by JR Roberts
“Who knows?”
“Well, we’ve got something they don’t.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
Roper looked at him.
“I was hoping you’d agree, and tell me.”
They camped again that night, this time Roper made the coffee, cooked some beans and bacon.
“We’ll make Trinidad tomorrow, most likely,” he said, “as long as nothing holds us up. We’ve been pushing pretty hard.”
“Can your horse take it?” Clint asked.
“He’ll take it.” He washed down a mouthful of bacon-and-beans with coffee.
“When we picked up that money we will have targets on our backs, for sure,” Clint said.
“It’s fourteen, maybe fifteen miles to Segundo,” Roper said. “We should be able to make it.”
“Yeah, but we’re not just going to ride in. Not with them waiting for us.”
“What’s the plan, then?”
“Well, I’m thinking I’ll ride in while you stay hidden with the money.”
“You’re going to trust me with a hundred thousand dollars of the government’s money?”
“If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?”
“I don’t know if I want to be thought of as that trustworthy,” Roper said. “I mean, a hundred thousand, that’s enough to tempt any man.”
“You want to split it fifty-fifty and go our separate way?” Clint asked.
“Fifty grand each?” Roper shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not my price.”
“Well then,” Clint said, “we’ll find out if a hundred grand is your price, won’t we, when I leave you alone with it?”
“And what if you don’t come back?”
“Why would they kill me before they have the money?”
“They’re Greybacks,” Roper said, “clinging to a dead way of life. That mean they’re not too smart to begin with.”
“If Wentworth is there, he won’t let them kill me,” Clint said. “I’ll want to see Lincoln’s body before I pay up. They’d have to expect that.”
“They’ll show you a casket.”
“Uh-uh,” Clint said. “They’ve got to open it.”
“Could be anybody in there, by now.”
“He might be recognizable.”
“What if he’s not?”
Clint thought a moment, then said, “I don’t know. Don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t tell if it was him or not.”
“Of course,” Roper said, “you could take back any body in a box and say it’s him.”
“And keep the money, you mean?”
“No,” Roper said, “just bring back a body and the money, say it’s him, and be done with it. Not have to deal with a bunch of crazy Rebs.”
“That’s an idea,” Clint said, “I think I’ll sleep on.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Roper woke Clint the next morning and handed him a cup of coffee. Clint quickly got to his feet and sipped it.
“You’re right,” Roper said. “You do wake up better than I do. How do you do that?”
“Like you said, sleep lightly,” Clint said, “and I’ve camped alone on the trail often enough to know that I better wake up ready for anything.”
“We better get stated if we want to make Trinidad today,” Roper said.
“Today, tomorrow,” Clint said. “Probably doesn’t make that much of a difference. The important thing is that we’re there when the bank is open.”
“And that the money is there.”
“Exactly.”
They doused the fire, broke camp, mounted up and rode.
###
As it turned out they needed to camp one more night on the trail, and they made Trinidad by noon the following day—plenty of time to stop by the bank.
“No matter what happens,” Clint said, “we’re going to spend the night here, get cleaned up, have a meal.”
“Pick up the money?”
“We’ll go to the bank,” Clint said, “make sure the money’s available, and then pick it up tomorrow morning before we go to Segundo.”
“Okay, so then a hotel right now?”
“I think if you want to go and get us rooms at the hotel, I’ll stop in and see who the law is here.”
“I’ll go along with you,” Roper said. “I’m curious about that, myself.”
“Fine.”
Clint had been to Trinidad during the time Bat Masterson had been the law, so he knew where the sheriff’s office was.
The reined in their horses in front of the office and dismounted. Clint grounded Eclipse’s reins, while Roper wrapped his horse’s reins around the hitching post. They mounted the boardwalk and knocked on the door.
“Yea, come in!” a voice called.
They opened the door and entered.
“You gotta be strangers, ’cause nobody else in this damn blasted town knocks,” a man said. He was coming out from the cell block, carrying a worn out broom. The star on his chest looked about as old as the broom, and so did the man. He had lots of gray hair that seemed to be flying all over the place, and an unruly grey beard.
“What can I do for ya?” he asked.
“Are you the sheriff?” Clint asked.
“That’s me,” he said. “Sheriff Rance Harlan, mainly ’cause nobody else wants the job.”
“The town looks like it’s growing,” Roper said. “We saw some new building on the way in, and a nice looking bank.”
