Way with a Gun (9 page)

If it was possible, she was going to make sure he couldn't walk out of the room.

Clint and the sheriff had made tentative plans to have breakfast together the next morning to discuss strategy. Rio had left before the sun came up—after they'd had sex over and over again—and when the knock came at his door, Clint wasn't sure his legs would take him there.

If history was any indicator, it was either the sheriff or his wife. He still took his gun with him, though, when he answered the door while wrapped in the bedsheet.

“Not interrupting anythin', am I?” Andy Taylor asked.

Clint looked around at his empty room and said, “No, you're not.”

“Too early for breakfast?”

“Just give me a few minutes.”

“There's a café down the street, serves a fair breakfast, although I wouldn't eat anything else there if I was you.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Clint said. “I'll meet you there. Order me steak and eggs and lots of hot, strong coffee.”

“Comin' up.”

Clint closed the door and started to look around the room for his pants.

The smell of coffee hit him as he entered the small café. There were several tables taken, and in the back sat Sheriff Taylor.

“I thought you'd like an isolated table,” the lawman said.

“Thanks,” Clint said. “And thanks for this,” he added, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table.

“Long night?”

“Very long.”

“I understand you had a run-in at the saloon.”

Clint regarded Taylor over the rim of his coffee mug.

“You heard about that, huh?”

“I checked on Winston this morning,” the sheriff said. “He's gonna be okay. You broke his jaw.”

Clint winced. “I'm sorry about that,” he said. “He pushed.”

“I heard,” Taylor said. “I came to your room last night, but it sounded like you were busy.”

“I was occupied,” Clint said. “What'd you want last night?”

“Just to check on you and make sure you were okay,” the sheriff said.

“Well, I appreciate that, Sheriff.”

A waiter came with two plates of steak and eggs and set them down in front of the men. At first bite Clint realized Taylor was right. The food was only fair, but the coffee was good and Clint ordered another pot.

“Your wife doesn't mind you going out for breakfast?” Clint asked.

“She's not cookin' me breakfast much these days,” Taylor said.

“That right? Well, I guess there are problems in all marriages at one time or another.”

“I'm not gonna worry about that unless I come out of this alive.”

“Sounds like good logic to me.”

Clint wondered if the sheriff knew that his wife had come to see him last night. There was nothing in his demeanor to indicate that he did, but who knew?

“What's on your mind for today?” Taylor asked.

“When's Pine due?”

“Tomorrow, I guess, or maybe the next day,” Taylor said with a shrug. “No later.”

“We better go around town and see if we can drum up some help.”

“I've been all over town twice,” the lawman said. “Nobody's interested.”

“After my little set-to with Winston last night, I suppose folks know I'm in town?”

“Word's got around.”

“Then maybe somebody will be willing to throw in with us,” Clint said. “You know how people get when somebody with a reputation comes to town.”

“Mostly, they either get scared or they try to get a look.”

“Right. Also, somebody with a gun might want to impress me.”

“Ain't no good gunhands in town that I know of.”

“We don't need good,” Clint said. “Just some bodies. If Pine and his men come to town and see a reception, it might change their minds.”

“So we just need people who can hold guns and not necessarily shoot them?”

“Right.”

“Well,” Taylor said, “I guess we got our fair share of those in town, don't we?”

Clint nodded and said, “In every town.”

As they made the rounds, trying to recruit people, Clint recognized the attitudes and looks on people's faces. It wasn't their job to back the sheriff if he was going to face an outlaw or an outlaw gang. That was what they'd hired the man for.

Even when Clint and the sheriff approached the request from another angle—that once Ned Pine and his gang had killed the sheriff the town would be easy pickings for them—the answers were still the same.

Over a midday drink in a small saloon where nobody seemed to know who Clint was, he and Taylor tried to regroup.

They were sitting at a back table, nursing beers while Clint tried to get Taylor to come up with some more prospects, when the batwings swung inward and a man entered. Clint noticed him right away, knew the look. He wore his gun low on his right thigh, used his left hand to pay for a beer and to drink it, while his right sort of hovered around his gun. He was young, late twenties, a big man with deceptively slender fingers. He would not have the same problem pulling a gun that a big man like Winston would have had.

“You know him?” Clint asked.

Taylor turned in his chair to have a look.

“That's Joe Ransom.”

“Ransom,” Clint repeated. “I don't know the name.”

“I wouldn't expect you to,” Taylor said. “He's local. Grew up here, fancies himself a fast gun.”

“Is he?”

“I don't know.”

“Have you asked him for help?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn't think he'd agree.”

“Why not?”

“I told you he's local?”

“Yes.”

“He and Ned Pine grew up together.”

“Is he one of Pine's men?”

“No.”

“Good friends?”

“Not that I know of,” Taylor said. “But they grew up together. That usually means something.”

“Maybe we ought to talk to him,” Clint said, but as he said it, Ransom pushed away from the bar, picked up his mug, and carried it back to their table.

“Sheriff.”

“Joe.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“Nope,” Taylor said. “This here's Clint Adams.”

Ransom sat between the two men, looked at Clint.

“I heard you was in town,” Ransom said. “You takin' up with the sheriff here?”

“He needs help,” Clint said. “I thought I'd see what I could do.”

“Heard you fellas was goin' around town lookin' for guns to back you.”

“You interested?” Clint asked.

“We're lookin' for volunteers,” Taylor said.

Ransom laughed. “The Gunsmith volunteered?”

