Free East of the River by J. R. Roberts

surprised.
    â€œWe followed some tracks here,” Sam said.
    â€œTracks? To the store?”
    â€œWhere’s Tommy?” Mort asked.
    â€œOut front.”
    â€œGet ’im.”
    â€œHe might be busy.”
    â€œDon’t be funny, Johnny.”
    John went out front and came back with Thomas.
    â€œSomebody was out at the farm snoopin’ around today,” Mort said. “The kid found tracks in the barn.”
    â€œGood eye, kid,” John said. Sam grinned.
    â€œWe followed a man’s boot tracks to a place where he’d left his horse. The horse’s tracks would fit a big animal. Sam and me are gonna check around town, see what we can find.”
    â€œYou think a lawman was out there?” John asked.
    â€œI don’t know why a star packer would be lookin’ around us,” Mort said, “and I sure don’t think Sheriff Perry’s got the brains or the guts.”
    â€œThen who?” Thomas asked.
    â€œYou guys notice any strangers in town?” Mort asked. “Anybody new?”
    â€œWell,” John said, “Doyle’s in town.”
    â€œDoyle. What’s he want?”
    â€œHe wants in on our next job.”
    â€œI knew we never should’ve used him,” Mort said. “What do I always say?”
    â€œOnly family,” Sam offered.
    â€œThat’s what I always say,” Mort said. “We’ll have to take care of Doyle, but I don’t think he’s workin’ for the law. Anything else?”
    â€œClint Adams,” Thomas said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe was here.”
    â€œThat’s the Gunsmith, ain’t it?” Sam asked, wide-eyed.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhat the hell is the Gunsmith doin’ here?” Mort asked.
    â€œI don’t know, Mort,” Thomas said. “He said he was passin’ through. And he wasn’t wearin’ any badge.”
    â€œWell,” Mort said, “what are we supposed to do now?”
    â€œI think,” Thomas said, “havin’ the Gunsmith here might work for us.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œAs a diversion,” Thomas said. “He can attract enough attention away from us so we can do what we gotta do.”
    â€œThat could work,” Mort said. “All we gotta do is figure out what we gotta do.”
    â€œIf we’re gonna hit two banks,” Thomas said, “they’ve gotta be close together.”
    â€œLike?” John asked.
    Thomas shrugged. “Ten, twenty miles apart.”
    â€œThat’d make it . . . What two towns are that far apart?”
    Thomas grinned. “Dexter and Hopewell.”
    â€œDexter?” John said, shocked. “You wanna hit the bank in this town? Where we live?”
    â€œWhy not?” Thomas asked, looking at each of his brothers in turn. “Who’d ever suspect it? And who’d suspect us of doin’ it?

TWENTY-FIVE
    Clint was sitting in the Ox Bow, nursing a beer at a back table, when the woman walked in. The place was quiet, just a couple of guys at the bar and one other table with a man nursing a whiskey.
    She was tall and wide-shouldered, and had a long stride on her as she walked to the bar. Two things impressed him. She had a mane of chestnut hair that just about shimmered. The other thing was the Peace-maker on her hip. Not a new gun, but he could see how well cared for it was.
    She stopped at the bar, collected a beer from Newly Hagen, exchanged a few words, then turned and looked at Clint. Her gaze was both bold and assessing. Finally, she picked up the beer and started over to him. Hagen watched her go with admiration.
    When she reached Clint’s table, she pulled out a chair and asked, “Do you mind?”
    â€œNot at all,” he said. “You can have a seat, but I’m going to need a name.”
    â€œHannie,” the woman said. “Hannie Welch.”
    â€œGo ahead, sit down, Hannie.”
    She sat