, I'll defend myself.”

“That sounds fair.”

“And then I'll go after whoever hired him.”

“And you think that's Mr. Locksley?”

“I do.”

Sheriff Crabtree swallowed again before speaking, and it seemed to be even more difficult this time. He sipped his coffee to wet his lips.

“I—I c-can't let you go after our leading citizen, Adams.”

Clint stood up.

“You can't stop me either, Crabtree,” he said. “Just remember what I told you.”

The sheriff didn't stand as Clint walked to the door and went out. Crabtree let out a long breath. He wasn't getting paid enough to cross the Gunsmith. He took a bottle of whiskey from his desk drawer and poured a generous amount into his coffee.

He was going to have to get drunk enough to decide who scared him more—the Gunsmith, or Wes Tolbert working for Eric Locksley.

*   *   *

Clint stopped in front of the sheriff's office, figuring his next move. Wes Tolbert had been hired to kill him, of that he was sure. And he'd seen the man going into City Hall. But what if he was working for Mrs. Locksley, not Mr.? Or if he was working for Eric Locksley, Angela might be able to talk some sense into her husband.

That is, if Clint was able to talk some sense into Angela Locksley.

THIRTY-THREE

Clint approached the Locksley house, assuming—and hoping—that the man of the house was in his office. Angela Locksley opened the door in response to his knock, and he was surprised when she smiled.

“Mr. Adams. What an unexpected pleasure. Come in, please.”

Clint entered the house warily, in case she had a man with a gun behind the door.

“Come into the living room and I'll give you a drink,” she said, leading the way. “I assume it's not too early for a man like you?”

“A man like me?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” she said. “A man who faces death every day? I suspect it's never too early for you to have a drink. Am I wrong?”

“Actually,” he said, “probably not.”

“Good,” she said, “then you'll have a glass of sherry?”

“I thought you said a drink.”

“Very well,” she said. “Whiskey it is.”

She poured a whiskey for him, and then one for herself. She was wearing a heavy robe that hung to her ankles, belted tightly at the waist. As she approached him and handed him his glass, he could smell the scent she was wearing, slightly fruity but heady.

“Here's to dangerous living,” she said.

“That's not a toast I can drink to.”

“Come up with another one, then,” she said.

“Here's to second chances.”

“I'll drink to that,” she said, and they did. Then she said, “Whose second chances are we talking about?”

“Let's discuss yours.”

“Mine?” she asked. “Why do I need a second chance?”

“Second chances to do the right thing.”

“And what would the right thing be?”

“Calling off Wes Tolbert.”

She paused with her glass to her lips, then completed the motion before asking, “And should I know who that is?”

“Why not?” Clint asked. “Everyone else in town knows he's a killer.”

“Oh, that man,” she said. “What is it you think I should call him off of?”

“I know he's been hired to kill me, and Mary,” Clint said. “He's either working for you, or for your husband. So you can call him off, or convince your husband to call him off.”

“Are you afraid of this man?”

“No,” Clint said, “I just don't want to have to kill anyone. I only came to this town to get an injured woman some treatment. I didn't expect I'd have to end up killing someone.”

“Isn't that something you're used to by now?”

“You never get used to killing,” he said. “If you do, there's something wrong with you inside.”

“Odd words coming from a killer.”

“I have little interest in your opinion of me, Mrs. Locksley,” he said. “If you didn't hire Tolbert, then your husband did. I'll go and talk to him.”

“Talk to him, then,” she said. “What's done is done. That girl is not going to get to leave this town alive again.”

“It's a shame you feel that way,” he said, putting his glass down. “She's under my protection, and anyone who tries to harm her is going to have to answer to me. That includes you, your husband, and your hired gun.”

“I'll be very interested to see how this all turns out, Mr. Adams,” she said. “Very interested.”

“Badly, Mrs. Locksley,” he assured her. “It's going to turn out badly for everyone involved.”

THIRTY-FOUR

Clint left the house, convinced that Angela Locksley knew everything there was to know about Wes Tolbert. He still wasn't sure who was paying the man, though. Everyone in town seemed to think she wore the pants in her family, but it was possible that when Locksley was out of the house, he made his own decisions.

He walked back to town, wondering if he'd encounter Wes Tolbert before he could get to Eric Locksley. And, of course, the sheriff could already be there, looking for orders. Or turning in his badge. It didn't seem likely that Sheriff Crabtree would have the courage to face either Tolbert or Clint. He may have gone as far in his job as he could.

Clint made it to City Hall without seeing either Tolbert or Crabtree. He entered and went directly to the second floor. As he entered the office, Gina Hopewell looked up at him with a ready smile, but it fell when she saw him.

“You!” she said accusingly. “You were supposed to come and see me.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I've been very busy, Gina. Is your boss in?”

“He is, but you don't have an appointment,” she said, not at all mollified.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I hope this doesn't get you in trouble, but I have to go in and see him.”

“You can't—” she started, but she saw immediately that she wasn't going to be able to stop him.

Clint burst into the man's office, slamming the door open, trying to set the tone of the meeting to his benefit right away.

