East of the River (9 page)

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Authors: J. R. Roberts

BOOK: East of the River
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Newly Hagen listened to the conversation between Clint Adams and the woman. He heard her name, and heard the name of the man she was hunting.
Doyle.
He grabbed a towel and walked over to Clint's table. He picked up the beer the woman had left and mopped up the spot.
“Wow, huh?” he said.
“Yeah,” Clint said. “Impressive.”
“What was her story?”
“Looking for a guy.”
“Wouldn't think a girl like that would have to look, huh?”
“No, she's not really looking,” Clint said, “she's hunting.”
“Yeah, I noticed she wears that gun like she knows how to use it.”
“Yeah.”
“Who's she looking for?”
Clint hesitated, then said, “I don't know, but I think she'll know him when she sees him.”
Hagen nodded and asked, “You want another one?”
“No,” Clint said, “I'll just nurse this one. Thanks.”
“Sure,” Hagen said. “You change your mind, just let me know.”
TWENTY-SIX
Clint went over to the sheriff's office, and found a young man with a deputy's star sitting behind the desk.
“Help ya?” the boy asked.
“I was looking for Sheriff Perry,” Clint said.
“Who are you?”
“Clint Adams.”
The deputy rocked back in his chair. “Whoa! He told me you was in town.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Out and about,” the young man said. “Makin' his rounds.”
“He does that a lot, huh?”
“That's his job.”
“Okay,” Clint said, heading for the door.
“Can I tell 'im what you wanted?”
Clint turned and looked back at the deputy.
“Just tell him I was here looking for him,” he said. “That's all.”
“Will do.”
“Uh, you wouldn't know anything about a man named Doyle, would you?”
“Doyle?” the deputy said. “I heard that name.”
“Where? When?”
“Today,” the man said, “earlier today. Some girl wearin' a gun came in and asked the sheriff about a man named Doyle.”
“And?”
“And he told her about you.”
“Then what?”
“She left.”
“And after she left, is that when he went out on rounds?”
“Yeah,” the deputy said. “Funny thing, too.”
“What?”
“She went out the front door,” the deputy said, “and he went right out the back.”
“Was he in a hurry?”
“Now that you mention it,” the deputy said, “yeah, he seemed like he was in a big hurry.”
“And he didn't specifically say where he was going?” Clint asked.
“Naw,” the deputy said, “he just said he was goin' on rounds, and I was to stay here.”
“Okay, Deputy . . .”
“Gibbons.”
“Deputy Gibbons,” Clint said. “Thanks.”
“Hey,” the deputy yelled as Clint went out the door, “what's goin' on?”
 
