The Gunsmith 406 Read online

  “How about for now,” he said, “you just call me Clint?”

  “Well, Clint.” She came down the steps the rest of the way and put out her hand. “I’m Terry.”

  He shook her hand, thinking this was not what he’d expected from all he had heard.

  “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You were expecting some kind of hellcat.”

  “Well … yeah.”

  “Why don’t we go in to supper and I’ll show you what kind of a hellcat I can be?” She took his arm. “Daddy’s waiting.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As they entered the diningroom together Vance Restin stood up from his place at the head of the table.

  “Look who I found, Daddy.”

  “Ah, there you are, Mr. Adams,” he said, expansively. “And you’ve met my Terry.”

  “Yes, I have,” Clint said. “She seems like a lovely young woman.”

  “She is, she is. Please, have a seat and we’ll start the meal. Terry?”

  “Daddy likes me to sit at his right,” Terry said. “You should sit on his left.”

  She released Clint’s arm and went to sit down. Her father held her chair for her, and then sat down himself. Clint walked around the table and sat on Restin’s left.

  A woman came out of the kitchen carrying trays of food and set them down on the table. Clint had been served like this before, in other homes. But it had never made him this uncomfortable before.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Adams,” Restin said. “Help yourself.”

  “Yes, Mr. Adams,” Terry said, politely, “please.”

  “Ladies first,” Clint said.

  “Oh,” she said, “a gentleman.” She looked at her father. “What a nice change.”

  Clint took a large chicken breast from the platter in the center of the table, then vegetables from each of the others. The food was delicious.

  “You have a good cook,” he said.

  “She’s the best,” Restin said, “and I pay her like the best.”

  “Daddy pays all his people like the best,” Terry said. “Don’t you, Daddy?”

  “I pay everyone what they’re worth,” the rancher said, filling his own plate, “and I expect them to earn every penny.”

  “Like your foreman?”

  “Ray? What do you know about him?”

  “I met him out front.”

  “Ray’s been with me a long time.”

  “Is he in charge of all the men?” Clint asked. “The hands, the gunnies? Or just the hands?”

  “Ray handles the day-to-day business of the ranch,” Restin said, “and that’s all.”

  “Ray is Daddy’s right hand when it comes to the ranch,” she said. “For the other stuff he has Mr. Peterson.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “I’ve met Peterson, too. And his boys.”

  “Now they,” Terry said, while chewing a small bite of chicken, “are not gentlemen.”

  “Honey,” Restin said, “Mr. Adams—”

  ”Let’s call him Clint, Daddy,” Terry said. “Is that all right, Clint?”

  “That’s fine, Terry.”

  “All right, then,” Restin said, “Terry. Clint is here so you and he can get acquainted. You’ll be spending some time together between here and Sacramento. You should get to know each other.”

  “And that’s what we’re doing,” she said, with a smile. “Getting to know each other. Aren’t we, Clint?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

  “So tell me, Clint,” she asked, “how did you get to be a legend?”

  “You don’t get to be a legend,” Clint said. “People just start calling you one.”

  “And the name sticks?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And then … what?” she asked. “You have to start trying to live up to it?”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “What a terrible place to live,” she said. “Men must be coming after you all the time, to make a name for themselves.”

  “Men,” he said, “boys …”

  “And you killed them?”

  “Some of them.”

  She looked at Restin.

  “Daddy, do you think this is a good idea?”

  “What’s that, honey?”

  “Well, for me to travel with the Gunsmith?” she asked. “What if somebody comes after him to challenge him and shoots me by mistake?”

  “I trust Clint to take very good care of you, Terry,” Restin said. “You’re not getting out of going to college that easily.”

  “Ooooh!” she growled. She stood up and slammed her fist down on the tabletop, causing all the platters to jump and the gravy boat to spill. “I won’t go! You can’t make me …” she said, and then, pointing at Clint, “… and he can’t make me go, either!”

  She stormed out of the dining room.

  “Jeanette!” he called.

  The middle-aged cook came from the kitchen and asked, “Yes, sir?”

  Restin pointed to the upended gravy boat and said, “We need more gravy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Over coffee and pie Restin said, “I told you she wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “Well, she had me fooled,” Clint said. “From the moment I walked in she was nothing but sweet.”

  “Believe me, Terry is anything but sweet.”

  “Who does she take after?” Clint asked.

  “Believe it or not, her mother.”

  “Is her mother alive?”

  “No,” Restin said, “she died a lot of years ago.”

  “And you never remarried?”

  “No. It was difficult – with a daughter like Terry, women – it was hard. So I concentrated on building up my business.”

  “Seems like you did a hell of a job.”

  “I may not have been a perfect husband or father, Adams,” Restin said, “but even if I say so myself, I’m a perfect money maker.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “if you’ve got to be something …”

  “Come on,” Restin said, “it may be a cliché, but I like a cigar on the porch after supper.”

