East of the River (7 page)

The third man screwed up his face and said, “But we want some whiskey now.”

“You fellas seem like you already found some whiskey this morning,” Clint said.

“What you care, fella?” one of them asked. “What you doin' here anyway, if it's closed?”

Randle stood up. He was wearing a sidearm on his right hip.

“Time for you fellas to go,” he said. “Come on. Out the door.”

“Or what, friend?” one of them asked.

Clint stood up, stood next to Randle.

“You don't want to know the answer to that question, friend,” Clint said.

The three men eyed Clint and Randle standing side by side, and then one of them said, “Aw hell, this place is a dump anyway. Come on, boys.”

The three men backed out, and Randle locked the door behind them.

“What about Sean?”

“He'll knock,” Randle said. “Hey, we make a good team.”

“So far,” Clint said. “You were getting ready to tell me something?”

“Yeah, I was.”

Before he did, however, he retrieved the coffeepot from behind the bar and brought it to the table. He poured both their cups full and then sat down.

“You asked me what I thought I knew,” Randle said. “We've got a family in town named Archer. Brothers, actually.”

“You sent Sean to Archer's General Store,” Clint said.

“Right,” Randle said. “They also have a farm outside of town. There are four of them, and everyone in town thinks they're merchants and farmers.”

“And what do you think?”

Randle sipped his coffee and said, “I think they're the gang.”

“Thomas and John run the general store,” Randle said. “Mort runs the farm. He's the oldest.”

“You said there were four.”

“Sammy,” Randle said. “He's the youngest. Might be eighteen.”

“So four of them,” Clint said. “Nobody else. Like parents?”

“Dead.”

“Sisters. Other brothers?”

“Just them.”

“And they're from here?”

“Born and bred, from what I know,” Randle said. “Back from before this town was called Dexter. Maybe back from before there was even a town here.”

“And what makes you think they've been pulling the robberies?”

“The farm's a failure,” Randle said, “and I wouldn't exactly call the general store a success.”

“Is there another store in town?”

“Peck's Mercantile,” Randle said. “Most people shop there.”

“So then why are they open?”

“Exactly.”

“And you've been in there?”

“Yeah,” Randle said, “I've been doin' my shoppin' in there.”

There was a knock on the door at that time. Randle unlocked it and let Sean Sanchez in.

“Here ya go, Eddie,” Sanchez said, “your cigars.”

“Thanks, Sean,” Randle said. Sanchez started forward, but Randle stopped him. “I won't need you for a while, Sean.”

“But I gotta finish sweepin', Eddie.”

“That's okay, Sean,” Randle said. “I'll take care of it. You come back later, when we're open.”

“Okay, Eddie.”

Sean Sanchez backed out and Randle locked the door again.

“You make friends with any of them?” Clint asked.

“No,” Randle said. “I mean, I'm acquainted with Tom and John because I've seen them at the store.”

“Don't know Mort?”

“No.”

“Or Sam?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “How do you want to play this?”

“I figure they're gonna have to pull another job soon,” Randle said. “Between us maybe we can keep an eye on them.”

“How about if I go out to the farm and have a look around?” Clint said.

“What for?”

“Just to see what I can see. None of the brothers have seen me, and even if they have, they don't know I'm working with you.”

“Well, okay,” Randle said, “go ahead. Maybe you'll find somethin' to link them to the jobs.”

“Have you been out there at all?”

“No,” Randle said. “Couldn't think of a reason to give 'em, and I didn't want to get caught snoopin' around.”

“I'll take a look. How do I get there?”

Randle gave him directions.

“But what will you tell them if you get caught?” Randle asked.

“Maybe I'll tell them I'm looking to hook up with a well-run gang.”

“It'd be better if you just didn't get caught.”

“I'll do my best.”

Clint headed for the door, unlocked it, opened it, then turned.

“By the way,” he said, “what's your real name?”

“Reed,” the man said, “Deputy Marshal Eddie Reed.”

Clint decided not to waste any time. When he left the Ox Bow, he went directly to the livery to get his horse.

“I'll show you where he is,” the liveryman said, “unless you want me to saddle him for you.”

“Can you?” Clint asked.

“I can saddle a horse, mister,” the man said.

“No, I mean . . . will he let you?”

“Sure,” the man said. “We're gettin' along just fine.”

“What's your name?”

“Beau.”

“Okay, Beau,” Clint said. “Go ahead and saddle him.”

“Wanna watch?”

 

Clint was shocked at how docile Eclipse was while Beau saddled him. The man spoke to him the whole time, stroked his neck and withers—things the big Darley wouldn't allow anyone else to do, except Clint.

“Here ya go,” Beau said, walking the horse to him and handing him the reins.

“Looks like you guys really are getting along,” Clint commented.

“I know how to handle horses.”

“Yes, you do,” Clint said. “My apologies.”

“No need,” the man said. “You gonna bring him back here?”

“Yes,” Clint said. “I'm just taking him out so he—and I—can stretch.”

“Good,” Beau said. “A horse like this deserves to be ridden.”

Clint walked Eclipse outside before mounting up.

 

Clint gave Eclipse his head when they'd cleared the town limits. The big gelding ate up the ground, the breath exploding from his nostrils. After they'd run for a couple of miles, Clint took control and turned the horse in the direction of the Archer farm. Two more miles and he topped a rise and found himself looking down at the farm.

It was sad. The house was in disrepair, as was the barn. There were some chickens running around, but they were scrawny things. Any inference that this was a going concern was an obvious lie. He wondered about the intelligence of the Archer brothers. If they were robbing and expecting people to think their money came from their farm . . .

