The Town Council Meeting (6 page)

“Ha!” the judge said, raking in the pot, “I told you the tide would change. Only took what, about thirty-six hours or so? Forty?”

“Who's countin',” Ben Lawson said.

“You're still way behind, Judge,” the mayor said.

“Not as far behind as you are,” the judge said happily.

“Don't remind me.”

“Don't you fellas want to take a break?” Clint asked. “Aren't you tired?”

“Forget it,” Chambers said. “Just keep dealin'. What else have we got to do?”

“Don't you folks have day-to-day business to conduct?” Clint asked.

“This is what we do day in, day out,” the mayor explained. “This town stopped growing a long time ago, and it pretty much operates itself.”

“Judge?” the sheriff said.

The judge looked up at him.

“Sheriff,” he said, “when did you come in?”

“A few minutes ago,” Yatesman said. “I'm sorry to interrupt your, uh, meeting, sir, but Matt Holmes is outside.”

“What's he want?” the judge asked.

“He wants to come in.”

“What for?”

“To talk to Adams.”

Clint looked at the judge.

“Who is he?”

“One of the other ranchers,” the judge said. He asked Yatesman, “Is he alone?”

“No, he's got a bunch of his boys with him, and he thinks that Andy Rivers is probably on his way to town with some of his boys.”

“Ka-boom,” Lawson said. “That'll be like lighting a match to a powder keg.”

“That's kinda what he said.”

“Well,” the judge said to Clint, “what do you think?”

“Sure,” Clint said, “let him in. Let's see what the man has to say.”

Yatesman went out and came back in with Matt Holmes. Others in the saloon—some of whom had been dozing after being there all night—perked up, thinking that maybe the action was about to start.

“Mr. Holmes,” the judge greeted.

“Judge. Since I recognize everyone else at the table, I assume you must be Clint Adams?”

“That's right,” Clint said.

“You're the man who is supposed to have killed Ed Kennedy.”

“And you're one of the men who possibly paid me to do it.”

“I'm Matthew Holmes,” the white-haired man said. “I own the Double H.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?” Clint asked.

“I want to offer you sanctuary.”

“What?”

“I will take you to my ranch right now,” Holmes said, “and guarantee you safe passage out of town.”

“Now why would you want to do that, sir?”

“Because I don't like seeing anyone get railroaded for something they didn't do.”

“What makes you think I didn't do it?”

“Well, I didn't hire you,” Holmes said, “and I doubt that Andy Rivers hired you. And if you were being hired by Kennedy to kill us, why would you kill him? You see, none of this makes any sense to me.”

“Well, sir, I appreciate the offer of sanctuary, but I can't accept.”

“I have enough men outside to get you out of town,” Homes assured him.

“I'm sure you do, but if I took you up on this, Mr. Holmes, then everyone would be convinced that you hired me to kill Big Ed Kennedy. You see? It wouldn't do either one of us much good.”

Holmes took a moment to think, then said, “I see you're an intelligent man, sir. That makes me all the more certain that you did not kill Kennedy, so despite all that you say being true, my offer stands.”

“And I still appreciate it,” Clint said, “but no, thank you, Mr. Holmes. I believe I'll take my chances right here.”

“But, by staying here you're endangering all these people.” Holmes swept his arm around to indicate the saloon full of men.

“These people are free to leave whenever they want,” Clint said. “They're here because they don't want to miss a bloodletting. They deserve whatever they get.”

“Again,” Holmes said, “I can see we're in agreement. Very well.”

“Will you and your men be leavin' town, Matt?” the judge asked.

“It would probably be better for all if we got out before Andy Rivers get here,” Holmes said. “Sir, may I shake your hand?”

Clint looked up at Holmes, then stood up.

“If you don't mind doing it left-handed,” Clint said, extending his left hand and keeping his gun hand free.

Holmes chuckled, said, “Sir,” and shook hands with Clint left-handed. The he looked at the members of the town council. “Gentlemen.”

“Thanks for comin' in, Matt,” the judge said. “Probably saved us a bunch of bother.”

“Don't mention it, Judge.”

“Sheriff?” the judge asked. “You got any questions for Mr. Holmes before he leaves?”

“No, sir,” the lawman said, “I'm convinced he didn't have nothin' to do with killin' Ed Kennedy.”

“Then have a good day, Matt,” the judge said. “I got to get back to my meetin'.”

When the sheriff and Matt Holmes got outside, both groups of men were ready to shoot it out. Both foremen were in the middle of the street with their jaws jutting out and their gun hands ready.

“Coleman!” Yatesman shouted. “Don't you pull that hogleg out.”

“Lee!” Holmes shouted. “Get the men turned around. We're leaving.”

Both men turned and looked at Yatesman and Holmes and then backed off.

“Good-bye, Sheriff,” Holmes said. “I wish you luck—and don't believe Andy Rivers as easily as you believed me.”

“About . . . hiring Adams?”

“Yes,” Holmes said. “Andy is devious. He just might have done it.”

“But . . . do you think Adams killed him?”

“No,” Holmes said, “but I wouldn't put it past Andy Rivers to hire an imposter. So . . . good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Matt Holmes stepped into the street, grabbed his foreman's arm, and walked over to his buckboard. He climbed aboard—assisted by Lee Jackson. The foreman then mounted up, turned his men around, and headed out of town. Matt Holmes turned his buckboard and followed.

“What happened inside?” Arnie Coleman demanded.

“Nothin' much,” the sheriff said. “Matt Holmes is convinced that Clint Adams didn't kill your boss.”

“He's coverin' for him!” Coleman said. “Can't you see that?”

“There's no proof,” Yatesman said.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“Well, I was gonna ride out to talk to Andy Rivers, but Mr. Holmes figures Mr. Rivers is on his way here, so I'm gonna wait. If he doesn't ride in soon, I'll go and see him.”