Locksley looked up from his desk with a quick jerk of his head, then his eyes widened when he saw Clint.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Lock—” Gina started to say, but Clint slammed the door in her face.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Locksley demanded.

“You've got a hired gun on your payroll,” Clint said. “Wes Tolbert—”

“I have no such th—”

“I've seen him here.”

“I don't even know the man!”

“We're beyond that, Locksley,” Clint said. “There's no point in lying. Everybody in town knows that Wes Tolbert is a gunman.”

“That may be,” Locksley said, “but that doesn't mean I hired him.”

“If you didn't, then your wife did.”

“My wife?” Locksley said. “You're crazy.”

“I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Locksley,” Clint said. “If you don't call him off, just before I kill him, I'm going to make him tell me who hired him. If I find out it was you, I'll be back. And if it was your wife, she'll be seeing me.”

“You wouldn't kill a woman.”

“I'll kill anyone who tries to kill me,” Clint said. “Or don't you know my reputation?”

This was one time Clint was trying to trade on the fact that reputations are overblown.

“If you come near me or my wife, I'll have the law on you!” Locksley blustered as Clint headed for the door.

“You better talk to your sheriff,” Clint said. “I think he might be ready for a career change. I wouldn't depend very much on him, if I was you.”

Clint went out the door. Gina wasn't at her desk. He figured she didn't want to see him when he left, but he couldn't worry too much about that. There was too much else to think about.

THIRTY-FIVE

Talking had done no good.

Clint left City Hall knowing he was going to have to deal with Wes Tolbert. What he didn't know was whether or not Tolbert would come right at him, or if he'd come with or without help.

If Clint could get some background information on the gunman, it would be real helpful to him. But who would have that kind of information? Normally, he'd try the local law, but Crabtree would be no help at all. And most of the people were afraid of the power Eric Locksley wielded.

He started off down the street, still trying to think of who in town could be helpful, when he spotted the Dry Wash Saloon. He remembered the bartender named Max. If anyone could be helpful, it would probably be him.

He crossed the street and entered the saloon. Max was behind the bar, and there were some scattered customers drinking by themselves, but nobody leaning on the bar.

Clint approached the bar and Max came to meet him.

“Cold beer?” Max asked.

“Sounds good.”

Max brought him the beer.

“What's the word around town, Max?” he asked.

“About what?”

“I think you know,” Clint said. “About me, and Mary Connelly.”

“The word I hear is you're both as good as dead.”

“Because of Wes Tolbert?”

“You know him?”

“Never heard of him before I came here,” Clint said. “Now I'm hearing all about him. What do you know?”

“Tolbert's not from here originally, but he's been here about five years. Locksley brought him in for a job and he stayed. Been makin' a name for himself ever since.”

“By killing people?”

“You got it.”

“Has he ever been arrested?”

“Not in this town, or this country,” Max said. “Not with Locksley backin' him.”

“I see.”

“That's what you call general information,” Max said.

“You got some private information that nobody else has?” Clint asked.

“I got somethin'.”

Clint went into his pocket for some money.

“Naw, naw,” Max said, “I ain't tryin' to hold you up for money. Fact is, if you can get rid of Tolbert and the Locksleys, that'd be all the payment I need.”

“Okay, then,” Clint said. “What have you got?”

Max looked around, leaned on the bar, and lowered his voice.

“Word I hear is that while Locksley was rollin' around in his office with Mary Connelly, his wife was rollin' around in the hay with Tolbert.”

“What?”

“That's what I hear.” Mac straightened up.

“I was wondering who had hired Tolbert, the husband or the wife,” Clint said.

“Well,” Max said, “maybe the husband paid him money, and the wife is givin' him somethin' else.”

“Do you know anything about his work?” Clint asked.

“Whataya wanna know?” Max asked.

“Does he work alone?”

“He gets help when he needs it,” Max said. “Depends on what the job calls for.”

“Well, it calls for him to kill me,” Clint said. “What I want to know is, is he going to come straight at me on the street? Or do I have to worry about being bushwhacked?”

“I've seen Tolbert gun men down in the street,” Max said, “but that don't mean he ain't bushwhacked one or two in his day. I wouldn't put it past him.”

“That's what I wanted to know,” Clint said.

“I'd watch my back if I was you,” Max said, “but if Tolbert's lookin' to pad his reputation, he'll come right at you.”

“Is he fast?”

“He's fast,” Max said, “and he's cool under pressure. He ain't gonna make no mistakes.”

Clint nodded. In the past he'd always been able to count on men making a mistake. On occasion he had faced a cool one, and those were the ones who turned out to be the most dangerous.

“I'd say he's a dangerous man,” Max said, as if reading Clint's mind.

“I got that,” Clint said. He finished his beer, pushed the empty mug across the bar. “Thanks for the information, Max.”

“Good luck to you, Mr. Adams,” Max said. “I got my fingers crossed for you.”

As Clint turned to leave, Max asked, “If it turns out you two face each other in the street, you mind if I come out and watch?”

“Why not?” Clint asked. “Everybody else will.”