Free The Gunsmith 386 by J. R. Roberts Page A

Ingram.”
    â€œWhy do you need him?”
    â€œFor work.”
    â€œYou payin’?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œThe goin’ rate.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œFor what he does,” Clint said. “Tracking.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œMy name’s Clint Adams,” Clint said. “I got bushwhacked outside of town. Ingram said he had Cain trying to track the men who tried to kill me. He figures one went to Kirby, and one stayed here.”
    â€œSo what do you need?”
    â€œThey stole my horse,” Clint said. “I want to get him back.”
    â€œBad business,” the big man said, “stealin’ a man’s horse.”
    The voice was deep, came rumbling out of his mouth as if from a deep cave.
    â€œYeah, it is,” Clint replied, turning to face him.
    When the man looked up, Clint saw that his eyes were green and startling, his lips thick and red. He had the red skin of an Indian, which made the eyes even more startling.
    â€œStole from where?”
    â€œThe vet’s.”
    â€œDoc Martin?”
    â€œYes.”
    Cain stared at Clint, thinking, then said, “I will help you.”
    â€œFor how much?”
    â€œI thought you said the going rate.”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œThen that.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Cain turned to the bar and poured himself another drink.
    â€œUh, when?” Clint asked.
    â€œI thought you said you wanted a beer.”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œI can’t track at night,” Cain said. He looked at the bartender. Give him a beer, Max.”
    â€œYeah, okay.”
    â€œA cold one.”
    Max hesitated, then said, “Yeah, okay.”
    He put a beer on the bar for Clint.
    â€œI appreciate the help,” he said to Cain.
    â€œYou are paying me,” Cain said. “That is appreciation enough.”
    â€œYeah, I guess . . .”
    Cain looked at him.
    â€œI know who you are,” he said, “and I know the sheriff sent you to me. Otherwise I would not have even spoken to you.”
    â€œI still appreciate it.”
    â€œDrink your beer,” Cain said. “I will meet you tomorrow morning at the vet’s office.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said, assuming he’d been dismissed. He drank the beer and left the saloon.

TWENTY-THREE
    Clint spent a restless night. He was worried about Eclipse. He assumed Dunn and Sands had taken the horse so that he’d follow them, try to get him back. But if they had already harmed him . . .
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    At first light he got dressed, still not having slept very much. He went downstairs to the dining room to have breakfast. While he was eating, Sheriff Ingram came in.
    â€œJoin me?” Clint asked.
    â€œDon’t mind if I do,” Ingram said.
    Clint held up two fingers to the waiter, who brought over two plates of steak and eggs.
    â€œI spoke to Cain,” the sheriff said.
    â€œBefore or after I did?” Clint asked.
    â€œAfter,” Ingram said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come along to Doc Martin’s.”
    â€œI don’t mind,” Clint said. “I can use the help. I’m tracking two men, but there’s no telling how many I’ll find.”
    â€œThat’s what I figured.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    After breakfast they walked over to Doc Martin’s. Cain was already there, down on one knee in front of the big double doors on the side of the building. The doors were open, and the doc and his daughter, Andrea, were standing there, watching the big half-breed. They looked up as Clint and Ingram approached.
    â€œMornin’, Doc, Andrea,” Ingram said.
    â€œMornin’, Sheriff,” Martin said.
    Andrea didn’t speak, but she nodded at Clint.
    Now the four of them watched as Cain read the ground.
    â€œA lot of tracks here,” he said, but nobody replied. It seemed he was