The Gunsmith 424 Page 3

  “I saw him,” Tully said, “when I buried my grandfather. We didn’t speak, but he came to the gravesite and said a few words, then slunk away.”

  “Where would I find him?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tully said. “I know he lived in a small house behind the church, but I don’t know if he’s still there.”

  “I’ll go and have a look tomorrow,” Clint said.

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “That’d be helpful,” Clint admitted, “since he doesn’t know who I am.”

  “Okay, then,” Tully said, “but if we do that, we’ll have to leave Aggie here alone.”

  “Is there someplace we can put her?” Clint asked.

  “You mean ... a hiding place?” Tully asked.

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “You know,” Tully said, rubbing his jaw, there just might be. I’ll show you when I come back tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “You better get a good night’s sleep. You’re probably going to need it.”

  “I will,” Tully said. “You try, also.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  Tully started to leave, then pointed to a rickety desk in a corner.

  “I left you the bottle,” he said, “just in case.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tully went out, and Clint locked the front door behind him, then checked all the windows and the back door. It wasn’t fully dark out yet, but it was dark inside, so he lit the lamp, got a book from his saddlebag, and sat by the light to read.

  What else was there to do?

  ~*~

  Albert Stoll looked away from the woman he was speaking with and saw Sheriff Gaines approaching.

  “That’s all right, Mary,” he said to her, “I’ll take care of everything.”

  “But Father Stoll—”

  He patted the pretty woman on the shoulder, let his hand linger there. She was in her thirties, but the touch of her leader’s hand made her blush, even though he was in his fifties. He was a man all the women in his compound adored.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Come to me later and we’ll ... talk some more.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  When she called him “Father” it was not the same as when she used to call the town priest “Father.” When referring to Stoll, the word had an entirely different sound, and meaning.

  As she walked away he turned to face the sheriff, still wearing just a white shirt and a pair of grey cotton trousers. Neither had been particularly expensive. Outwardly, he was a man of simple tastes.

  “Sheriff,” Stoll said, “welcome to our compound.”

  “Mr. Stoll.”

  “You still resist calling me ‘Father?’”

  “I’m sorry, but ... ”

  “Never mind,” Stoll said. “It’s not important. What do you have for me?”

  “Two men who work for you were killed,” the sheriff said.

  “By this man Adams, who came to town today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t you arrest him?”

  “It was self-defense,” the lawman said. “They drew on him first.”

  “And my third man?”

  “Probably still running.”

  “I see. Walk with me.”

  The compound was just outside of town. There were several buildings used as barracks for Stoll’s followers, and a small house he used as a residence.

  “What does Adams want in town?” Stoll asked.

  “He only wants to see that Aggie is buried.”

  “That’s impossible,” Stoll said. “For one thing, we no longer have an undertaker.”

  “The undertaker’s grandson came back,” Gaines said. “He’s taken over the office.”

  “Is he going to do business?”

  “He buried his grandfather yesterday,” Gaines said. “Came home just in time to do that. And he wants to bury Aggie.”

  “I knew her body was there, but I didn’t know about ... what’s his name?”

  “Lewis Tully.”

  “I’m going to have to have a talk with Mr. Tully.”

  “And Adams?”

  “If I’m right,” Stoll said, “Mr. Adams will be wanting to have a talk with me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Clint was fully awake and dressed when Tully returned the next morning.

  “Did you sleep?” Clint asked.

  “I did,” Tully said. “You?”

  “Some.”

  “Do you want to get some breakfast?”

  “Sure,” Clint said, “but what about Aggie?”

  Tully grinned. “I told you I had a good place. Come on.”

  ~*~

  They went across the street to the same café Clint had gotten the steaks from. They returned the plates and silverware, and were shown to a table. Clint ordered steak-and-eggs, Tully ham-and-eggs. When their plates came they both attacked, ravenously. It was not until they were on their third cup of coffee that they spoke.

  “I found out that Father Paul still lives behind the church,” Tully said. “We can go and see him this morning.”

  “I’m wondering what he can do,” Clint admitted.

  “Look,” Tully said, “I’ve seen men like Albert Stoll back East. They convince people that they’ve been touched by God, and must be obeyed. The only way to beat them to is to prove that they’re charlatans.”

  “Then that’s what we need to do,” Clint said, “show the townspeople that Stoll is a phony.”

  “There’s only one problem with that,” Tully added.

  “What’s that?”

  “Is he?”

  ~*~

  Tully took Clint to the boarded up church, and then behind it. There was still a small house that looked as if it might have only one or two rooms.

  They approached the door and Tully knocked. He had to knock again before the door opened.

  The man standing there wore a priest’s collar, but didn’t look like any priest Clint had ever seen before. He was in his forties, tall, lean, with broad-shoulders. He seemed to Clint more like a mercenary than a priest, complete with beard stubble, and whiskey smell. In fact, he had a half full whiskey bottle in his left hand.

  “Whataya want?” he asked.

  “Father Paul,” Tully said. “You remember me?”

