Free The Gunsmith 387 by J. R. Roberts Page B

looking for the sheriff.”
    â€œAs you can see, he is not here.”
    â€œYes, I do see that,” Clint said. “Do you know where he is?”
    â€œNo, señor,” the deputy said.
    â€œThen I guess I’ll just keep looking.”
    As he turned to leave, the deputy asked, “Can I tell him you were looking for him, Señor . . .”
    â€œAdams, Clint Adams.”
    â€œOh,” the deputy said. He put the rifle down and said, “Oh!” again, and stood up. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Señor Adams. The sheriff told us that you were in Laguna Niguel.”
    â€œTold you both?”
    â€œYes,” the young man said. “I am Deputy Manuel Soto. He told me and Deputy Julio Benitez.”
    â€œAnd what did he tell you about me?”
    â€œHe said that we should not bother you.”
    â€œIn what way?”
    â€œWell, we were both excited that we might meet the famous Gunsmith from America,” Soto said. “The sheriff said we should not accost you, or gush.”
    â€œI see. Well, now you’ve met me.”
    â€œSir,” Soto said, “Julio will be very jealous.”
    â€œI’m flattered, Deputy,” Clint said. “Have a nice day.”
    â€œSí, señor,” Soto said. “
Y usted
.”
    Clint nodded and left the office.
    Â * * * 
    Clint found Sheriff Vazquez at Cantina Carmelita, slumped over the bar relaxing, drinking a beer. It was still early, so there was little activity in the place.
    â€œBeer,” Clint said to the bartender, coming up alongside Vazquez.
    Startled, the lawman straightened and looked at Clint.
    â€œYou move as silently as an Indian, señor.”
    â€œI think you were just deep in thought there, Sheriff,” Clint said. “What was on your mind?”
    â€œHmm? Oh, nothing special. I was just . . . thinking.”
    Clint accepted his beer from the bartender and sipped it. Two whiskeys with Avery and now a beer. He was going to have to eat again soon.
    â€œI went looking for you at your office,” Clint said.
    â€œAh, so this is not a fortuitous meeting,” Vazquez said. “I hope my deputy treated you with respect.”
    â€œSoto,” Clint said, “he did, yes. He also told me that you instructed him and the other deputy, Benitez, not to . . . what was his word? Oh yes, ‘accost’ me.”
    â€œI simply did not want them gushing over you,” Vazquez said. “That would be . . . undignified for my deputies.”
    â€œOh, I see.”
    Vazquez leaned on the bar again, and Clint followed his example. The bartender moved to the other end of the bar. He never asked Clint to pay for his drink.
    â€œWhy were you looking for me?” Vazquez said.
    â€œI’ve been thinking about what you said to me.”
    Vazquez grinned.
    â€œI’m afraid I talk quite a lot, Señor Adams,” the lawman said. “Which words are you referring to?”
    â€œJust what you said about us getting to know one another better.”
    â€œAh,” Vazquez said, “I think what I said was that we should be friends.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to be in Laguna Niguel a bit longer,” Clint said. “Maybe we should examine that possibility a little closer.”
    â€œSupper tonight, then?”
    â€œSure, why not? Someplace other than Alberto’s, though.”
    â€œI know another place, señor,” Vazquez said. “You will like it.”
    Clint drank his beer down to the halfway point, set the mug down on the bar, and then pushed himself upright.
    â€œI’ll meet you at your office,” he said.
    â€œYour hotel would be better.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said, “my hotel. At seven?”
    â€œSeven is good.”
    â€œSee you then.”
    The two men nodded to each other, and Clint walked out.
    Â * * * 
    After Clint left the cantina, Vazquez