Free East of the River by J. R. Roberts Page A

and stared at him.
    â€œYou’re Clint Adams.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œI heard you were in town.”
    â€œFunny,” Clint said, “I didn’t hear a thing about you.”
    â€œI was talkin’ to the sheriff and he told me you were here.”
    â€œWhen did you get here?”
    â€œJust today.”
    â€œWhat brings you here?” Clint asked. “Or, more important, what brings you looking for me?”
    â€œI’m looking for a man named Doyle.”
    â€œI don’t know him,” Clint said. “What did he do?”
    â€œHe and some friends of his killed my sister and her husband. Left a little girl—my niece—without a mother and father. And my sister was my only relative.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Clint said. “So you’re looking for him and his partners?”
    â€œNo,” she said, “I found them. Three of them. He’s the last one. I thought maybe you might’ve seen him.”
    â€œSorry,” Clint said, “but I don’t know anyone named Doyle.”
    She fingered her beer mug, then lifted it and drained half of it. She had trail dust on her clothes, but none on her gun.
    â€œYou got a room yet?”
    â€œYeah,” she said, “Dexter Hotel—I think.”
    â€œI know,” he said. “It’s confusing.”
    Suddenly, she slumped and looked very tired. But it only lasted a moment, and then she squared her shoulders again.
    â€œYou need some sleep.”
    â€œYou’re right about that.”
    â€œSo go get some.”
    â€œNot yet,” she said. “Not until I find Doyle.”
    â€œWhat’s your next move?”
    â€œStreet by street,” she said, “door to door, bartender to bartender . . .”
    â€œHe’ll hear that you’re looking for him.”
    â€œI hope he does,” she said. “I want him to know I’m comin’.”
    â€œHe’ll be waiting for you.”
    â€œI wish he would,” she said, standing up. “It’s more likely he’ll start runnin’, but at least that would flush him out.”
    She left half her beer and started away.
    â€œYou’re not a bounty hunter, are you, Hannie?”
    â€œNot hardly,” she said. “Just somebody who’s lost her whole family.”
    â€œExcept for your niece.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHow old is she?”
    â€œFour.”
    â€œDoesn’t she need her aunt?”
    â€œI’m no good with kids,” she said. “She’s in good hands with a family I know.”
    She started away again.
    â€œYou said you found the other three men?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhere are they now?”
    â€œSix feet under,” she said, “if anyone bothered to bury them.”
    She turned and left.
    Â 
    Newly Hagen listened to the conversation between Clint Adams and the woman. He heard her name, and heard the name of the man she was hunting.
    Doyle.
    He grabbed a towel and walked over to Clint’s table. He picked up the beer the woman had left and mopped up the spot.
    â€œWow, huh?” he said.
    â€œYeah,” Clint said. “Impressive.”
    â€œWhat was her story?”
    â€œLooking for a guy.”
    â€œWouldn’t think a girl like that would have to look, huh?”
    â€œNo, she’s not really looking,” Clint said, “she’s hunting.”
    â€œYeah, I noticed she wears that gun like she knows how to use it.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWho’s she looking for?”
    Clint hesitated, then said, “I don’t know, but I think she’ll know him when she sees him.”
    Hagen nodded and asked, “You want another one?”
    â€œNo,” Clint said, “I’ll just nurse this one. Thanks.”
    â€œSure,” Hagen said. “You change your mind, just let me know.”

TWENTY-SIX
    Clint went over to the sheriff’s office,