The Dead Ringer
Page 11
“Me?”
“Well, who else is gonna pay ’em?”
“He says somebody from Tubac owes him money, was supposed to wire it to him.”
“You know who that is? So you can get it back from them?”
“No.”
“Well,” Stroby said, “it’s up to you. You wanna trade lead over him, I’ll back you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because he’s in my jail,” Stroby said. “Nobody takes anybody out of my jail.”
“You got a deputy?”
“Nope.”
“Anybody you can deputize?”
“Not tonight.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said. “Instead of dragging you into this, maybe we should just get back on the road and head for Tubac tonight.”
“I know you have a great horse,” Stroby said, “but you can’t count on his horse being as surefooted as yours. If it steps in a chuckhole and breaks a leg, you’ll be stuck out there with one of you on foot. Even if you ride double, they’ll catch up to you. I think my idea’s better. Stay here. When they show up, we’ll find out how much he owes them. A few dollars might clear all this up.”
“I think it’s going to be more than a few dollars,” Clint said, “but if you’re willing to back me . . .”
“It’s my job to back you,” Stroby said. “Let’s get some food in here and we can all eat and wait for them to show up.”
“Well, okay, then,” Clint said. “Just tell me where to go to get the food.”
José Baca said to his men, “Nobody runs out on me, owing me money. That gringo is going to be sorry he ever came to Nogales.”
The other four men sat their horses behind him, and nodded.
“What about the other Americano, José?” Eusabio asked. “Rosa said he took the gringo by force.”
“Then he put his nose in my business,” Jose said. “He will pay as well.”
They were just outside Nogales on the American side of the border. The four men were waiting for their boss’s order to go in.
“And what of the law?” one of the other men asked.
“That is Stroby,” José said. “He is alone.”
“He is a good lawman,” Eusabio said. “He will not stand by and watch.”
“That is fine with me,” José said. “We have a past, he and I. Perhaps we can put that to rest tonight as well.”
“So we are going in?” Eusabio asked.
José looked back at his men. They were all experienced pistoleros.
“Sí,” he said, “we go in.”
FORTY-THREE
Clint brought some steak dinners back to the sheriff’s office from a nearby cantina. He went into the cell block and gave one to Mitchell, along with coffee.
“What, no beer?”
“Just bad jailhouse coffee,” Clint said. “Want it or not?”
“I’ll take it,” Mitchell said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Mitchell.”
Mitchell smiled at Clint’s attempt to get him to react to his name. He took his meal back to his cot, set the cup of coffee on the floor, and started sawing on his meat with a mostly dull knife.
Clint went back into the office and sat across from the sheriff, both using his desk as a table.
“You know a bartender named José something, runs a cantina across the border in Nogales?”
Stroby nodded.
“That’s José Baca,” he said. “Yeah, I know him. He used to run a business here, too, until I ran him out of town.”
“Has he been back since?”
“No,” said Stroby. “I can see him using this to kill two birds with one stone.”
“With you being one of the birds?”
Stroby nodded.
“He’d kill a lawman?” Clint asked.
Stroby nodded and said, “Why not? He can slip right back across the border. Nobody can touch him unless he comes back.”
“I tell you what,” Clint said. “If he kills you, I’ll go across the border and get him.”
“That makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing,” Stroby said.
They finished the remainder of their meal in silence.
About twenty minutes later they heard horses. Stroby went to the front window and looked out.
“Looks like them,” he said. “Lead rider looks like José.”
“Guess we should go out and confront them.”
“Wait . . .” Stroby said. “Yeah, they’re reining in their horses in front of the jail.”
“How many?” Clint asked.
“He’s got four men with him, that I can see.”
Clint got out of his chair, but Stroby held a hand out to him.
“Let me go out and talk to him first,” the lawman sug-gested.
“Alone? What if they just gun you down?”
“I said Baca would kill a lawman, but not without provocation. He’s not just gonna gun me down until we’ve at least talked. Just cover me from the window.”
“Okay.”
Stroby took a shotgun from the gun rack, went to the door, and stepped out. Clint decided to crack the door and cover him from there. That way he wouldn’t have to take the time to break the glass on the window, or take a chance on firing through the glass.
When Stroby stepped out, he clearly saw José Baca in the light from a nearby lamp. The sheriff stood relaxed, just holding the shotgun across his body.
“José,” he said. “What brings you and your boys to this side of the border?”
“From the looks of those horses,” Baca said, indicating Eclipse and the horse Mitchell had ridden in on, “you have the two men I’m looking for, Sheriff.”
“I have one man in a cell,” Stroby admitted. “You lookin’ for him?”
“Sí,” Baca said, “I have some business with him.”
“If you have business with him, you must know his name.”
“Smith.”
Stroby laughed.