  They stood and Clint followed him out. Eclipse wasn’t where he’d left him. He figured the big Darley Arabian was in the barn, where Ray Owens said he’d take him.

  The corral was still empty as Restin lit up a cigar and offered one to Clint.

  “That’s a good cigar,” Clint said. “Don’t waste it on me.”

  Restin nodded, put the extra one back in his cigar holder and lit one up. He did it lovingly, holding the flame to the tip and rotating the cigar until he had it going exactly the way he wanted.

  “What’s the game, Restin?” Clint asked.

  “Huh?” Restin tore his attention away from the cigar. “What are you talking about? What game?”

  “This can’t just be about taking your daughter to college in Sacramento,” Clint said. “As difficult as she might be.”

  “She’s mighty difficult.”

  “Not five thousand dollars’ worth,” I said. “Or ten. That was your last offer, wasn’t it? Ten?”

  “I would’ve gone to twenty,” he said. “That’s my daughter. I love her, Mr. Adams. I want her to have a good life, in spite of herself.”

  “Why is she so against it?”

  “Maybe it’s simply because I want it,” he said. “Or perhaps you can find out the answer to that question for me between here and Sacramento.”

  “Are you planning the trip or am I?”

  “I thought I’d book the two of you on a train—”

  “How about if you leave that to me?” Clint suggested.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Give me some expense money and I’ll plan the route.”

  “And you’ll tell me about it.”

  “No.”

  Restin stopped drawing on his cigar.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I still don’t know what’s really going on,” Clint said. “I mean, that’s the w
ay I feel. So if you’re trusting me to deliver your daughter to this college in Sacramento, I think you should trust me to plan the route.”

  “And not tell me what that route would be.”

  “And not tell anyone what the route is.”

  Now Restin drew on the cigar again blew out a plume of smoke.

  “All right,” he said, finally.

  “You agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “With what part?”

  “All of it,” Restin said. “I’ll give you some expense money, and you plan the route.”

  “And the expense money doesn’t come out of my fee.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, all right,” Clint said.

  “When do you want to start?” Restin asked.

  “I need tomorrow to plan, and to finish up some other business.”

  “So day after tomorrow?”

  “Bright and early in the morning,” Clint said. “Have her mounted on a good horse.”

  “The best I’ve got,” Restin said. “Don’t worry, she’ll be ready.”

  “Then I guess I’ll be on my way,” Clint said. “Thanks for the dinner.”

  “I’ll have somebody get your horse,” Restin said.

  “Owens said he’d put him in the barn,” Clint said. “I can get him.”

  “Very well,” Restin said. “I’ll see you day after tomorrow, early.”

  “I’ll be up at first light,” Clint said.

  Restin nodded, and Clint went down the stairs and headed for the barn.

  He found Eclipse inside, fully saddled. When he mounted up and rode outside, Restin was still on the porch, smoking.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When he got to his hotel the desk clerk waved at him frantically. It was never an emergency with this man. Most of his movements were frantic.

  “What is it?” Clint asked.

  “I got some telegrams for you, Mr. Adams,” the man said. “The clerk brought them in three separate times.”

  “Thanks,” Clint said, accepting the telegrams. He took them this hotel to read them.

  The next morning he was able to make arrangements with the bank to pay the lawyer, Eugene Barkley, his fee. The other two telegrams he’d gotten were from two friends, Bat Masterson and the Denver private detective, Talbot Roper. Neither of them was available to help him deliver a girl to Sacramento. They apparently had some problems of their own to deal with.

  Clint wasn’t even sure he needed anyone to watch his back. But he still wasn’t convinced that all Vance Restin was doing was hiring him to deliver his daughter to Sacramento. Something else had to be going on.

  He decided to see how much more the sheriff knew, but he stopped for breakfast first.

  As he walked into the café he spotted the sheriff sitting at a table.

  “How’d you find me?” Moreland said, looking up as Clint approached.

  “I didn’t,” Clint said. “You told me where you got my food while I was in your jail, and I thought I’d have breakfast here.”

  “Well, you’re here,” the lawman said. “Have a seat.” Clint sat. A waiter came over right away and he ordered steak and eggs, and coffee.

  “I was going to stop by your office after I ate, though,” Clint went on.

  “What about?”

  “I went out and had supper with the Restin family last night.”

  “That must have been fun,” Moreland said. “Terry Restin as much of a handful as we’ve heard.”

  “More.”

  “Did you take the job?”

  “I took it.”

  “Good,” Moreland said. “I didn’t want to see any more of you in my jail.”

  The waiter brought Clint’s steak and eggs.

  “So tell me,” the sheriff said, “how do you intend to take her?

  “You mean what’s my route going to be?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “I’m not saying.”

  “So you just told Restin?”

  Clint shook his head while he chewed.

  “I’m not telling him, either.”

