Bride said, entering her room.
âNight, Bride.â
Bridget gave him a look and said, âYes, good night, Clint.â
The look in her eyes wasnât saying good night, though.
*Â *Â *Â
âHey, can you help me?â the man asked.
The clerk looked up from what he was doing at the man who had just entered the hotel lobby.
âWhat?â
âI need some help out here,â Ames said. Of the three compadres, Ames was the one who was unknown to this particular desk clerk.
âWhatâs the matter?â
âThereâs somethinâ happeninâ in the alley out here, next to your hotel,â Ames said. âYouâre gonna wanna know about it.â
The clerk came around the desk and approached Ames, frowning.
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, come out here and Iâll show ya,â Ames said.
âIâm not supposed to leave the lobby.â
âItâll take a minute,â Ames said. âTwo, at the most.â
âWell . . . okay,â the clerk said. âShow me.â
âCome on.â
Ames led the way and the clerk left the lobby.
As soon as they were gone, Fred and Denny entered.
âStay by the door,â Denny said. âLemme know if anybodyâs cominâ.â
Denny ran behind the desk, opened the register, and ran his finger over the names until he came to the one he wanted.
âGot it?â Fred asked.
âI got it,â Denny said. âThe Gunsmith is in Room 15.â
âLetâs get out of here!â Fred said.
Denny joined Fred at the door and the two men left. Moments later the clerk came in, shaking his head and talking to himself.
âCrazy sonofabitch,â he said, getting back behind the desk. âCallinâ me outside for no reason. Damn it.â
Nothing was amiss in the lobby or behind the desk, so he went back to work.
*Â *Â *Â
The door to the sheriffâs office slammed open and two men entered, dragging a third man between them.
âWhat happened?â Sheriff Cargill asked.
âOwen got a snoutful, thatâs what happened,â one of the men said. Cargill knew his name was Paul. He didnât know the other man. âThe barkeep said we should bring him here so he could sleep it off.â
âDamn it,â Cargill said. âHeâs not wearinâ his badge, is he?â
âDonât think so,â the other man said. âCoulda fell off, though.â
âThatâs all I need,â Cargill said. âPut him on a cot in one of the cells.â
They dragged him into the cell block, dropped him in one of the cells, and came out.
âWhat was he doinâ there?â Cargill asked.
âHe came in and started drinkinâ, then started tellinâ wild tales.â
âWhat kind of tales?â
âOh, somethinâ about the Gunsmith beinâ in Saint Joe,â Paul said.
âCrazy talk,â the other man said.
âYeah,â Cargill said, âcrazy.â
âWe gotta go,â Paul said.
âThanks for bringinâ him in.â
âSure, Sheriff.â
After the two men left, Cargill went into the cell block and looked down at his snoring deputy. He wondered if anyone in the saloon had believed Owen about Clint Adams being in town.
That would definitely be trouble.
TWENTY-FOUR
Clint wasnât happy.
Heâd hoped to get in and out of Saint Joe without anyone knowing he was there. Now not only did the sheriff know, but his part-time deputy as well. If one if them talked, the word would get around, and there was alwaysâwithout exception, no matter what town he was inâalways someone who wanted to try him. And as the years went by, it did not become easier. Each time he survived, his reputation got bigger, so the next time they came at him not by ones and twos, but by threes and sixes.
He lay on his bed, with his holster hanging by his head. All he needed was