Free The Bisbee Massacre by J. Roberts

the Bisbee Massacre.
    It seemed a little busy in the place for the man to want to make conversation.
    â€œVisiting a friend,” Clint said. “But I’ve been here before—many times.”
    The young bartender nodded, went to wait on some new blood. Clint turned, leaned against the bar, and nursed his beer. There was nothing happening on stage at the moment, but he knew the cribs on the lower level would be full. There were several girls working the floor, and the games were in full swing. He didn’t bother looking for an open chair, though. He wouldn’t have wanted to be involved in a game when Dodge showed up.
    He wondered why Dodge was still with Wells Fargo? He hadn’t seen him since 1883, but he had seen Jim Hume a couple of years ago. They had talked about Dodge a bit. Clint wondered how Dodge could keep working undercover, and being a deputy, and being a constable, and keeping all the jobs straight. At least he used the same name for each job. It wasn’t like he was undercover using an assumed name. That was the kind of thing his friend Jim West, the Secret Service agent, used to do. West liked it, and kept doing it, so he figured Dodge must have liked what he was doing and was probably still doing it.
    Hume was more of a supervisor these days than an agent, and he had a very high opinion of Dodge, as did Clint. He also knew his friend in Denver, Talbot Roper, respected Fred Dodge, as well. It was amazing how the Wells Fargo agents, the Pinkertons, and private detectives, as well as the Secret Service agents all seemed to know one another—or, at least, know of each other. The one man Clint had not heard from in some time was an Irishman named O’Grady, who also worked for the Secret Service. No telling what he as doing, now.
    He finished his beer, decided to get a second and nurse it even slower, but at that moment Dodge came walking in. Clint waved to the young bartender and held up two fingers. The man nodded.
    â€œGot a beer coming,” Clint said as Dodge joined him at the bar.
    â€œGood, I can use it.”
    â€œStill juggling jobs, eh?”
    â€œMost days I enjoy it,” Dodge said. “Better than doin’ the same exact thing every day.”
    â€œBut not today?”
    â€œIt’s been kind of a rough day, and I think it’s gonna get rougher.”
    â€œHow so?”
    The beer came and he nodded to the barman. Dodge took a deep drink before answering.
    â€œThere are some neighbors outside of town I think are headin’ for trouble.”
    â€œWhat kind?”
    â€œThe domestic kind,” Dodge said.
    â€œOh, yeah, I think I heard something about that.”
    â€œFrom who?”
    â€œI forgot to tell you I talked to Hatch earlier,” Clint said. “He was looking for some fellow named Riggs, I think?”
    â€œBarney and Bannock,” Dodge said. “Barney’s the younger, and he’s married. Seems he thinks his neighbor, fella name of Hudson, has been seein’ his wife.”
    â€œAnd has he?”
    Dodge rolled his eyes.
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œAren’t there enough women in Tombstone without going after somebody’s wife?”
    â€œYou’d think,” Dodge said. “Plenty of women workin’ downstairs.”
    Dodge shook his head and drank his beer.
    â€œThat all that’s botherin’ you?”
    â€œNo,” Dodge said. “But I’ll tell you over a steak. Cattleman’s?”
    â€œSounds good to me.”
    They both finished their beers and set the empty mugs down on the bar.
    â€œPlace looks the same, don’t it?” Dodge asked.
    â€œYeah,” Clint said, with a nod, “and yet so different, you know?”
    Dodge looked around, then said, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
    They left and headed for Cattleman’s Steak House.

TWENTY-THREE
    When they were situated at a table against a wall with steak dinners in front of them, Dodge