Authors: J. R. Roberts

Way with a Gun (6 page)

BOOK: Way with a Gun

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“What do you want?”

Clint was taken aback by the man's attitude. Wasn't this the same lawman who just last night had been asking him for help?

“Your wife came to see me this morning.”

“So I heard,” Taylor said. “Just so you know, I didn't send her.”

“I know that,” Clint said. “She told me she came on her own. She seems to be an extraordinary woman.”

“Really? What else do you think about her? Is she beautiful?”

“You're married to her,” Clint said. “You know the answer to that is yes.”

“And did you tell her that?”

Clint was puzzled. “No, I didn't. We didn't talk about her looks, Sheriff. We talked about you.”

“Yeah, well . . .”

“What's on your mind?”

“She told me you looked at her like she was a woman,” Taylor complained.

“Don't you look at her that way?”

“Well . . . I thought I did.”

“Oh, I get it,” Clint said. “Your wife is feeling unappreciated, is that it?”

“I suppose so.”

“And she blames your job?” Clint asked. “And the badge?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Sheriff,” Clint said, “it sounds like you need to work on your marriage, but to do that you have to stay alive.”

“Sounds like you're gonna tell me again to run.”

“As far and as fast as you can.”

“I can't do that.”

“Believe me, I understand,” Clint said. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure. You want some coffee?” He pointed. “Pot's on the stove, cup hanging on the wall.”

“Thanks.”

Clint walked to the potbelly stove, took a tin cup from a hook on the wall, and poured himself some coffee from the cast-iron pot. He took the cup with him and sat opposite the sheriff.

“As I understand it,” Clint said, “Ned Pine wants to face you in the street alone, you and him. That's not what you told me.”

“Who told you that? Miriam?”

“I've talked to a few people in town,” Clint said.

“Well, what Ned Pine says he's gonna do and what he does are two different things. He may want to face me in the street, and that's fine, but his boys will all be there. If I should outdraw him and kill him, I know they'd gun me down in the street.”

Clint shook his head and put his cup down on the desk in front of him, then moved to the edge of his seat.

“See, this is what I don't get,” he said. “I understand about being a man, and about doing what's right and what's expected of you. I also understand having a responsibility to something. What I don't understand is why you'd step out onto the street knowing you were going to be killed.”

“Look,” Taylor said. “I don't have your reputation,” he said. “Maybe you can walk away from a fight, but I can't. If I do that, I'll never wear a badge again.”

Clint sat back. This wasn't his fight, so why was he even still in town, talking to this man, talking to Deering and Wentworth?

Well, the answer to that was simpleâMiriam Taylor. An extraordinary woman, yes, and a beauty. And another man's wife. Clint didn't make a habit of pursuing married women. If he stayed in Cedar City, there was all kinds of trouble on the horizonânot the least of which was twelve or more men with guns.

“Look,” the lawman said, “never mind what my wife told you. This ain't your fight.”

Clint was surprised. It was as if the man was reading his mind. “I know it's not,” Clint said. “The problem is I now know that you're going to step into the street and, one way or another, you're going to end up dead.”

“Probably.”

Clint shook his head. “I can't just ride out of town knowing you're going to do that.”

“So what does that mean?” Taylor asked.

“It means I'll offer you my help,” Clint said, “if you still want it.”

SIXTEEN

Clint refused to wear a deputy's badge.

“I'm not taking a job, Sheriff,” he said. “I'm just a civilian offering my help.”

“Okay.” Taylor put the badge back in his desk's top drawer.

“And let's get something else straight,” Clint added, “or we're not going to be able to work together.”

“What's that?”

“I'm not after your wife,” Clint said. “I don't make a habit of going after married women. And I'm not looking for a wife of my own. I don't need a woman. . . .”

“Go ahead, say it,” Taylor said. “You don't need a woman who doesn't know her place.”

“That's not exactly what I was going to say,” Clint said.

“Look, I'm embarrassed by the fact that she came to see you. If I'd known she was gonna do thatâ”

“It's done, and it's over,” Clint said. “Now we need to concentrate on Ned Pine and his men. We can't just assume that he's bringing a dozen men with him. We need to know how many, and who they are. Can we get that information?”

“I've been working on that myself,” Taylor said. “Pine's got one cousin who's still in town. I was gonna go question him.”

“Good, we can do that together.”

“And you'll come to the house for supper tonight,” Taylor said.

“Do you think that's wise?”

“Miriam would insist, just to be a good hostess. Don't worry, she's not gonna be part of this. As far as I'm concerned she's played her part already.”

And played it well, Clint thought. But he was going to be glad if he didn't have to deal with the strong-willed woman again beyond supper.

“I hear you've been a lawman for a long time, and I don't want to step on your toes, butâ”

“Hey,” Taylor said, “I know your reputation, Adams. Just tell me what you want to do.”

“First, I'd like to check out your gun.”

“My gun?”

“And your office gunsârifles, shotguns, whatever you've got.”

“No problem,” Taylor said.

He unlocked the gun rack on the wall so Clint could check the Winchesters and shotguns there. They all seemed to be clean, and in proper working order.

“You got guns at home?” Clint asked.

“Just like the office,” Taylor said. “Rifle and shotgun.”

“I'll check on them tonight. Let me see your Colt.” Clint held out his hand. Taylor removed his gun from his holster and handed it over. Clint quickly unloaded it, broke it down on the desktop, examined it, and then reassembled it.

“I've never seen anybody do that so fast,” Taylor said.

Clint handed the gun back. “You seem to take care of your weapons.”