“What for?”

“To ask him if he hired Clint Adams,” the sheriff said. “What about your guy, Gomez?”

“We still ain't found him.”

“Well, keep your men in line, Arnie,” Sheriff Yatesman said.

“Sooner or later,” Coleman said, “somebody's gonna get brave.”

“Gettin' brave is the same as gettin' stupid,” the lawman said. “Is it gonna be you?”

“You never can tell, Sheriff,” Coleman said. “You just never can tell.”

 

Inside the judge looked at Clint between hands and asked, “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Matt Holmes,” the judge said. “Why would he make an offer like that?”

“He obviously doesn't think I killed Kennedy.”

“Or he's coverin' for you,” Lawson said.

“Leave it to a lawyer to come up with that conclusion,” Clint said.

“I'll bet it's the same conclusion they're comin' to outside.”

“Then why are you here, Lawson?” Clint asked. “You obviously think they'll be coming in for me sooner or later. Lead's going to be flying soon.”

Lawson smiled.

“We told you,” he said. “This is all we do. I'm ready for a little excitement.”

Clint looked around the saloon and said, “Apparently, so is the whole town.

It took a couple of hours but eventually they heard the sound of a buggy and many horses.

Yatesman was surprised they could hear it. The street was usually crowded with activity at this time of the morning, but the entire town seemed to be on hold since this business had started. And as long as Clint Adams was in the saloon with the town council, everybody would be waiting for something to happen.

When the buggy came into view Yatesman could see Andy Rivers driving it. Behind him came a handful of his men with his foreman, Parker Stark.

Rivers stopped his buggy just about where Matt Holmes had stopped his buckboard. He was a smaller, lighter man than Holmes, just a few years younger. There was more spring in his step as he approached the sheriff. His foreman remained behind, standing with his legs spread. As far as Yatesman was concerned, Stark was more gunman than foreman, but the lawman had never had any cause to go against him.

“Sheriff.”

“Mr. Rivers.”

“I saw Matt Holmes on the road,” Rivers said. “Seems he and I had the same idea.”

“Which is?”

“To come to town and tell you that I had nothing to do with Ed Kennedy's death.”

“I see.”

Rivers looked around.

“Looks like you have a big job on your hands,” Rivers said.

“I'm handlin' it.”

“Good for you,” Rivers said. “Where's the judge?”

“Inside,” Yatesman said. “There's a . . . meetin' goin' on.”

“Yes, I heard something about that.”

“I suppose you wanna go inside?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Rivers said. “Just to . . . pay my respects to the judge.”

“I'll have to go in and check.”

“You do that, Sheriff,” Rivers said. “I'd appreciate it.”

 

“Now what?” the judge asked when the sheriff appeared at his elbow. He was not happy, having just lost a hand with a full house to Clint's larger full house.

“It's Andy Rivers, Judge,” Yatesman said. “He wants to come in.”

“And I suppose he's out there with that foreman of his and a bunch of men?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“That foreman?” Clint asked.

“Name of Stark,” the judge said. “Parker Stark. Gunman, if you ask me.”

Clint frowned.

“Seems I've heard that name before,” he said.

“Maybe you have,” the judge said. He looked at Yatesman. “What's he want?”

“Said he wants to come in and pay his respects to you.”

“To the judge?” Mayor Patton asked. “Not to the mayor?”

“All he said was to the judge.”

“Oh, all right,” the judge said. “Let him come in, but alone. Tell ‘im to leave that snake outside.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

Yatesman walked Andy Rivers into the saloon. The man wore a pearl-handled revolver on his right hip. Clint watched him walk and knew he wore the gun for show. That was why he had a man like Parker Stark as his foreman.

Clint recognized Stark's name. The man had a reputation in Texas as a hand with a gun. That was about ten years ago. Since then no one had heard anything from him. Apparently, he changed careers from gunman to ramrod.

Of course, a ramrod who could handle a gun was of great value to a man like Rivers.

Clint was surprised when the judge stood up to greet Rivers. He didn't know if this was in deference to the man, or the man's right hand—Stark.

“Nice to see you, Andy,” the judge said, shaking hands.

“Judge.” Rivers look at Clint. “This the fellow who is supposed to have killed Ed Kennedy?”

“Andy Rivers, this is Clint Adams.”

“The Gunsmith,” River said. “Did you kill Kennedy, son?”

Clint looked at Rivers and asked, “Did you hire me to do it?”

“I did not.”

“But you wouldn't need to hire anybody,” Clint said. “You've already got somebody in your employ who could do it.”

“You're talking about Stark,” Rivers said. “He's a good man, but he didn't do it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he only does what I tell him,” Rivers said, “and I did not tell him to kill Ed Kennedy.”

“Well,” Clint said, “nobody told me, or asked me, or hired me to do it, and I had no reason to do it on my own because I never met the man.”

“Andy,” Judge said, “I hope your men aren't gonna start any trouble outside.”

“Not likely, Judge,” Rivers said. He switched his gaze from Clint to the judge. “That is, unless I tell them to. As long as Kennedy's men behave themselves, I won't have to do that.”

“Did you run into Matthew Holmes on the road, Mr. Rivers?”

“I did.”

“Did he tell you about the offer he made me?”

“He did.”

“And you two didn't come to blows?” Clint asked. “Your men weren't tempted to draw down on each other?”

“If I have a man in my employ who will draw his gun without first being told by me, I would fire him.”

“So,” Clint asked, “how often did you and Mr. Holmes work together against Ed Kennedy?”

Rivers glanced around the table, then at the judge, but when he looked at Clint his glance turned into a stare.

“What makes you think Matt Holmes and I have ever worked together?”