Free Kentucky Showdown by J. R. Roberts

him?”
    â€œAbout you? Nothing.”
    â€œGood. So whataya want me to do?”
    â€œI don’t know yet,” Fontaine said. “I need time to think.”
    â€œThere’s only two more days ’til the Derby.”
    â€œI know that,” Fontaine said. “Just stay around here ’til then. When I decide, I’ll want to be able to get to you quick.”
    â€œYeah, okay,” Blacker said. “Okay. At least the grub around here ain’t bad.”
    â€œGood idea,” Fontaine said. “Go and get something to eat.”
    Blacker left and Fontaine poured himself a brandy. It was never too early for good brandy, and maybe it would help him think.
    * * *
    Clint got back to Louisville and reined in his horse in front of the sheriff’s office. As he entered and found Hackett there, he wondered if the man ever left the building.
    â€œBack already?” Hackett asked. “You talk to Fontaine?”
    â€œI did. Didn’t find out much. Claimed he never heard anything about Blacker being a gunman.”
    â€œHe might be telling the truth.”
    â€œYeah, he might be,” Clint said. “But he did tell me something else.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThat he also had somebody watching those other two out-of-town horses work out.”
    â€œSo what do you want to do with that information?” Hackett asked.
    â€œI thought I’d go and talk to those folks,” Clint said. “Do you know where they’re staying?”
    â€œWell,” Hackett said, “they each rented places out of town. One of them is at Two Chimneys, and the other—”
    â€œCan you just give me directions? I want to talk to them.”
    â€œWhat do you hope to learn from them?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œSo what questions will you ask?”
    â€œI don’t know that either,” Clint said. “Not until I get there.”
    â€œWell, okay,” Hackett said. “They’re both only about an hour outside of town . . .”
    Clint left the office armed with directions to both places, mounted up, and rode out again.

TWENTY-FIVE
    Clint rode to Two Chimneys first, where Sunday Song was being stabled, and was working. According to Hackett, the horse’s owner was William Kingston, and the trainer was Ollie Shoemaker.
    As he rode up on the house and stable, nobody was in sight. It wasn’t a working ranch, so that wasn’t unusual. That was the way it had been at the Fontaine place, as well.
    He stopped in front of the house, and as he did, a man came out of the barn and walked over.
    â€œHelp ya?” he asked.
    â€œI’m looking for Kingston, or Shoemaker.”
    â€œI’m Shoemaker,” the man said.
    â€œThe trainer?”
    â€œThat’s right.” Shoemaker gave Clint a suspicious look. “What’s this about?”
    â€œWell, I’m not really sure,” Clint said. “My name is Clint Adams, and I’d like to talk to you and the owner, Mr. Kingston.”
    â€œYou’re Adams?” Shoemaker asked.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œI heard of you,” the trainer said. “The Gunsmith, right?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    Shoemaker looked over at Eclipse.
    â€œImpressive horse.”
    â€œYes, he is.”
    â€œEver think of racing him?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œToo bad. He looks like he’d do really well in distance races.”
    â€œHe does have a lot of stamina.”
    â€œCome into the house and I’ll tell the boss you’re here,” Shoemaker said. “Can’t guarantee he’ll talk to you, though.”
    â€œThat’s fine.”
    They entered the house and Shoemaker said, “Wait here.”
    Clint nodded and waited, hat in hand. The entry hall of the house was very large, as was the house itself. Hackett had told him that the best training track in the county was here. Clint assumed