“The town’s fine,” the man said, “it’s everythin’ around us that’s gone to hell.” The lawman narrowed his eyes at them. “You ain’t interested in robbin’ the bank, are ya?”
“Not at all,” Clint said, “but we do have business there.”
Now the Sheriff pointed at them.
“Would you be the feller’s gonna pick up a hundred thousand dollars?”
Clint and Roper exchanged a glance.
“And how many people in town know about that?” Clint asked.
“Just about everybody,” the lawman said. “No secrets here. You wanna head over there now and collect? I’ll go with ya.”
“We want to go over and make sure the money’s available,” Clint said. “Then we want a drink, a room, a good meal, and we’ll pick the money up in the morning.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Harlan said. “You wanna tell me what the money is for?”
“No,” Clint said.
“Suit yerself, then,” Harlan said. “Jest come and get me when you’re ready to go to the bank. I’ll be yer armed guard.”
“Do you wear a gun?” Roper asked, since the man was unarmed.
“Sonny, I was wearin’ and usin’ a gun before you was off your Momma’s teat,” the lawman said. “Don’t you worry about me. I said I had this job ’cause nobody else wanted it. I didn’t say I couldn’t do it.”
“No offense meant,” Roper said.
“No o-ffense taken,” Sheriff Harlan said. “You fellers fancy a good steak, place right across the street’s got the best in town.”
“Thanks,” Clint said, “we’ll try it.”
“And try the Trinidad Inn for rooms,” Harlan went on. “Used to be called the Trinidad House. Personally, I think that sounded better, but ain’t my decision.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Clint said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“And don’t be gettin’ into no trouble while yer here,” the lawman said. “I keep a nice quiet town.”
“Do you want our names?” Roper asked.
Harlan held up his hand. “No names, thanks. That’d probably only make me worry. Just watch yer P’s and Q’s.”
“Gotcha,” Clint said. “Thanks for your time.”
The two friends left the office and stopped outside.
“Not what I expected,” Roper said.
“Maybe not,” Clint said, “but I bet he can do the job.”
“Yeah,” Roper said, “that’s the feeling I got.”
“Come on,” Clint said, “We’ll see to the hors
es, get rooms, and then eat.”
“Suits me.”
The picked up their reins and walked their animals over to the livery.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As Clint and Roper rode into town they attracted the attention of the townspeople—and now they knew why. Everybody knew about the money.
Another man who knew about the money was sitting in a chair across the street from the sheriff’s office, whittling. When Clint and Roper left and went to the livery, he folded his knife, pocketed his wood and walked across.
As he entered the office he said, “Was that them?”
“There ya go,” the lawman said, “that’s more like it, folks just bustin’ in here without knockin’.”
“Was that them?”
“Was that who?”
“The fella who are gonna be pickin’ up the money.”
The Sheriff narrowed his eyes.
“Now Jason, don’t you go be lookin’ for no trouble.”
“That’s a lot of money, Sheriff.”
“What the hell would you do with that much money, you danged fool?” Harlan asked. “Yeah, that was them.”
“When are they pickin’ in up?”
“Tomorrow mornin’,” Harlan said, “and I’ll be with ’em.”
“Okay, okay,” Jason said, “simmer down, Sheriff. Don’t get all hot under the collar.”
“If you and your kind aim to take that money off’n them, you better wait until their outta town, ya hear?”
“I hear, Sheriff,” Jason said, “I hear. Any idea what they need the money for?”
“No idee at all,” the lawman said, “and I don’t care a plugged nickel.”
“Okay,” Jason said, “sorry for botherin’ ya, Sheriff.”
“Danged fools,” Harlan muttered, grabbing his broom, “the lot of ’em.”
Jason left the office and stopped just outside the door. He looked up and down the street, didn’t see the two men, anywhere. He assumed they were in the livery stable, which was fine with him.
He stepped into the street and crossed over, turned and headed for the Nickel & Dime Saloon.
In his office Sheriff Harlan took a couple of disgruntled swipes at the floor with his broom, then set it aside and rubbed his face with both hand. There was going to be trouble for sure, damn it. He went to his desk, opened a drawer, took out his gunbelt and strapped it on.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Clint and Roper checked into separate rooms, and then went to check out the place the Sheriff had suggested for a steak.
The restaurant had a board over the doorway with one name on it, BETSY’S, but the windows had BETSY’S STEAKHOUSE printed on them, on either side of the door.
As they entered a man approached and said, “Sit anywhere, gents. We’re kinda between meals at the moment.”