“Like you said,” Taylor replied, “I've been a lawman for a long time.”

“And you've never come up against a situation like this before?”

“Oh, sure,” Taylor said, “but I had deputies, and no wife. That, uh, seemed to make a difference.”

“You know,” Clint said, “I have to tell you a married lawman is something I can't really understand. When you've got somebody waiting for you at home, I don't think you can do the job the way it needs to be done.”

“You might be right,” Taylor said. “After this, I guess I'll have some thinking to do.”

Clint wondered if he meant thinking about whether or not he still wanted to be a lawman, or a husband.

SEVENTEEN

The Taylor house was warm and filled with aromatic smells coming from the kitchen. Whatever else Miriam Taylor was, she was apparently a good cook.

Clint and Andy Taylor were in the living room holding glasses of whiskey.

“It's all I have in the house,” Taylor had said, and Clint told him it was fine. When Miriam joined them, she also held a glass of whiskey, which she sipped without a hint of daintiness.

“I'm so happy you came around to our way of thinking, Clint,” she said.

“Miriam,” Taylor said, “Clint has decided to help us becauseâ”

“I talked him into it,” she said, interrupting her husband. “Isn't that right, Clint?”

Clint just lifted his glass to her and said, “That's exactly right, Miriam.”

At the dinner table, she asked, “So what are we going to do about Ned Pine? Arrest him as soon as he shows his face? Go out and hunt him down?”

“Miriam . . .” Taylor said warningly.

“Am I not to ask?” she said. “Not to be curious?”

“It really wouldn't be smart for two men to hunt down a dozen or more, Miriam,” Clint said.

“No smarter for a man to meet them in the street.”

“Pine wants to meet me man-to-man, Miriam,” Taylor said.

“Well, even you said he'll have his men backing him up,” she pointed out. “Will it be enough to have the Gunsmith backing
you
up?”

“Probably not,” Clint said.

“Well, what if we somehow passed the word that Clint Adams was a deputyâ”

“I'm not a deputy,” Clint said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Clint is not wearing a badge.”

“Whyâ”

“It's his choice, Miriam,” Taylor said, cutting her off. “He's offered his help. Let's not question him about it.”

“Very well,” she said. “I'm just the wife, I'm not to ask any questions.”

Clint did not respond. It was up to Taylor to deal with his wife's feelings.

But Taylor avoided that problem for the rest of the meal, and eventually Clint found himself on the front porch with the sheriff, each with an after-dinner cigar.

“You said you were just passin' through when you got here,” Taylor commented.

“That's right.”

“What are we keeping you from?” the lawman asked. “Where were you headed?”

Clint decided to tell Taylor the truth. There was no harm. He explained how someone had tried to kill him under strange circumstances and he was on his way to try to find out why.

“He had a telegram in his pocket?” Taylor asked.

“That's right.”

“And you're going to the town the telegram originated from?”

“Right again.”

“And you don't think that might be a trap?”

“I'm sure it is,” Clint said.

“And you're still goin'?”

“That's where my answers are.”

Taylor had been staring straight out at the lights of the town, but now he turned to face Clint.

“So how is that different from what you're accusing me of doin'?”

“Well,” Clint said, “first of all, I don't have a wife to think of, or a job. I'm on my own.”

“And second of all,” Taylor said helpfully, “you're the Gunsmith.”

“I was going to say, second of all, I'm not you,” Clint replied, “but that amounts to the same thing, I guess.”

“So what will you do if you get where you're goin' and there are twelve guns waitin' for you?”

“If that happens I'll have three options,” Clint said.

“What are they?”

“Turn around and leave, forget about it.”

“And second?”

“Find help.”

“I can't see you walkin' away,” Taylor said, “so my guess is you'd look for help. Somebody like Wyatt Earp or Bat Masterson?”

“Or both,” Clint said, “or some other friend. But don't be so sure I wouldn't walk away. If I couldn't find any help, I'd be down to my third option.”

“And what would that be?”

Clint let out a cloud of blue smoke and said into it, “Die. ”

EIGHTEEN

When the knock came at Clint's door later that night, he frowned. He put down the Twain book and grabbed his gun. Now what? Or more precisely, who? Maybe Taylor had thought of something else he wanted to talk about.

He opened the door as he had the night before, with the gun behind his back. He was surprised to see Miriam Taylor, not the sheriff. She had a shawl pulled tightly around her.

“Miriam, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you without Andy around,” she said. “May I come in, or must we do it out here in the hall?”

“Yes, all right. Come in.”

She entered and watched him holster the gun.

“It must be a terrible way to live,” she said, “to have to answer every knock on your door with a gun in your hand.”

“It becomes second nature,” he said. “What's on your mind? Did I not thank you enough for the delicious dinner?”

“Well, you're testy.”

“You're another man's wife in my room late at night, Miriam,” he said. “That's not a comfortable position for me to be in.”

She laughed briefly. He was aware of her smell, as if she'd just stepped from a bath.

“Don't tell me you're afraid of Andy.”

“If anything,” he said, “I'm more afraid of you. Does he know you came here to see me?”

“Oh, no. He'd never stand for that.”

“Where does he think you are?”

“Visiting a sick friend.”

“That's a very old excuse,” he said. “Did he believe you?”

“Yes,” she said, “because I do have a sick friend in town, a dear lady who has pneumonia. I've been looking in on her for the doctor, who's been very busy lately.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked. “You should be with her.”

“I checked on her on the way here,” Miriam said. “She's just fine, sleeping like a baby.”

BOOK: Way with a Gun

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