Authors: J. R. Roberts
Cross Draw (5 page)
But there was a man walking toward him, and he was wearing a badge.
“Mr. Adams,” the sheriff said. “Nice to see you up and about.”
“Have we met?” Clint asked.
“Briefly, yesterday,” the lawman said. “I helped the ladies get you into the doctor's office.”
“Much obliged, then, Sheriff.”
“Where are you off to?”
“Wanted to go over to the livery and check on my horse,” Clint said. “Maybe even see if the lady's wagon was being fixed.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
“Not at all.”
They started to walk.
“I notice you're wearing your gun with the butt forward for a cross draw.”
“I had hoped it wasn't that noticeable.”
“Well, the doctor told me about your situation,” the sheriff said. “No better today?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“That's got to be a concern for a man like you,” the sheriff said.
“It is.”
“Can you shoot left-handed?”
“Very well,” Clint said.
“That's good, but I don't expect there'll be any trouble. Not in this town,” the sheriff said. “Hasn't been any for five years.”
“That's good to hear.”
They got to the livery and stopped in front.
“Fella named Leroy should be takin' care of your horse,” he said. “He's good with animals.”
“That's good.”
“My name's Cal Evans, Mr. Adams,” the lawman said. “You need anythin' while you're in town, you just let me know.”
“I'm much obliged, Sheriff,” Clint said, “but all I need is for word about my arm not to get around.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Adams.”
ELEVEN
Clint entered the livery and introduced himself to Leroy, a big black man of indeterminable age with a very easygoing manner.
“Dat big black horse is yours?” he asked. “Dat's one fine horse.”
“Yes, he is,” Clint said. “The sheriff assured me that you'd be taking good care of him. I just haven't seen him since yesterday.”
“I understand,” Leroy said. “A horse like that is special. He's in the back stall.”
“Oh, and that wagon the ladies brought in yesterday?” Clint asked.
“I put a new carter key on it,” Leroy said. “Good as new.”
“You bill my horse and the repair on the wagon to me,” Clint said.
“Whatever you say, mister.”
“Thanks.”
Clint walked to the back stall, found Eclipse standing comfortably. He looked as if he was freshly brushed, and he had plenty of feed.
“You haven't even missed me, have you, big boy?” Clint asked, stroking the horse's massive neck.
Eclipse nodded his big head emphatically.
“Yeah, okay,” Clint said, “you're okay. I just had to make sure.”
He left the stall, exchanged nods with Leroy, and left the livery.
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Sheriff Evans left Clint at the livery and walked back to the center of town. Having Clint Adams in town was exciting, but if all he did was recover from his injury, it wouldn't do anything for the town, or for the sheriff. Evans had to figure out some way to make Clint Adams's presence work for him.
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Clint went back to his hotel and into the dining room. He ordered a breakfast that would be easy for him to eat with one handâa stack of flapjacks. While he was eating, Doc Jacobs came in and approached his table.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked.
“Hey, Doc,” Clint said. “Have a cup of coffee.”
“Don't mind if I do,” he said. “I've been up all night with Mrs. Francis. Finally delivered twins.”
“I admire you for being able to bring new life into the world, Doc.”
“Wasn't me,” the sawbones said. “It was her. I just helped.”
“Yeah, well, without your help I'm sure it would've been a lot harder.”
“Yeah, maybe.” The doctor drank some coffee. “How are you feelin'?”
“Well, except for not being able to move any of the fingers on my right hand, I'm fine.”
“You look okay,” Jacobs said. “When I walked in, I never would have known you were injured.”
“That's good.”
“But if you have to go for your gunâ”
“I decided not to advertise by wearing a left-handed rig, so if I need to, I'll cross draw.”
“Will that be enough?”
“In most cases, yes,” Clint said. “Unless I'm facing an experienced gun.”
“Then what?”
“Then I'm dead.”
“You say that calmly.”
“Oh, there's nothing calm about dying,” Clint said, “but it's going to happen sooner or later.”
“Well, yes, death is unavoidable but how we die is sort of up to each one of us, isn't it?”
“Not me,” Clint said. “I see my death happening one way. The same way Bill Hickok died, Ben Thompson died, and Jesse James died.”
“They were all shot to death.”
“Exactly. But I don't expect it to happen anytime soon. At least, not until my arm heals. When the time comes, I want to face it as a whole man. Then I can accept whatever happens. But this way . . .” Clint shook his head.
Jacobs poured himself some more coffee. “Well, like I said, no one's going to find out anything from me.”
“I appreciate that, Doc.”
Jacobs drained a second cup of coffee while Clint finished his flapjacks.
“Let's go to your room so I can examine you,” Jacobs said. “Then I'm gonna get some sleep.”
“Okay, Doc.”
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In Clint's room, the doctor took hold of his hand and manipulated each finger in turn.
“How's that feel?” he asked with each one.
“Hurts,” Clint said each time.
The doctor lowered Clint's arm.
“What's that mean, Doc?”
“Well,” he said, “you've got feeling. That's a lot better than if your arm and hand were completely numb.”
“I guess.”
The doctor undid Clint's sleeve and rolled it up. He removed the bandages so he could examine the stitches on the wound, then wrapped it anew.
Clint rolled the sleeve down and clumsily buttoned it.
“How would you feel about staying indoors until there's some change?” the doctor asked.
“That would attract attention,” Clint said. “The word would go out that the Gunsmith was holed up in a hotel in Big Rock, Arizona. That would bring gunnies from all over the country, and they'd stand in line for a chance to kill me.”
“I suppose you know your world best,” the doctor said. “What about sending for help?”
