Free The Hunt for Clint Adams by J. Roberts

eventually the trail had petered out when the ground became rocky and would not retain tracks. He tried to continue tracking, using methods he’d learned from men of superior skills, but eventually he had to give up. At that point he was about half a day’s ride from Denver, so he decided to go ahead and ride there. It had been a while, and he had Black Jack Mulligan’s invitation in his pocket. And he had a friend there, Talbot Roper, the best private detective in the country, who he hadn’t seen in a while. So why not?
    Clint always stayed at the Denver House Hotel when he went to Denver, and this time was no different. Since leaving Colorado Springs, trying to track the two shooters, he hadn’t even detected anyone behind him. Perhaps the shooters had seen an opportunity, tried to take advantage of it, and then decided to run when it didn’t pan out.
    The Denver House had their own stable for guests, and once Clint had seen to it that Eclipse was taken care of, he went inside to check in.
    â€œNice to see you back with us, Mr. Adams,” the clerk said.
    Clint knew he’d seen the clerk before, but he’d seen many clerks in all the times he’d stayed there, so he simply nodded and said, “Nice to be back.”
    â€œStaying with us long, sir?”
    Clint pushed the register back to the clerk, smiled and said, “I guess that depends on how things go.”
    â€œWell then, I hope things go well for you,” the man said.
    â€œThanks very much.”
    â€œSecond floor okay?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œCan I do anything else for you?”
    â€œYes,” Clint said, “I need a message delivered.”
    â€œBy telegraph or courier?”
    â€œLet’s go with the courier.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    The desk clerk provided Clint with pencil and paper. He wrote a message to Talbot Roper, asking him to meet him at the hotel for dinner later that evening. He pushed the note back to the clerk.
    â€œI’ll have it delivered immediately.”
    â€œIf it can’t be delivered—if he’s not there—I’d like to know that as soon as possible, too.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Clint took the room key, and carried his saddlebags and rifle up to his room.

TWENTY-TWO
    Within the hour, Clint got a message back from Roper saying he would meet him for supper in the Denver House Hotel dining room. Clint took the time to have a long hot bath, and then cleaned his gun just in case he needed it later on.
    He found Roper in the lobby as he came down the stairs, and the two shook hands warmly.
    â€œWhat are you doing in the lobby?” Clint asked.
    â€œI thought we’d have a drink at the bar first,” Roper said.
    â€œGood idea.”
    They went into the hotel saloon. The clientele here was always very different from the saloons Clint was more used to: no cowboys or gamblers here, but a lot of businessmen who worked in the area.
    Roper ordered two beers at the bar and then turned to Clint.
    â€œWhat brings you to Denver without warning?” he asked.
    â€œI was nearby,” Clint said, “tracking two men who took some shots at me.”
    â€œNot unusual for somebody to shoot at you,” Roper said. “What made these so special you had to track them down?”
    â€œThey shot a friend of mine who was only guilty of walking with me.”
    â€œDead?”
    â€œLuckily, no.”
    â€œWho was the friend, if I can ask?”
    â€œBig fellow named Black Jack Mulligan.”
    Roper thought a moment, then said, “Don’t know him.”
    â€œYou might have come to know him,” Clint said. “He was supposed to come here to Denver for a poker game. Private invitation.”
    â€œThat have anything to do with you really being here?” Roper asked.
    Clint took out the ace of hearts, neatly cut in half.
    â€œThe invitation?” Roper asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat about the