by JR Roberts
“And Earp?”
“I think he’s in Alaska.”
“So it’s just you and me?”
“I was hoping that it was at least you and me, Tal,” Clint said.
“Well, lucky for you I cleared my desk,” Roper said. “I have no active cases keeping me in Denver. When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow,” Clint said, “if you can get all the information we need by then.”
“Well, I’ll need to work all day today to get it,” Roper said, “so we better say goodbye now and I’ll see you in the morning.”
The two friends shook hands and separated there on the street.
“I’ll meet you in front of your hotel with my horse, and supplies.”
“I want to travel light.”
“Don’t worry, I know how you work, Clint,” Roper assured him. “I’ll just have supplies divided into two sacks, one for you, one for me.”
“Okay, Tal.”
Roper crossed the street and hurried off to work on the information Clint wanted.
Clint went back to his hotel.
###
Feeling as if he was wasting the rest of the day Clint went back out a couple of hours later and walked to the nearest telegraph office. He sent several telegrams, still trying to locate his friend, Bat Masterson, and then sent one to Detective Kingman in Springfield, inquiring about Wentworth and Wyatt. He asked the clerk to send the replies to his hotel as soon as each came in, and not to wait for them all.
“Yessir,” the man said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Clint left, walked back to the hotel.
He was in the dining room having lunch when the first reply arrived. A boy appeared at the doorway to the diningroom, spoke to one of the waiters, then was allowed to approach Clint’s table.
“Got a telegram for you, mister,” the boy said, “that is, if you’re the Gunsmith.”
“I am.”
“Golly,” the boy said, staring.
“Are you going to give it to me?” Clint asked.
The boy continued to stare, but held the telegram out to him.
“Thanks,” Clint said, handing the boy a coin. “Here you go.”
“Gee, thanks, mister.”
“Hang around the telegraph office a little longer,” Clint said. “There might be more.”
“Thanks!”
The boy turned and ran out.
Clint looked at the telegram. It was from the detective in Springfield.
BOTH MEN GONE. SUGGEST YOU WATCH YOUR BACK. KINGMAN.
He folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. So both Wentworth and Wyatt had left town. Were they headed for Segundo, also? Had that been the plan all along, or had Clint’s actions influenced theirs?
He certainly didn’t have to be told to watch his back.
He wasn’t finished with his lunch when the boy appeared a second time. This time he had two telegrams. Clint gave him two coins, but was disappointed at the contents. Both informed him that his messages had not reached Bat Masterson.
Where the hell was Bat, these days, he wondered? It would certainly make him feel safer to go to Segundo to face a group of disgruntled old Greybacks with two of his friends watching his back, instead of one.
Still feeling as if he was wasting time Clint sat in the lobby of the hotel rather than in his room. At least he had people to watch as they checked in or out, ir simply came in to eat in the diningroom. He was seated there when the desk clerk came over.
“Sir, a message for you.” The man handed him a slip of paper.
Clint had seen a boy come into the hotel, but it was not the same boy who had brought him his telegram, so he’d ignored him.
“Thank you.”
He opened it. It was from Roper, asking him to meet him for dinner at a steak restaurant called MASON’S. Roper supplied the address.
At least this gave him something to do, and Roper had probably come up with the information Clint needed. He stood to go to his room to get dressed for dinner, then realized he really had nothing but trail clothes with him. So instead of going to his room he left the hotel and asked the doorman where the nearest place was he could buy a suit.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He arrived at MASON’S on time, stepped down from the cab he’d taken from the hotel and paid the driver.
Roper was waiting at a table, waved a white napkin do Clint could see him.
“I was glad to hear from you,” Clint said, sitting. “I felt like I was just wasting time.”
“I was able to get the information I needed quickly,” Roper said.
“About the train? Or Segundo?”
“Both.” A waiter came over. “Steak?” Roper asked Clint.
“What else?”
“Two steak dinners, Andre,” Roper said, “and two mugs of beer.”
“Yes, Mr. Roper,” the waiter said, “right away.” He smiled at Clint and walked away.
“What have you got for me?”
“About two weeks ago a casket did come in on the train,” Roper said.
“Do we know what happened to it?”
“No,” Roper said, “beyond the fact that it was offloaded onto a buckboard. Nobody knows where it was going.”
“It didn’t go to any of the funeral homes in the city?” Clint asked.
“No.”
“So that was Lincoln, then.”
“Seems so.”
“How far is it from here to Segundo?”
“Pretty far. A couple of hundred miles.”
“Could they have gotten it there in two weeks?”
“Maybe just.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“And it could certainly be there by the time we get there,” Roper said.
Clint nodded.
“What about Segundo?” Clint asked. “What are we looking at there?”
“They don’t have their own lawman,” Roper said. “I believe the Sheriff from Trinidad would be called in if they needed one.”