  The priest stopped looking at Clint and concentrated on Tully’s face.

  “That you, Tully?” he asked. “Lewis?”

  “That’s right, Father.”

  “When did you get to town?”

  “Two days ago,” Tully said. “I got here in time to bury my grandfather. You were at the grave.”

  “Was I?” Father Paul asked. “I musta been too drunk to remember.” He looked at Clint, again. “Who’s this?”

  “A friend of mine,” Tully said. “Clint Adams.”

  “Can we come inside, Father?” Clint asked. “We’d like to talk to you about Albert Stoll.”

  “Stoll!” The priest’s bleary eyes flared for a moment. “The man who destroyed my church.”

  “It’s not destroyed,” Clint said. “It’s still right there. And you can probably reopen it, one day.”

  “Really?” Father Paul asked. “How do you figure that?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “if you’ll let us in we’d like to talk about it.”

  The priest studied them for a long moment, then backed away from the door. “Sure, why not? Come on in.”

  As they entered, the smell of stale sweat, booze and despair hit them in the face. Clint went in last, and decided to leave the door open.

  Father Paul took a pull from the bottle in his hand, then swung it around, offering it.

  “No thanks,” Tully said.

  “Not me,” Clint said. “Can we talk?”

  “Go ahead and talk,” Father Paul said. “You got somethin’ to say about Stoll?”

  “I brought a body back to town yesterday,” Clint said.

  “That a fact?”

 
“Aggie’s body, Father.”

  Father Paul stared at him for a moment before realization hit.

  “That poor woman.”

  “They strung her up from a tree, naked,” Clint said. “I cut her down and brought her into town.”

  “Why?”

  “She deserves a proper burial.”

  “She’s not gonna get that here,” Father Paul said. “Not if Stoll has anything to say about it.”

  “Well, maybe he won’t,” Clint said. “How much do you know about him, Father?”

  “I know he’s a fraud,” Father Paul said, “A disciple of Satan.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “we’d like to prove that to the people who believe in him.”

  “How do you propose to do that?’

  “Maybe with your help,” Clint said.

  “What can I do?” the man asked. “I have no church, no podium, and no flock.” He sucked from the bottle again, then held it out. “This is all I got, anymore.”

  “Really?” Clint asked. “That’s all you’ve got? You’re just going to let Stoll take everything from you?”

  “This church was full every Sunday that I remember,” Tully said. “What happened, Father?”

  “Stoll just took them all away,” Father Paul said. “Them, and more. Now there’s no church, no saloons, so nothing. Just Stoll and his compound.”

  “It doesn’t have to stay that way,” Clint said.

  “Really?” Father Paul asked. “Who’s going to stop him. The law? Sheriff Gaines is the one who came here and boarded up my church.”

  “No, not the law,” Tully said. “The Gunsmith.”

  Father Paul owlishly looked at Clint again, then took a swig from the bottle.

  “I thought I recognized your name.” He took another drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are you gonna kill him? You know, if you kill Stoll, this’ll be my last bottle of whiskey.”

  “I don’t plan on killing him, Father,” Clint said.

  “Well then, what good are you and your big reputation?” the priest demanded.

  “I’m going to see what I can do about getting people to see him for what he really is,” Clint said. “And I’m going to start by getting Aggie Kimball buried properly.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Father,” Tully said, “we’re not just gonna need your help.”

  “Me? What can I do?” Father Paul asked. “Look at me.”

  “You can sober up,” Clint said, “clean up, talk to the people and be ready to greet them with open arms when they come back to your church.”

  Father Paul lowered his voice.

  “You really think they’re gonna come back?”

  “I hope so,” Clint said.

  “Then you’re a fool,” the priest said. “I gave up on these people long ago.”

  “So if they do come back to the church,” Clint said, “you won’t be there?”

  “I’ll be here,” Father Paul said, “right here, hopefully with another bottle of whiskey.”

  Clint looked at Tully. “Come on, this is a waste of time.”

  The two men left the house, walked back around the church before stopping.

  “Maybe he’ll feel different when he sobers up,” Tully offered.

  “If he sobers up,” Clint said.

  “I guess we’ll have to try and give him a reason to.”

  Chapter Nine

  In a normal town Clint would have gone to a saloon and had a beer. Since there were no saloons in Winslow, he and Tully went to a café—a different one from where they’d had breakfast—to have coffee and a piece of pie.

  “We need a plan,” Clint said.

  “I need to bury Aggie,” Tully said.

  “Okay,” Clint said, “doing that might bring Stoll out in the open without me having to go to his compound. Where is it, by the way?”

  “Just outside of town, I think,” Tully said. “I’m not sure where.”

  “I wonder what goes on there.”

  “Could be anything,” Tully said. “Religious ceremonies, human sacrifices ... who knows?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “members of his religion, or whatever it is, they’d know. All we have to do is find some of them.”

  “Maybe we should ask the sheriff,” Tully suggested.

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  They finished their coffee and pie, left the café and walked to the sheriff’s office. The lawman was just coming up the street as they got to his door.

