The Hunt for Clint Adams (15 page)

“I can't imagine that,” Dexter said. “Thinking like you, I mean.”

“No,” Clint said, “I don't guess you can.”

“Who's this?”

They both looked up at Gerald, who was standing by the table.

“Dan, meet Clint Adams.”

The kid went for his gun; Clint clamped his hand down on it.

“Don't,” he said.

Gerald looked at Dexter.

“If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead, Dan,” he said. “He was standing right next to you five minutes ago.”

“He was?”

“Go back to the bar, have another beer,” Dexter said.

“Yeah,” Gerald said, “okay.”

Clint released the younger man's hand. Gerald returned to the bar.

“If he tries to pull that gun I'll kill him,” Clint said. “You know that.”

“I know,” Dexter said. “What'd you do with McDermott and Stevens?”

“They're both asleep,” Clint said. “If I was you I wouldn't wake them.”

“No,” Dexter said, “I won't.”

“What should I do, Dexter?” Clint asked. “Should I kill you and Gerald, then take care of Tarver?”

“You don't have to do that,” Dexter said. “We'll stay out of the way, leave you and Tarver a clear field to each other. That's the way you both want it, right?”

“Right,” Clint said. “That's the way we want it.”

When Clint had tied Stevens up and left him in the alley to sleep for the night he'd gone through his pockets and found a key. He assumed it was his hotel key.

When he left the saloon he knew he needed a place to spend the night. First he had to take care of Eclipse. Hoping whoever ran the livery spent the night there, he walked the big horse down and banged on the door. There was no answer, but he found the doors unlocked.

He unsaddled the big Darley Arabian, rubbed him down good, fed him, and then went to the hotel.

“What room is Mr. Stevens in?” he asked.

“Room nine, second floor, sir.”

“And is Mr. Dexter staying here?”

“Yessir.”

“Has he come in yet?”

“Yessir, just before you. He's in his room.”

“Thank you.”

“You certainly do have a lot of friends, sir,” the clerk said.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Clint said. “just none in this town.”

He left the clerk looking puzzled and went to room nine.

Tarver woke the next morning, wondering if this would be the day he'd get his revenge for four and a half years spent in Yuma. Granted, he'd gotten an education while he was there, but he still would much rather have been spending the forty-two thousand dollars he'd gotten from the bank in Wichita.

He got dressed and went out to have himself a good breakfast. He hated killing on an empty stomach.

Dexter woke at first light and spent an hour standing at the window, looking down at the street. It had occurred to him to find Stevens and McDermott and untie them, but they didn't really matter to him. Tarver had hired them, let him be the one to untie them, if he was able. All he'd have to do was avoid being killed by either the Gunsmith, or by Dexter. One of them was going to put Tarver down today. If Tarver survived, he'd be the luckiest man alive.

Clint spent the night in the room rented by Stevens. In the morning he stopped in to check on McDermott. The man was still trussed up, and he was awake. His eyes went wide when Clint opened the door, and Clint backed out as the man began to grunt.

Apparently, Dexter had kept his word and had not untied McDermott, or—hopefully—Stevens. He wondered what Dexter had told his young partner at the bar?

Tarver had to have come out of Yuma smarter than when he went in. If not, then he'd completely wasted those four and a half years. If he'd come out smarter, how could he not see how angry Dexter still was about the forty thousand? Or maybe he did see it, and had already planned for it.

Clint wondered if Dexter would still go for Tarver if Tarver managed to kill him, the Gunsmith. That would certainly give Tarver a much bigger reputation than he presently had. Would Dexter be willing to go up against the man who killed the Gunsmith? Alone?

Clint hoped that question would never find an answer, because that would mean he would be dead.

Dexter found Tarver having breakfast in a small café they had both found when they first came to town.

“He's here,” he said, sitting across from him.

“What?”

“Adams,” Dexter said. “He's here.”

“You saw him?”

“Saw him, talked to him.”

“When?”

“Last night, after you turned in.”

“You tell him where I was?”

“I didn't tell him nothin',” Dexter said. “He recognized me and came over. I told him I recognized him from Wichita.”

“Anybody else see him?”

“Gerald.”

“McDermott and Stevens weren't there?”

“They turned in, too. Stevens said he was goin' to get a whore.”

“Where are they now?”

Dexter shrugged.

“Ain't seen 'em.”

He called the waiter over and ordered ham, eggs, and coffee.

Tarver, he noticed, was eating his own flapjack breakfast a lot slower.

Clint found a restaurant that seemed popular because people were going in and out. He entered and was able to get a table against the wall. He looked around and didn't see anyone he knew, so he ordered steak and eggs and settled in to wait.

“What are you gonna do?” Dexter asked.

“After I finish eatin' I'll go and look for him,” Tarver said. “Ain't no point in waitin'.”

“Why don't you let him find you?” Dexter asked. “Just sit out in front of your hotel and wait. Make you look confident, instead of anxious.”

“I ain't anxious,” Tarver said a bit too quickly, “but that is a good idea. Let him find me.”

“Sure,” Dexter said. “Then you take him.”

“That's what this is all about,” Tarver said. “Then I kill him.”

Tarver left the café before Dexter, who finished his breakfast in a leisurely fashion and then went looking for Clint Adams.

