Free Ticket to Yuma by J. R. Roberts Page B

guess.”
    â€œHow did he get there?”
    â€œHe was railroaded in,” the bartender said. “The chief of police, the mayor, the judge—”
    â€œJudge?”
    â€œJudge Fielder,” the bartender said. “He’s in the mayor’s pocket.”
    â€œSo the chief arrested him, and the mayor told the judge to sentence him to Yuma?”
    â€œNow you got it.”
    â€œAnd how do you know this and nobody else I talked to does?”
    â€œBecause they held the trial right in here,” the bartender said. “The Tin Pot courthouse.”
    â€œWhy not City Hall?” Clint asked. “In a real courtroom?”
    â€œIn a real courtroom they probably woulda felt they had to abide by the real law.”
    â€œSo he was railroaded.”
    â€œOh, yeah.”
    Clint finished his whiskey.
    â€œYou goin’ in there after him?” the bartender asked.
    â€œI don’t know if I want to see him that bad,” Clint said. “Thanks.”
    He turned and left the saloon.
    * * *
    After Clint left, the bartender called over one of his customers.
    â€œWatch the bar ’til I get back.”
    â€œSure thing.”
    The bartender—Tom Bennett—left the saloon and made his way across town to a residential area. He stopped at a large, two-story house and knocked on the door. It was answered by a gray-haired, middle-aged woman.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI need to see the mayor.”
    â€œYou can see him at his office tomorrow.”
    â€œNo,” Bennett said, “he said he wanted to see me tonight.”
    â€œCome in.” She let him in and closed the door. “Wait here.”
    She went into the house, came back ten minutes later.
    â€œFollow me.”
    She led him to a study, where the mayor stood wearing a silk robe, smoking a large cigar and holding a brandy snifter.
    â€œTom,” the mayor said. “This better be good.”
    â€œIt is, sir,” Bennett said. “The Gunsmith came to see me.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œI told him that Banks was in Yuma Prison.”
    â€œAnd what did he say?”
    â€œNot much,” Bennett said. “I asked him if he wanted to go in there after him, and he said he didn’t know if he wanted to see him that bad.”
    â€œWell,” the mayor said, “if he wants to go into Yuma Prison, we can sure accommodate him.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAll right, Tom,” the mayor said. “Thank you.”
    â€œSure thing.”
    â€œLet me know if he comes to talk to you again.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œMaria will show you out.”
    Bennett turned, saw the woman waiting for him in the doorway. She showed him to the front door, and let him out. He started back across town.
    * * *
    Clint stood in the shadow of a house across the street. He watched the bartender go in, and then come out about twenty-five minutes later. A house that size, it had to belong to the either the mayor or the police chief. The bartender was reporting his conversation with him to one of them. Did that mean the information was false? Did they just want him to think Harlan Banks was in Yuma Prison?
    There was only one way to find out.
    * * *
    He went back to Hannah and Ben’s house. There was no point in bracing the bartender again, because he might still lie. And he doubted he was going to be able to send a telegram from this town.
    Hannah let him in with a sigh of relief, and Ben came in from another room.
    â€œWhat happened?” Ben asked.
    â€œI’ve been told that Banks is in Yuma Prison.”
    â€œHow did he get there?”
    â€œHe was apparently railroaded in,” Clint said, “with a quickie trial.”
    â€œSo what are you gonna do?” Hannah asked.
    â€œI’m leaving town tomorrow,” he said, “to go to Yuma.”
    â€œYuma?” Hannah said.
    â€œThe only way I’m going to find out if he’s really in