  “We were just coming to see you,” Clint said.

  “Come inside,” Gaines said.

  They followed him in. He sat behind his desk while Clint sat across from him, and Tully stood to one side.

  “What can I help you with?” the lawman asked. He looked at Tully. “When are you buryin’ Aggie?”

  “Hopefully, tomorrow,” Tully said. “This morning I went and saw about getting a coffin built.”

  “The hardware store?” the sheriff asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Yeah,” Gaines said, “that Ollie Jensen, he hasn’t gone over to Mr. Stoll, yet.”

  “Yet?” Clint asked. “Do you expect the whole town to convert to Stoll’s way of thinking?”

  “Why not?” Gaines asked. “That’s the way it looks like it’s gonna go.”

  “Where’s this compound of his?” Clint asked.

  “Just East of town,” Gaines said. “You rode in from the West, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s why you didn’t see it,” Gaines said. “He’s got people livin’ there with him—mostly women.”

  “Women?” Clint asked. “What about the men?”

  “Oh, he’s got some,” Gaines said. “Mostly the ones he’s payin’. The men in town don’t like how their women have given themselves to Stoll.”

  “Given themselves?” Clint asked. “Are we talking—”

  “We are,” the sheriff said. “He’s got himself a few wives.”

  “Who married them?” Tully asked. “Justice of the peace? I doubt Father Paul would’ve.”

  “Stoll performed his own ceremonies,” Gaines said.

  “And they’re not really married,” Clint said.

  “They are as far as he and the women are concerned.”

  “So there’s nothing you can do about it?”

  “What would I do?” the sheriff asked. “The women aren’t bein’ held against their will.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve been there,” Gaines said. “To the compound. For supper. The women cooked, and served me. They were smiling, laughing.”

  Clint looked at Tully.

  “Tully’s going to bury Aggie tomorrow,” Clint said. “I’m going to be with him. If anyone tries to stop him, they’re going to have to deal with me.”

  “Don’t kill anyone, Adams.”

  Clint stood up. “That’s pretty much going to be up to them.”

  “Is there anyone we can talk to about Stoll who doesn’t live with him?”

  “Sure,” Gaines said, “lots of people who own shops are still doing business, living in their homes. But they just go along with everything he says, like closing the saloons.”

  “Can we get a few names?”

  “Sure,” Gaines said. “Try Harrigan’s Leathers and Mrs. Henry’s Tea Shop.”

  “Mrs. Henry? Is she one of his wives?”

  “She has a husband already,” Gaines said, “but who knows?”

  Chapter Ten

  They went to Harrigan’s Leathers first, found Mr. Harrigan behind the counter of his store, working on a piece of leather with a tool Clint didn’t recognize.

  “Stoll?” Harrigan said. “Well, yeah, sure, I went along with him closing the saloons. Why not? Men were gettin’ drunk every night, makin’ trouble. Maybe more towns should see things Mr. Stoll’s way.”

  Harrigan was a man in his fifties, and Clint thought such a man would be set in his ways.

&
nbsp; “Do you have any family. Mr. Harrigan?” Clint asked. “A wife, or a daughter?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What do you think of Stoll taking more than one wife?”

  “What do I care how many wives he’s got?” Harrigan said. “He’s the one who has to keep them happy. Better him than me.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “thank you.”

  “Tully,” Harrigan said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you gonna take over his business?”

  “For the time being,” Tully said. “I buried him, and I’m going to bury Aggie Kimball.”

  “Now I didn’t agree with what they did to her,” Harrigan said. “That was brutal.”

  “Did you do anything to try and stop it?” Clint asked.

  Harrigan made a face. “What the hell was I gonna do? I ain’t a lawman, or a gunman. But I tell you one thing, I didn’t go out there with them to string ‘er up.”

  “Do you know who did?” Tully asked.

  Harrigan hesitated, then replied, “I-I ain’t sayin’. That’s up to the sheriff.”

  “Did Stoll go out with the mob?” Clint asked.

  “Like I said,” Harrigan answered. “I ain’t sayin’. I-I got work to do.”

  “Sure,” Clint said, “thanks for your cooperation.”

  “Hey,” Harrigan said, pointing with the tool, “I didn’t cooperate with you on nothin’. Don’t go tellin’ people that. I just answered some questions.”

  “Right,” Clint said, “just some questions.”

  “We got it,” Tully said.

  He and Clint left the store.

  “That didn’t help, much,” Tully said.

  “Let’s try the tea shop,” Clint said.

  “You really think Mrs. Henry is going to be helpful, if she believes in Stoll?”

  “Maybe not,” Clint said. “Maybe after we talk to Mrs. Henry we should talk to Mr. Henry and see what he has to say.”

  Tully grinned. “Now that sounds like an idea.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They walked down the few blocks to the teashop and went inside.

  “It smells good in here,” Tully said.

  Clint had to agree. The combination of different blends of tea left a very pleasant scent in the air.

  A woman behind a counter was wrapping some items up for two middle-aged ladies, who were saying how wonderful her teas were.