Clint came back in the Ox Bow and yelled, “Eddie in the back, Newly?”
“Yeah, but—”
Clint kept going, got to the back door, and opened it. Randle looked up from his desk. He had a ledger book open in front of him.
“Busy?”
“Doin' the books,” Randle said, closing it. “Gotta make this place look legit. What's on your mind?”
“You ever heard of a man named Doyle?”
“Doyle,” Randle said. “That a first name or a last name?”
“I don't know,” Clint said. “I just heard the name today.”
“Doyle,” Randle said, again. “I don't know it, but then I haven't seen any wanted posters in months. What about him?”
“I just heard the name today, too,” Clint said. “There was a woman in here looking for him.”
Clint explained about Hannie Welch, told the undercover marshal her story.
“So she's killed three men and is lookin' for the fourth,” Randle said. “What's that got to with what we're doin'?”
“Nothing,” Clint admitted. “Just coincidence, her being here looking for man while you're here.”
“What's such a coincidence about that?” Randle asked. “This woman isn't good-lookin', is she?”
“Oh yeah,” Clint said. “She is.”
Randle opened his ledger book again.
“Maybe we should keep our mind on business, Clint,” Randle advised.
“Close the book,” Clint said.
Randle closed it.
“I went out to the Archer ranch, and I had a look around the Archer store.”
“You tell them who you were?”
“Nobody saw me at the ranch,” Clint said, “but yeah, I didn't see the harm in telling Thomas and John who I was.”
“And what'd they do?”
“Not much. They were pretty nice, let me look around the store.”
“What about the farm?”
“Now, that's interesting . . .” He told Randle what he had found in the barn.
“So they got an arsenal out there,” Randle said. “Probably all the weapons they've used on their jobs.”
“These jobs they pulled,” Clint said, “have they killed anyone?”
“Not until the last one, last month,” Randle said. “They'd injured a few people, but last month they killed a guard on a stagecoach.”
“So they weren't wanted for murder until then?”
“Right.”
“Listen,” Clint said, “the younger brother, Sam? This will be his first job. So for now, you're looking for three men.”
Randle sat back, looking relieved.
“At least this confirms my suspicions,” he said. “It has been the Archers pulling all these jobs.”
“Guess you're not so bad at this undercover job after all.”
“Yeah, well,” Randle said, “don't tell my boss.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Beau looked up as the two men—one older, one barely more than a boy—entered the livery. The older man seemed to be studying the ground. Beau knew he'd find nothing there. There'd been so many horses back and forth over it, and Beau never swept the tracks away. He liked having all those hoofprints there.
“Help ya?”
The older man looked at him.
“We're lookin' for a horse leaves a big imprint behind,” he said.
“Anything else about it?” Beau asked. “Markings that make it stand out?”
“No,” Mort said. “Just bigger than most.”
“Saddle horse?”
“Yeah.”
“Lemme think,” Beau said. “Seems there was a fella here a few weeks ago—”
“Sooner than that,” Mort said. “Last day or so.”
“Hmm,” Beau said, “well, there was a guy here with a big gelding a few days ago.”
“Still here?”
“No.”
“Mind if I take a look at your animals?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because they're my responsibility,” Beau said. “Only me and the man who owns 'em can touch 'em.”
“I don't wanna touch 'em,” the man said. “Just look at 'em.”
“Sorry,” Beau said, “if you don't got a horse in here, I can't let ya in.”
“Hey, listen, mister—” the younger man said.
Beau thought the kid looked like he was going to go for his gun, so he grabbed the rifle he kept close by for occasions like this. He reached into an empty stall and came out with it pointed at the younger man.
“Hey, whoa,” the older man said, holding his arms out in front of the kid. “Take it easy, both of you. No guns.”
“Take the boy and go,” Beau said. “You got no business here.”
“Sure, sure,” the older man said, “we're goin'.”
He forcefully turned the boy around and pushed him out of the livery.
Beau put his rifle down after the two men left, and walked back to the stall Eclipse was in. The horse left hoofprints behind no other horse could fill.
“Wonder what's goin' on, boy,” he said, stroking the Darley Arabian's big neck.
Eclipse nickered and shook his head, then nodded energetically.
“Yeah,” Beau said, “I guess I better find your buddy and let him know.”
“Why'd you do that?” Sam demanded. “Why'd you let him talk to us like that?”
“What the hell's the difference,” Mort said. “We got no beef with him.”
“Well, he wouldn't let us in,” Sam said. “Whataya think that means?”
“Means one of two things.”
“Like what?”
“He either takes his job serious.”
“Or?”
“Or the horse we're lookin' for is in there.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Clint didn't know why he went asking questions about Doyle. It wasn't what he had agreed to stay in town to do. But he kept thinking about Hannie Welch, riding around the countryside looking for the men who killed her sister, and killing them.
He had stepped down and started to cross the street when he heard a woman shout, and a crowd formed. He hurried across to see what was happening.
“She just fell,” a woman said breathlessly. “I guess she fainted.”
Clint saw Hannie Welch lying on the platform. There were people standing around her, but no one was trying to help. They were just gawking.
“Let me through,” Clint said, pushing his way in.
He crouched next to her, saw her eyes flutter open.
“Hannie?”
He helped her to a seated position.
“What happened?” she asked, holding her head.
“You fainted,” Clint said. “When's the last time you ate?”
“I-I don't remember.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said. “Come on. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk.”
He helped her to her feet.
“Okay, that's all,” Clint yelled to the onlookers. “It's all over.”
He steered her away from the people.
“Where are we going?”
“To get you something to eat,” Clint said. “I know just the place.”
Minutes later they were seated in the small café across from Clint's hotel. Clint ordered Hannie a full steak dinner, while he had a bowl of beef stew. When both came, Hannie closed her eyes and leaned back.
“What's wrong?” Clint asked.
“It's been so long since I ate that I don't think I could handle all this.”
“Would you like to switch?”
She looked across the table at his beef stew. It was a small bowl and did not take up anywhere near the room the steak platter did.
“Okay.”
Clint switched the plates and started cutting into the steak. Hannie spooned some beef stew into her mouth and chewed.
“It's good.”
“Even if it isn't,” he said, chewing on a piece of steak, “it'll keep you from fainting again.”
“I guess.”
“Hannie,” Clint said, “forgive me for saying so, since we've only just met, but you have to take better care of yourself. What if you had fainted right when you found your man, Doyle. He would've killed you.”
“I suppose you're right.”
As he watched, she began to eat faster and faster, so he slowed down. By the time she'd finished the stew, he still had half a steak left, and they switched plates again. He poured himself some more coffee and watched her eat.
“What you need after this is some rest,” Clint said. “And by that I mean some sleep.”
“Can't sleep on a full stomach,” she said, “but I know what you mean.”
“You can look for Doyle tomorrow.”
She stopped cutting and looked across the table at him.
“Do you know something?” she asked. “Have you been askin' questions?”
“Well, just a few, on your behalf.”
“And?”
“No one knows Doyle,” Clint said. “Nobody's ever heard of him—I don't think.”
“What do you mean, you don't think?”
“Finish the rest of that and I'll tell you.”
She went back to work on the steak and the potatoes.
“I talked to the deputy,” he said. “Apparently, after you talked to the sheriff, he ran out of his office through the back door.”
“Why would he do that?”
“My guess is to warn someone.”
“Doyle!”
“Maybe.”
She started to get up.
“Then I need to talk to the sheriff again.”
Clint stood quickly, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her back down.
“Hey!”
“Relax,” he said. “Finish eating. Let's talk about this before you go accusing the sheriff of something. After all, he is the law.”
She glared at him, then relaxed and popped the last piece of steak into her mouth.
“Can I have a piece of pie?” she asked.
TWENTY-NINE
Over pie—peach for Clint, apple for Hannie—they talked about the sheriff.
“I can't see any other reason for him to act like that,” Clint said, “so your Doyle must be here.”
“So I just have to keep looking for him.”
“But not today,” Clint said. “Maybe I can find something out today, but you should rest for the remainder of the day.”
Hannie thought it over, then said, “Okay, maybe you're right. Why are you doin' this, by the way? Why are you helpin' me?”

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