Free Blood Trail by J. R. Roberts Page B

me have a look?”
    â€œOf course. I’ll get it.”
    Gerhardt went to his wagon.
    â€œCan we really make it?” Mueller asked. “Without Captain Parker, and the guide, and . . . a killer following us?”
    â€œWe will make it,” Talbot said.
    â€œI’ll see to it,” Clint said. “I was ready to leave Effingham and head west anyway. I’ll get you all where you’re going.”
    Talbot turned to the people and said, “Get your wagons ready to go.”
    The people—thirty men, women, and children—dispersed to get themselves ready to travel.
    Talbot turned to Clint.
    â€œI am very grateful,” he said. “I would not hold it against you if you rode off with the sheriff.”
    â€œIt’s true that Bullet got me involved,” Clint said, “but I’m in it now for the long haul. I don’t want to see anyone else get killed.”
    â€œAnd you are curious, eh?” Talbot asked. “About who or what this killer is?”
    â€œI have to admit,” Clint said, “I do want to see who the killer is.”
    â€œYou will,” Talbot said.
    Gerhardt came walking up, carrying some papers.
    â€œHere they are.”
    Clint perused the papers. They looked like legitimate deeds, but of course it all depended on whether or not the seller had been legitimate. At the bottom of each page were half a dozen signatures.
    â€œThese wagons represent ten families who left Pennsylvania together,” Gerhardt explained, accepting the papers back.
    â€œThey look okay,” Clint said, “but I guess we’ll find out for sure when we get there. You better get your wagon ready to travel, Mr. Gerhardt.”
    â€œYes.”
    The man hurried back to his wagon. Clint walked over to Eclipse and saddled him, then saddled Talbot’s horse for him.
    Talbot came over and said, “I will ride in the wagon with Sarah for a while.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said, “I’ll tie your saddle mount to the back of your wagon.”
    Clint saw Talbot’s gun tucked into his belt.
    â€œI’m glad to see you’re carrying your pistol,” Clint said. “Fully loaded with silver bullets?”
    â€œYes,” Talbot said, touching the gun. “I want to be ready. I have a mold to make other bullets. I can make some for your gun, if you like.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Clint said. “I’m not buying into the whole silver bullet thing . . . not yet.”
    â€œI wish you would,” Talbot said, “but I understand.”
    â€œThanks for that.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” Talbot said.
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œFor not thinking I am a crazy man,” the Romanian said. “For not telling the sheriff that I am crazy. For not walking away when you had the chance.”
    â€œListen,” Clint said, “you might just be crazy, Talbot, but I still think you’re the best bet to catch this . . . killer.”
    â€œIn that case,” Talbot said, “I think perhaps you should start to call me Frederick.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said, “and you call me Clint.”
    The two men shook hands, as if meeting for the first time.
    â€œI better take the lead,” Clint said. “You go and get aboard your wagon.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWho is in the lead wagon?”
    â€œGerhardt.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said. “Let’s get rolling.”

TWENTY-EIGHT
    The wagon train started west again with Clint Adams in the lead. He had now gone from unofficial deputy to unofficial wagon master. Once again he’d stepped into other people’s business and come away with the burden of seeing that things went right. He now had to not only find and stop a killer, but see that these people got to Nevada, where they may or may not have had a legitimate claim to some land.
    They had all put their lives in his hands—or into the