Now he realized he should have gone to see the general store before he came out here. But since he was here, he decided to try and get a closer look.

He found a likely place to hide Eclipse, a copse of trees that would keep the animal out of sight while he approached the farm on foot.

He came at it from behind the barn. No one would be able to see him from the house if they were looking out the window.

The barn had a back door, so he had no trouble getting in. Once inside, he found supplies, but not the kind of supplies one would need to run a farm. There were two horses, probably saddle horses, because the plow that was in there hadn't been in a field in a long time. Yep, there were two worn saddles inside the stalls with the horses.

Underneath a tarp he found an open wooden crate with rifles and handguns inside. An arsenal. In another box he found maps of both Orange and Marion counties. He also found an envelope with train schedules inside. And stagecoach schedules.

He was delving into another box when he heard someone at the front door. Hurriedly, he covered everything with the tarp, then looked for cover. His first instinct was to hide behind the tarp himself, but whoever was entering the barn night be coming to check on the contents.

He found cover behind the decrepit plow.

From there he watched as a young man removed the tarp and reached into the crate of weapons. With a big grin he took out a rifle, sighted down the barrel, and pretended to shoot something. He returned the rifle, then did the same routine with a handgun.

Another man entered, older but resembling the first. Clint reckoned he was looking at Mort and Sam Archer.

“What are you doin', Sammy?” the older man asked.

“I, uh, I'm just lookin' at the guns.”

Mort joined Sam and took the pistol from his hand.

“Pickin' one out for yerself?”

“I'm gonna need a gun, Mort.”

“You're gonna have to learn to use one first, kid,” Mort said.

“Will you teach me, Mort?”

“Tommy's the hand with a gun,” Mort said. “That's why he hates bein' behind the counter at the store. But he's also the smartest of us, so he needs to run the store.”

“He's smarter than you, Mort?” Sam asked. “You're the oldest.”

“Bein' the oldest don't make you the smartest, kid,” Mort said, putting the gun back in the crate. “Look, Tommy will pick a gun for you, Sammy. And give you a couple of quick lessons.”

“Do you know what the next job is yet, Mort?” Sam asked.

“Not yet, Sammy,” Mort said, “but we'll figure it out.” He slapped the boy on the back. “Come on, let's go back into the house.”

“Mort?” Sam asked as they walked to the door.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Are we ever gonna leave this farm?”

“This farm is home.”

“Yeah, but . . . it's fallin' apart.”

“That's because none of us are farmers, like the old man was. You wanna leave the farm, Sammy?”

“Well, sure . . . don't you?”

“Eventually,” Mort said as they went out the door, “I guess.”

Clint came out from behind the plow, hurried to the front door, and watched the two brothers enter the house. When he was sure they were inside, he went back to the crates and boxes, which the Archers had now left uncovered by the tarp. Staring down at the guns and maps, he knew this wasn't enough evidence for a deputy U.S. marshal to act on. In the absence of witnesses who could identify the robbers, they were going to have to catch them in the act.

The maps of the two counties as well as the stage and train schedules could be for jobs they'd already pulled. He was going to have to find out from Randle where they had already hit.

And banks. There was no research material here about banks.

Mort had told Sammy that their brother Thomas was the smart one. Clint had to get inside the general store to see what else he could find.

According to Mort and Sammy, they hadn't picked out their next job yet.

Maybe he could figure out some way to help them along.

Clint rode back to town and returned Eclipse to the loving arms of Beau at the livery. He headed for the Ox Bow, but on the way he saw Archer's General Store across the street.

He changed direction and crossed the street.

 

Mort remembered that they had left the tarp off the crates.

“Sammy, go and cover the guns,” he told his younger brother. “And don't play with them.”

“Aw, Mort . . .”

Sam left the house and went back to the barn. He covered the crates and boxes with the tarp, but as he turned to leave he noticed the back door to the barn was ajar. Nobody used that door—ever. It had always been closed tight.

He walked to the door, swung it open and closed a few times, then looked at the dirt beneath his feet. There were a man's boot prints there, and they looked fresh. He turned and looked down at the floor of the barn. Mort had been teaching him to track, mostly for hunting, and he had picked it up pretty quick.

These boot prints did not match any of his brothers' boots.

Somebody had been in the barn recently.

He ran from the barn to tell Mort.

Mort Archer entered the barn with Sam and said, “Just stand there.”

He walked inside, to the crates, to the back door and back.

“Am I right, Mort?” Sam asked anxiously. “Am I right?”

“It looks to me like you're right, kid,” Mort said. “Somebody was in here, and recently. Maybe even sometime today.”

“What do we do?”

“Saddle the horses,” Mort said, heading quickly for the door.

“What for?”

“And pick a gun out of the crate for yourself,” Mort added. “We're gonna track the bastard.”

As soon as Clint entered the store, he saw what Randle had told him was true. The shelves were not very well stocked, especially not for a business being counted on to support a family.

There was one man present, standing behind the counter, wearing a white apron. Clint glanced around for something to show interest in so he wouldn't look suspicious.

“Can I help you find somethin'?” the man asked.

Stuck for an answer, Clint said, “Not really. To tell you the truth I'm just . . . killing time. I'm new to town, so I was taking a look around. I saw your store and thought I'd drop in.”

“That's fine,” the man said. “Just sing out if you need help.”

“Seems to me most of the people hereabouts do their shopping at that other store,” Clint said.