“Bat was Sheriff of Trinidad for a while, some years back,” Clint said. “Do we know who the Sheriff is now?”
“No.”
“Well,” Clint said, “maybe we should stop in there first.”
“Sounds like an idea.”
The waiter came with their steak dinners and beers and they suspended conversation for a while—at least until they had made a dent in their dinners.
Both men had slowed down, but had no intention of leaving any of the meat behind.
“I tried a few more telegrams looking for Bat, but no luck,” Clint said.
“I could draft a couple of men from here in Denver,” Roper said.
Clint made a face.
“I’d really rather not make that ride with men I don’t know,” Clint said, “even though I know you’d recommend good men.”
“I get it,” Roper said. “I think the two of us can handle this.”
“There’s no telling how many Greybacks are going to be involved.”
“I think a couple of old Bluebellies can handle it,” Roper said.
Clint picked up his beer, raised it and said, “I’ll drink to that.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Clint came out the next morning Roper was waiting there with his horse. The Denver House had their own stable, so they walked around to it and Roper waited outside while Clint settled his bill and saddled Eclipse.
“You’re finally going to get to stretch your legs, big boy,” he said.
He walked Eclipse outside, where Roper was mounted on his steeldust and waiting.
“I always forget how impressive that horse is,” he commented.
“I know,” Clint said, mounting up. “He hasn’t had much chance to run lately, though.”
“He’ll get plenty now,” Roper said. “It’s a little over two hundred miles.”
“Let’s go,” Clint said.
###
They left Denver, riding South, each with a sack of supplies ti
ed to their saddles. Clint liked to travel with only the bare essentials when he was tracking someone, or riding the trail for any reason—frying pan, coffee put, coffee, bacon, beans, and dried beef jerky. Sometimes canned peaches.
The chatted during the ride, catching up on each other’s lives. Roper had worked some interesting cases, and enjoyed talking about them. Clint liked talking about his experiences less, tended to gloss over most of the facts. Therefore, he tended to let Roper talk on and on for as long as he wanted.
They pushed and camped for the night about eight miles North of Colorado Springs.
“We’ve got no reason to stop in town tomorrow,” Clint said. “We can bypass Colorado Springs very easily.”
“It’s your call, Boss,” Roper said, chewing on a piece of bacon.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Well,” Roper said, “this is your job, so you make all the calls.”
“I won’t argue that.”
After they finished eating Clint cleaned the pans and tin plates, made another pot of coffee. They sat together on the same side of the fire so they wouldn’t be tempted to look into it.
“Should we set a watch?” Roper asked.
“I suppose so,” Clint said. “Somebody might be on our trail for the ransom.”
“Speaking of which,” Roper said, “where is the ransom?”
“We’ll be picking it up in Trinidad.”
“How much?”
Clint hesitated.
“That’s okay,” Roper said. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t—”
“A hundred thousand.”
Roper whistled.
“You think the Bank of Trinidad will have that much?” he asked.
“Arrangements are being made,” Clint said. “They’ll have it.”
“Then if anybody’s following us for the money they’ll be real disappointed.”
“Yeah,” Clint said, “but they won’t know that until they’ve killed us and searched us.”
“How comforting.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” Clint said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” Clint said, “if I remember correctly, I wake up better in the morning than you do.”
“You’re probably right about that.” He dumped the remnants of his coffee onto the ground and stood up. “I’ll turn in, then.”
“I’ll wake you in four hours.”
“One question,” Roper said. “I find sometimes if you don’t ask, you never know.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect that someone might actually be following us?”
“No,” Clint said, “but the two men I encountered in Springfield?”
“Wyatt and Colonel Wentworth?”
Clint nodded.
“I got a telegram from Detective Kingman,” Clint said. “He said when he went to talk to then, they were gone.”
“Gone,” Roper said. “So they could be on our trail.”
“Or ahead of us,” Clint said. “Or already in Segundo, waiting.”
“If they went directly there while you stopped off in Denver.”
Clint nodded.
“I get it,” Roper said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sleep lightly.”
“Is there any other way?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Edward Gately was eight years old when the Civil War ended. But he remembered things. He remembered how his mother cried when they got word that his father had been killed by Union soldiers at the first Battle of Bull Run, when he was four. He recalled how she cried again when they heard that his Uncle had died at Appomattox, when he was seven. And when he was eight, she cried again when they heard that General Lee had surrendered.
But two years later, when his mother died, he did not cry. And he had not shed a tear since. But he swore by all that was holy that he would do whatever it took to help bring the Confederacy back.
And now he was going to have his chance.
He had been a member of many groups and gangs of disgruntled ex-Confederate soldiers and younger sympathizers like himself, but it wasn’t until he met Colonel Wentworth that he found a man he felt was truly worth of following.