  “Well,” Moreland said, “how did he take that?”

  “He took it well,” Clint said. “In fact, he gave me some travel money.”

  “Really?” The lawman looked surprised. “You got money out of him?”

  “Not much,” Clint said. “But enough.”

  “Train? Stage?”

  Clint didn’t answer.

  “What about taking a man with you?”

  “For what?”

  The sheriff shrugged.

  “To watch your back?”

  Clint stopped eating and looked at the man.

  “You know, I thought about that, but … watch my back from what? What do you know?”

  “Me? I don’t know anything.”

  “A boyfriend? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I already told you, I don’t know anythin’ about that,” Moreland said. “Look, I gotta get to work.” He stood up. “Don’t worry about paying for breakfast. It’ll be on me.”

  “Thanks.”

  As the sheriff left, Clint still had half his breakfast remaining.

  “Sir?” the waiter asked. “More coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Clint said.

  The waiter poured it and walked away.

  Clint thought over the travel plans for himself and Terry the next day.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Clint decided that a good portion of the trip to Sacramento – the first part, anyway – would be done on horseback. He wanted to check out Eclipse and make sure he was good for the trip.

  He went to the livery and checked the horse’s hooves and legs, walked him around a bit. The Darley Arabian was as sound as could be during the ride to and from the Restin ranch. This was really just a way to double check his soundness. And it was something for Clint to do while he worked the problem out in his mind.

  The major question on his mind was, what was going on? Nobody pays that much money just to have somebody delivered to school. Clint decided that between here and Sacramento, he and Terry were going to get as lost as they could. No one was going to be able to track them, or find them, or guess what route they were taking.

  Clint had hunted down many men in his time, but had not spent much time trying not to be tracked down by others, himself.

  This was going to be something new.

  “Come in and close the door,” Restin said.

  Dave Peterson entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Sit.”

  Peterson did. Maybe now he was going to find out when he could take care of Clint Adams.

  “Is Terry in the house?” Restin asked.

  “Yeah,” Peterson said. “She’s upstairs.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Mr. Restin,” Peterson said, “what’s goin’ on? When do we get a chance at Adams?”

  “Soon,” Restin said, “very soon, Peterson. Where are your men?”

  “In the bunkhouse,” Peterson said, “makin’ your men real uncomfortable.”

  “I’m going to need you to do something for me, Peterson,” Restin said, “without question.”

  “No questions?” Peterson asked. “That ain’t my way, Mr. Restin.”

  “But if I pay you enough it can be your way, right?” Restin asked.

  “Well …” Peterson rubbed his jaw. “Totally without questions?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It would have to be a real good payday, boss.”

  “Don’t worry,” Restin said. “It will.”

  Later, Peterson entered the bunkhouse and told his men, “Outside.”

  “What for?” Stan Rhodes asked, looking at the full house he was holding.

  “Just do it,” Peterson said, “no questions asked.”

  He went outside and waited for his three men. His heart was racing. There was a lot of money at stake here, plus a chance at killing the Gunsmith.
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  The three men came out one at a time, tucking in their shirts, smoothing back their hair and putting their hats on, strapping on their guns.

  “What’s goin’ on, Peterson?” Rhodes asked.

  “I need you all to listen up,” Peterson said.

  The three men exchanged glances, but Rhodes was the spokesman.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Let’s get away from the bunkhouse,” Peterson said. “I don’t want the others to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  Hank Spenser, Ted Banks and Stan Rhodes looked at each other, shrugged and followed their boss.

  Peterson led them around behind the barn, then turned to face them.

  “Okay, Dave,” Stan Rhodes said, “what’s goin’ on? I don’t get it.”

  “The boss has just offered us a lot of money.”

  “We been gettin’ a lot of money,” Banks said.

  “Yeah,” Spenser said, “what’s new about that?”

  “Look,” Peterson said, “I’m talkin’ about a lot of goddamned money, not the chickenfeed we’ve been getting so far.”

  “Dave,” Stan Rhodes said, “I was holdin’ a full house in there—”

  “Jesus Christ, don’t you guys get it?” Peterson snapped. “We stand to make a fortune here.”

  “And what do we gotta do for it?” Spenser asked.

  “You mean after we kill the Gunsmith?” Peterson asked.

  “Simple. The boss don’t want his daughter to make it to that school in Sacramento – ever!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After Clint left Eclipse at the livery, satisfied as to the horse’s perfect condition, he went to the Drinkwater for a beer. Buck was alone.

  “Beer,” Buck said, putting a frosty mug down in front of him.

  “Thanks.”

  “When are you and the girl leavin’?”

  Clint stared at the man.

  “Ah, hell, don’t tell me,” Buck said, with a wave. “Just be careful.”

  “Of what?”

  “Everythin’,” Buck said. “Everybody.”

  “Buck,” Clint said, “you hear everything that goes on in this place, don’t you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So you know things.”