“If I sent such a telegram, word would get out,” Clint said.
“But you have friends who would help, I'm sure,” the doctor said.
Clint thought about Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp, who would always have his back. Also Luke Short, Neil Brown, Heck Thomas, Jim West . . . there were a handful of men he knew could watch his back. But he was used to helping himself, even in a position like this.
Well, actually, he'd never been in this position before. He'd always been able to count on his gun arm to get him out of any jam.
Only this time, his gun arm was useless.
“I'll have to think about it,” he said. “A message like that would have to be sent in such a way that it couldn't be intercepted.”
“That means you'd have to send it with someone you trust.”
“And I don't see anyone in town who fits that description.”
“What about one of the ladies?”
“I just met them yesterday, Doc,” Clint said. “And they're women, not gunmen. I'd never put them in that kind of danger.”
“Well,” the doctor said, standing up and closing his big black bag, “it certainly sounds like you're describing a situation where you're entirely on your own.”
“Sure looks that way, Doc.”
TWELVE
After the doctor left, Clint paced his room, replaying the doctor's suggestion. Stay in this room until there was some change? What if that didn't happen? What if he never got the use of his right hand back?
Well, he could stay in the room and practice his cross draw, and venture out only when he was sure he could defend himself. But how long would that take? Word would still get out that he was holed up in a hotel room following an injury. What would gunmen assume from that? They'd correctly assume that something was wrong.
He had to go out.
As he made that decision, there was a knock at the door. He drew his gun with his left hand and opened the door.
“Good morning,” Rosemary said. “Can I come in?”
“Actually,” he said, sliding the gun back into the holster, “I was just coming out.”
“Um, do you think that's wise?” she asked.
“I was already out,” he said. “I went to see my horse, and to check on your wagon.”
“Oh? And how is the wagon?”
He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. “Your wagon is ready to go. You can ride out of town at any time.”
“I think I'd like to stay a while,” she said.
“And what about the others?”
“Oh, they're pretty much been looking at me as the leader since we left St. Louis,” she said.
“And where are the rest of the ladies now?”
“Having breakfast somewhere.”
“What about your breakfast?”
“Well, I thought I might have that with you, but since you were up early . . .”
“I could have some more coffee,” he said. “The dining room here has a very good breakfast.”
“Well, since I wasn't around to cut your meat for you, I'd guess you had something you'd be able to cut with your left hand. Flapjacks? Or something you didn't have to cut? Oatmeal?”
“Flapjacks.”
“Would you mind if I had steak and eggs?”
“Not at all,” he said. “It would be my pleasure to watch you cut your meat.”
“Okay, then,” she said, and they went into the dining room.
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“She's with him,” Abigail said. “I know it.”
“What does it matter?” Morgan asked.
“She's supposed to be one of us,” Abigail complained.
“She
is
one of us, Abigail,” Jenny said.
is
one of us, Abigail,” Jenny said.
Abigail, Jenny, Morgan, and Delilah were sitting in a café near their hotel, having breakfast. Only Abigail was complaining that Rosemary wasn't there with them, but then Abigail was always complaining about something.
“Then why isn't she here?” she asked.
“Abigail,” Jenny asked, “Why doesn't anyone ever call you Abby?”
Abigail turned her head and looked at the other woman.
“What?”
“Yeah,” Morgan said, “has anyone ever called you Abby?”
“No,” Abigail said. “My name is Abigail, not Abby. I hate Abby. Don't call me Abby.”
“Okay,” Delilah said, “we won't call you Abby.”
“In fact,” Morgan said, “we won't ever say the word
Abby
. Right girls?”
Abby
. Right girls?”
“Right,” Jenny said. “No Abby.”
“I see what you're doing,” Abigail said. “You're trying to get me off the subject. None of you care that Rosemary has set her cap for this man?”
“ âSet her cap'?” Jenny asked. “Isn't that kind of old-fashioned?”
“Only to someone as young as you, Jenny,” Abigail said. “The fact is, we're not in this town to look for husbands.”
“Come on, Abigail,” Delilah said. “We all left St. Louis to come west to look for husbands.”
The other girls all laughed.
“Well, I did not!” Abigail said. “If that's truly the reason you all have made this trip, then I was recruited under false pretenses.”
“Oh, come off it, Abigail,” Morgan said. “We all came on this trek for our own reasons. And there's no reason we need to reveal them.”
“You mean . . . you aren't all looking for husbands?” Abigail asked.
“No,” Morgan said, looking at the other girls. “Well, I'm not.”
“I want more biscuits,” Jenny said.
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Rosemary finished the last chunk of steak on her plate and put her fork down.
“How was it?” he asked.
“It was wonderful,” she said. “Oh, I'm sorry. I should have offered you at least a bite.”
“No, no,” he said. “I enjoyed watching you enjoy it.”
“I just seem to have such a big appetite since we came west,” she said. “Is it the air?”
“It probably is,” he said. “Fresh air does increase the appetite. When I'm on the trail, everything I eat tastes so good.”
“Even beans?”
“Yes,” he said, “even beans.”
She sat back, put both hands over her belly, and said, “I hope I don't get fat.”
“I can't imagine you fat,” he said, “but even if you were, you'd be beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Thank you, Clint.”
“Now,” he said, “if we take a walk, you'll work some of that breakfast off.”
THIRTEEN
They walked around Big Rock, which didn't take very long. It was a town that seemed to have found its size. There was no sign of any sort of expansion.
“This looks like a nice, quiet place to live,” Rosemary said. “I've seen a church, a playhouse, several shops for women, like a hat shop, dress shopâ”
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