“Lots of Smiths in this country, José,” Stroby said. “How much money does he owe you?”
“I do not know exactly,” Baca admitted, “but he has eaten much of my food, and used three of my whores many times. And, of course, his room.”
“Sounds like a lot of money,” Stroby said, “but I’m not sure I have your man.”
“I will come in and look at him,” Baca said.
“And if he is the man you want?”
“If he pays me, I will take my men and go away.”
“And if he can’t pay you?”
Baca’s face darkened. “That would not be a good thing, Sheriff.”
“I tell you what, José,” Stroby said. “I suddenly remember runnin’ you out of town and tellin’ you not to come back. So I think you and your men better be on your way.”
“You will not let me in?”
“No,” Stroby said. “Be on your way.”
Baca firmed his jaw and said, “I cannot do that, Sheriff.”
“Then we have a problem, José.”
“Sí, we do.”
Stroby could see that Baca was aware he was under a gun from the jailhouse.
“I will give you ten minutes to give the man to me, Sheriff,” he said.
“And then what?”
“Then we will come in and get him.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea, José.”
“Then give him to me, and you and the other gringo can live. You are outnumbered.”
“That other gringo is Clint Adams, José,” Stroby said. “You heard of him?”
He could see by the look on the man’s face that he had.
“So I think my odds are pretty good. You givin’ me ten minutes? I’ll give you nine, then I’m comin’ back out.”
Stroby backed up. Clint opened the door for him and the lawman stepped through. Clint closed the door.
“Hope you don’t mind me mentioning you,” Stroby said.
“No, but I got an idea while you were out there.”
“Is it a good one?”
“I think it may be—for me.”
FORTY-FOUR
Stroby brought Mitchell out of his cell and into his office.
“What’s goin’ on?” he demanded.
“José’s out there with four men,” Stroby said. “We’re outnumbered. I’m afraid I’ve got to hand you over to them.”
“You can’t do that,” the prisoner said. “They’ll kill me.” He looked at Clint. “You said you were takin’ me back to Tubac.”
“Well, that won’t do me any good unless you’re actually Jess Mitchell.”
“Hey, wait a min—”
“I don’t care what his name is,” Stroby said. “I’m handin’ him over. He’s probably nobody. And I ain’t getting killed for nobody.”
“If he can get Andrew Escalante out of jail, his old man’s going to be very appreciative, Sheriff,” Clint said. “And I mean to you.”
“And what about me?” the prisoner asked.
“What about you?”
“Will his father be appreciative to me?”
“I guess so, but only if you’re—”
“Okay,” the man said, “okay, I’m Jess Mitchell. Ya happy now?”
“And you were the one impersonating me in Tubac?” Clint asked.
“That’s right.”
“And you killed Joe Widmar?”
“I ain’t admittin’ to that.”
“What about Andrew Escalante? Did he kill him?”
Mitchell hesitated, then said, “No.”
“If he’s not admitting he did it, what good is he?” Stroby asked.
“I can tell you who paid to have him killed.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“For his property. They found important minerals in the ground, and he wouldn’t sell.”
“So who hired it done?”
“It was the mayor.”
“And you’ll testify to that?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mitchell said, “now what do we do about them?” He jerked his chin toward the street.
“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “We’ll take care of them. Meanwhile, back in your cell.”
“Hey—”
“You’ll be safe in there.”
Stroby locked him up and came back out.
“I guess he doesn’t realize that if he gives the mayor up, the mayor will give him up. They’ll both be arrested for murder.”
“And Andrew will go free.”
“All that’s left is to take care of José and his men.”
“You want a shotgun?” Stroby asked.
“No, I’m good.”
“Eight minutes,” Stroby said, looking at his watch.
“Why make them wait?” Clint asked.
They turned and went to the door.
José and Stroby had spoken in English, so the rest of the men hadn’t understood. But they did understand the words “Clint Adams” and “Gunsmith.”
“Did he say something about the Gunsmith?” Eusabio asked.
“Yes,” Baca said, “he is on his way. The quicker we finish here, the better.”
At that point, the door to the sheriff’s office opened and two men stepped out. The sheriff was holding his shotgun with more intent.
As Clint and Stroby stepped out, the five men turned their attention to them.
“You wanna do this on horseback?” Stroby asked Baca.
“This does not have to be done, Sheriff,” Baca said.
“Did you tell them who this man is?” the lawman asked, pointing to Baca’s men and then to Clint.
“It does not matter,” Baca said. “They will obey me.”
“Then tell them to get ready to die,” Clint said.
Baca had one split second of doubt, but he was committed. Clint could see it in his eyes.
The other four kept their eyes on Baca, which gave Clint and Stroby a clear advantage but only if they moved first.
They did.
Watch for
FORT REVENGE
358th novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove
Coming in October!