“That's right,” Clint said. “I don't hire my gun out, Ransom.”

“Well, I do.”

“That so?” Clint asked. “You're a big bad gunman, is that what you want me to believe?”

Ransom narrowed his eyes. Clint saw that he had hit a nerve. The man's next words were all bluster.

“I don't see as I got to prove myself to you,” he snapped.

“Well,” Clint said, “I'm not about to take your word for it, son. I know too many men who have earned the right to be as arrogant as you pretend to be.”

“Pretend?” Ransom asked, pushing his chair back. “I ain't pretendin' nothin'. You want me to prove it here and now?”

“There's not gonna be any gunplay here, Joe,” Taylor said. “You want to try to kill Mr. Adams here, you're gonna have to wait until I'm finished with him.”

“That what you want to do, boy?” Clint asked. “Try me?”

“Why not?”

“Because many have tried before you and I'm still here,” Clint said. “Why don't you try showing some real courage?”

“Whataya mean?”

“You got any reason not to stand against Ned Pine if he and his boys try to take this town?”

“Ned ain't comin' for the town,” Ransom said, calming down. “He's comin' for
him
.” He jerked his chin the sheriff's way.

“You think so?” Clint asked. “You don't think that after they kill the town's only lawman they won't decide to raze the town? It'll just be sitting here, ripe for the picking. You don't think your friend Pine is crazy enough to do that?”

“We ain't friends,” Ransom said. “We just grew up together.”

“So you're not out to be an outlaw like he is?”

“I don't got to be no outlaw,” Ransom said. “I can make my money honest.”

“With a gun?”

“That's right,” Ransom said. “It's a talent, so why not use it?”

“That's what
I
say,” Clint replied. “Why not use it? Stand with us, turn Pine and his boys away.”

“For no money?”

Clint shrugged. “Who knows? After word gets around that you stood with the sheriff and me, there may be some money coming your way. Certainly a reputation of sorts.”

Clint could see Ransom's mind working. A reputation after standing with the Gunsmith against a pack of outlaws out to take a town?

They had him.

“How many other men do you have?” Ransom asked.

“None,” Clint said.

“Just the three of us?” the younger man asked.

“That's right,” Sheriff Taylor said.

“Against Pine and his men?” Ransom asked. “What's your strategy?”

“That's where you come in,” Clint said.

“Whataya mean?”

“You know Pine.”

“So?”

“Do you know any of the men riding with him?” Clint asked.

“I know his cousins.”

“How many cousins?” Taylor asked.

Ransom thought for a moment, then said, “Four.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Rafe, Lew, Charlie, and Festus.”

“Festus?” Clint asked. “What kind of name is that?”

“Old family name,” Ransom said.

“Okay,” Clint said. “Are any of these cousins good with a gun?”

“They all hunted as kids,” Ransom said. “They can all shoot a rifle.”

“And a handgun?”

Ransom shook his head. “Not so good.”

“And Pine?”

“Pretty good with both rifle and handgun.”

“As good as, say, you?” Clint asked.

“No,” Ransom said, “I could always outshoot Ned.”

“Well, that's good news,” Clint said.

“I don't know,” Ransom said.

“What?”

“The sheriff here,” Ransom said. “I don't know if he can outshoot Ned—and from what I know, Ned wants him in the street.”

“Don't worry about me,” Taylor said. “You keep the rest of his gang from bushwhackin' me and I'll take care of Pine.”

“So what do you say, Ransom?” Clint asked. “You in or out?”

“Are we gonna try to find some more men?” Ransom asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said. “We're not done lookin' yet. In fact, you can help there. Do you know anybody else who'd be interested in helping?”

“Not for free,” Ransom said. “Come up with some money and I can probably get you two or three more guns.”

“Good ones?” Clint asked.

“As good as Ned has.”

Clint looked at Taylor. “That would put us at about a two-to-one disadvantage. Not bad odds.”

“I don't have any money,” Taylor said. “I live on a lawman's salary.”

Clint gave it some thought. If he paid the men out of his own pocket, he'd not only be giving this situation his time, but his money as well. And he and Taylor and Ransomwould have a better chance of coming out of this alive.

“If we pay them, would you want money too?” Clint asked Ransom. “I mean, it would only be fair.”

“Naw,” Ransom said. “I already said I was in.”

“Actually,” Clint said, “you didn't . . . yet.”

“Well, I am,” Ransom said. “The whole thing is starting to sound kinda interesting.”

“Clint, I told you, I don't have any—”

“I'll pay them,” Clint said.

“What?”

“As long as they don't want too much,” Clint added, looking at Ransom.

“These fellas will take fifty dollars each.”

“Really? How good could they be?” Clint asked.

“Like I said, as good as Ned's got.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Okay, how long will it take you to rustle them up?”

“I can have them here by tonight.”

“Good,” Clint said. “Meet us back here at . . . eight.”

“Eight o'clock,” Ransom said. “Right.”

He stood up, started to go, then stopped.

“One more thing.”

“What's that?” Clint asked.

“You don't want to see me shoot?”

“You said you're good, right?”

“Right.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I'll take your word for it.”

Ransom hesitated, then said, “Okay,” and left.

“You really don't want to see him shoot first?” Taylor asked.

“Don't worry,” Clint said, “we'll see him shoot.”

“When?”

“When Ned Pine gets here.”

As they left the saloon, Taylor said, “I can't believe you're gonna spend your own money.”