Clint was coming out of the restaurant after a so-so breakfast and saw Dexter walking down the street toward him.

“He's in front of his hotel, waiting,” Dexter said to him.

“I thought he'd come looking for me when you told him I was here.”

“He was going to, but I talked him into just sittin' and waitin' for you.”

“Why'd you do that?”

“I want to see this end,” Dexter explained. “Didn't want the two of you stumblin' around town missin' each other.”

“That's real thoughtful of you.”

“I'm gonna be in a different part of town, so you don't have to worry about me,” Dexter said. “I'll keep the kid with me.”

“You sure you don't want to watch?” Clint asked.

“That's okay,” Dexter said. “I'm sure I'll hear about it.” He turned and walked away.

True to his word, Dexter went to the hotel to fetch Gerald. He wanted to keep him with him and away from the action, so he wouldn't be tempted to take a hand. The younger man would probably just get himself killed.

After Dexter left, Clint turned and headed for Tarver's hotel. As he came within sight of the building he saw a man sitting out front on a wooden chair. He was trying to look relaxed, but Clint could see the tension in Tarver's body. This was what he had been waiting all these years in Yuma for. There was no way he was going to be relaxed about it.

Tarver turned his head and saw Clint Adams walking toward him. He recognized the Gunsmith right away, and felt his heart beat quicker. If Adams had faced him that first time, he never would have had to spend that time in Yuma. Tarver would have killed him, and he'd have spent all those years enjoying a new reputation, instead of a prison cell.

His hands began to itch. It was all he could do not to draw his gun and kill Adams as he approached. In fact, he wanted to jump to his feet, but he waited.

Clint could sense Tarver's mood as he got closer; it was either anxiety or excitement. Either one made sense, as the man had probably been thinking about this for a long time.

“You know,” Tarver said, as Clint reached him, “you shoulda just faced me back then.”

“I didn't want to.”

“Why not?”

“I didn't want to kill you,” Clint said. “You belonged in prison for what you did.”

“Why?” Tarver asked. “We didn't kill anybody. All we did was take their money.”

“A lot of those people needed their money to live,” Clint said. “If you had gotten away with it, you would have been killing them.”

“You were scared,” Tarver said. “Admit it.”

“Scared, sure,” Clint said. “Scared I'd have to kill you.”

“And what about now?” Tarver asked. “Now you don't care if you have to kill me?”

“You've been sending your idiots after me, shooting innocent people,” Clint said. “I'll kill you just to keep anyone else from getting killed. It's that simple.”

“Ain't simple,” Tarver said. “Ain't simple at all.”

“No, you're right,” Clint said. “It's not.”

“So we'll do it now,” Tarver said, “in the street.”

“And you're on your own,” Clint said. “I took care of your other men.”

“What?”

“McDermott? Stevens? They're . . . indisposed. And Dexter and Gerald are . . . off somewhere.”

“I don't need them,” Tarver said. “I never need them, not to kill you.”

“I guess we'll see, then,” Clint said. “I guess we'll see.”

Tarver stood up, keeping his eyes on Clint the whole time. He wasn't sure if Clint Adams was going to face him fair or look for an edge. After all, if the Gunsmith thought he could take him he would have done it all those years ago.

But Adams let him stand up and step down into the street.

The fool was going to do it.

Head to head.

His reputation was made.

Clint watched closely as Tarver stood up. Quickly, his eyes took in the street, just in case Dexter had changed his mind.

The street ran north to south, so the sun was in no one's face, at no one's back.

The street was just starting to come alive, and for the moment nobody noticed the two men talking to each other. But when two men move out into the street, facing each other, that's when people stop to watch. It can only mean one thing.

Clint saw people starting to notice and figured they better get it over with before a crowd gathered.

“Go ahead, Tarver,” Clint said. “Do it.”

“That's right,” Tarver said, “I heard you always give away the first move. That'll cost you, this time. Cost you big.”

“Just shut up and do what you've been waiting four and a half years to do: die.”

Tarver smiled.

“You're in a hurry,” Tarver said. “Why? You don't want to have a big crowd when the legend of the Gunsmith comes to an end?”

“No,” Clint said, “I'd just rather get shot to death than have you talk me to death.”

Tarver laughed, and drew.

Clint was shocked by how fast the man truly was.

 

Dexter heard the shots from a couple of blocks away. That's how quiet and still the morning was.

Gerald, standing in front of the Cut Loose with him, asked, “What was that?”

“That,” Dexter said, “was our cue to leave town.”

“What?”

“You go and saddle the horses.”

“What about McDermott—”

“Just two horses,” Dexter said, “yours and mine. Got it?”

“And what about Tarver?”

“Tarver's done,” Dexter said. “Time to move on. Now go.”

Gerald started for the livery, Dexter headed for Tarver's hotel.

Clint was waiting for a man with a badge to approach, but instead Dexter worked his way through the crowd. He stopped when he saw Tarver lying in the street, a bullet in his chest.

Tarver's gun had discharged twice into the ground. He'd been faster than most, had actually cleared leather.

Clint's eyes locked with Dexter's just for a moment, then the man nodded, turned, and walked away.

Clint continued to wait for the badge to show up.

Watch for
ANATOMY OF A LAWMAN

344
^th
novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series
from Jove