Now he waited in Segundo with his own band of men, in command until the Colonel arrived. How he would have flourished in war, he knew, for he was flourishing now beneath the mantle of command.
He went to the window of his hotel room and looked out.
“Eddie,” the woman on the bed said.
He didn’t answer.
“Eddie!” she said, more stridently.
“Shut up, Katy,” he said. “When I want you to open your mouth I’ll stick something in it.”
“Well come on, then.”
He turned and looked at her. She was naked on the bed, lying on her belly with her knees bent, the soles of her feet toward the ceiling. Her bare butt was round and firm, and inviting, but at the moment she was opening mouth and sticking her tongue out at him.
“Come on,” she said, “stick it in. I’ll suck on it. You know I will.”
Gately was naked, and facing the window as he was she couldn’t see that her dirty talk was doing its job. His cock was getting harder.
“Katy,” he said, “you have such a filthy mouth.”
“I know,” she said, “that’s why they call me Dirty Katy. It ain’t ’cause my snatch is dirty, ’cause it ain’t. It’s like heaven. Any man I ever been with will tell you that. Nope, it’s my mouth.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “Come and find out.”
He didn’t have to find out, though. He already knew. She had awakened him by sucking him dry.
“Come on, Eddie.”
He turned back to the window.
“Be quiet, Katy.”
“You brought me up here to fuck,” she complained, “and I ain’t fucked out yet.”
She got off the bed, padded naked to the window to stand next to him.
“What’s so interesting out there on the street?” she demanded.
“I’m waiting for somebody.”
“More interesting than me?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
“More interesting than this?” she asked. “She reached down and took his semi-erect cock in her hand, began to stroke him. “Ah, I see you ain’t fucked out yet, either, are you?”
Gately looked at her. She wasn’t pretty, but the first time he laid eye on her one word popped into his mind: wanton. He turned out to be correct.
“Katy,” he said, “it may be time for you to open that dirty mouth of yours.”
“Yes, sir!” she said.
She got down on her knees as he turned to face her, stroked his cock until it was hard, and then opened her mouth so he could stick it in … and out … and in … and out …
Later, while Katy dozed, Gately went back to the window to look out. He saw some of his men on the street, wearing their grey coats and Kepi’s, but told not to look for trouble. Others were staying inside, still others were on watch at both ends of town.
Sugundo had no law. He knew he and his men could take the town if they wanted to. They have to deal with the law in Trinidad, but somebody would have to get there to alert them. They could take the town and bottle everyone up in it, and just wait. His men were growing anxious, eager for some kind of action.
But the call for action was not his to make. He had been in command until only recently, when Wentworth and Wyatt had arrived from Springfield. Now he was second-in-command—third if Wyatt had his way, but the big man would not have his way. It was not his decision to make.
He turned and looked at the girl, who was lying asleep, the sheets on the floor so he could see her naked body. She was on her back, breasts flattened, legs splayed so he could see her dark bush. He felt himself stir again, but it was time to get dressed.
He looked around for his britches …
Chapter Twenty-Five
They circled around Colorado Springs. It occurred to
Clint that rather than follow them, or wait for them in Segundo, or even Trinidad, men after the ransom money might wait in Colorado Springs, expecting them to ride through.
“You don’t really think anyone expect you to ride all this way carrying a hundred thousand dollars, do you?”
“Why not?” Clint asked. “It’d fit in saddlebags.”
“That would mean they’d think we’re both carrying them,” Roper said. “We’ve got targets on our backs.”
“It wasn’t my intention to paint a target on you, Tal,” Clint said. “If you want to head back to Denver I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Hell, no,” Roper said. “This little job has piqued my interest, now. Besides, if we get the body back and save the ransom, maybe the government would see fit to give me a finder’s fee.”
“Well,” Clint said, “that’s certainly a suggestion I’ll make to them.”
After they rode a ways in silence Roper spoke again.
“If we had stopped in Colorado Springs, you could have sent a telegram to Washington, let them know where you are.”
“That’s true.”
“So how will they know that you’re still on the job, and not dead?”
“If you hired me for a job, what would you think?”
“That you’d get it done,” Roper said, “but I know you.”
“Well, they know my reputation.”
“Aren’t you the one who always says reputations are overblown?”
“I do, and I believe it,” Clint said. “But that doesn’t keep people from believing them. But they didn’t hire me blind. They know Jeremy Pike, and Pike knows me. He can vouch for me.”
“I don’t know if there’s a telegraph office between here and Trinidad—or if there’s one in Trinidad, for that matter.”
“There better be one there,” Clint said, “or the money won’t be.”
“Well,” Roper said, “we could try to get the body back without paying.”
“Yeah, we could try that.”
“You and me,” Roper said, “against how many Greybacks?”