It was true. It was between lunch and dinner, so the place was fairly empty, except for one other table, where a man sat eating.
They grabbed a table against the back wall, where nobody could get behind them, but they could see the front door.
“What kin I get for you boys?” the waiter asked. “Just passin’ through?”
“We are,” Clint said. “Two steak diners, if we can get them this early.”
“You can get whatever ya want,” the man said. “Steaks comin’ up. Beers?”
“Please,” Roper said.
“Right away.”
Both men had taken the time to clean off the trail dust while in their rooms, but they still needed to wash the dust from their throats.
“So,” Roper said, “no secret why we’re in town.”
“I suppose not.”
“A hundred thousand is a big temptation,” Roper said. “Somebody’s going to make a try for it—and maybe more than one somebody.”
“We’ll be ready,” Clint said.
“Now I know how men feel when they’re transporting a payroll,” Roper said.
“Never did a payroll delivery job?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“I’ve done it once or twice,” Clint said. “Mostly quiet work. Just once in a while somebody gets a big idea.”
“Well, somebody’s going to get a big idea here,” Roper said. “And it may not be somebody from this town.”
“I know,” Clint said. “I thought about that. Some Greybacks may decide they’re not such believer in the cause—not when there’s a hundred thousand on the line.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re covering all the angles,” Roper said.
“When have you ever known me not to?”
“True.”
The waiter came with big frosty mugs of beer.
“Steaks are almost ready, gents.”
“Onions?” Roper asked.
“Plenty of them.”
“Yes!”
“Don’t think I’ve ever had a bad steak,” Roper said. “Bloody or burnt, I’ll eat it.”
Clint didn’t respond. He was deep in thought.
“Clint? Where are you?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Clint said. “Just thinking about tomorrow.”
“What were you thinking?”
“Maybe you should stay behind.”
“Why?”
“Well, if we’re not hit on the way to Segundo, then I’m going to leave you alone to ride in. That leaves you vulnerable.”
“And it leaves you vulnerable in town,” Roper said.
“Yeah, but you’ll have the money.”
“Then maybe we should ride in together.”
“With the money?”
“No,” Roper said. “We do that and they’ll just take the money and do whatever they want with Lincoln.”
“I agree.”
“We could bury the money somewhere,” Roper said, “once we’re sure we’re not being watched.”
Clint considered the option.
“That would mean neither one of us would have to go it alone,” he said.
“Right,” Roper said, “we could die together.”
At that moment the waiter came with their steaks and set the plates down.
“Why don’t we wait to talk about dying after we eat?” Clint suggested.
“Good point.”
After they finished their excellent steaks they left the restaurant and walked over to the bank. Clint presented himself not to a teller, but to a pretty lady seated at a desk.
“I’d like to see the manager, please.”
“Of course,” she said. “May I tell him your name and your business?”
“Yes,” Clint said, “my name is Clint Adams, and I think he’ll know my business.”
“Oh, of course!” she said. Obviously, she knew his business. “I’ll just be a minute.”
The bank was one of the new buildings in town Roper had mentioned to the sheriff. It even smelled like new wood.
The lady came back and said, “Gentlemen, would you follow me, please?”
She led them to an office, stepped aside so they could enter.
“The manager is Mr. Dwight.”
“Thank you,” Clint said.
He and Roper entered, and a tall, lean man in his forties stood up from behind his desk, smoothing down his tie. It was difficult for the man to hide his nervousness.
“Mr. Adams?” he said.
“That’s right,” Clint said, shaking the man’s hand. This is my colleague, Mr. Talbot Roper.”
Dwight shook hands with Roper, looking at him quizzically.
“He is a private detective from Denver, and a friend of mine,” Clint said. “He’s going to accompany me to deliver the ransom.”
“I’m going to keep him from getting killed while he does it,” Roper said.
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Dwight said. “Please, gentlemen, sit.”
They each took a seat.
“I assume there’s no problem?” Clint said. “The money is here?”
“The money is indeed here. You have a letter of introduction, of course?�
��
“Of course.” Clint took it out and handed it over. It was one of the things he found in his hotel room in Washington. It was signed by the President of the United States. The bank manager handed it back nervously, as if handling a piece of paper bearing such an August name shattered his nervous.
“W-would you be wanting the money now?” he asked.
“No,” Clint said, “we’ll be coming back early tomorrow morning with the Sheriff to pick up the money. I just wanted to make sure there would be no problems.”
“None that I can foresee,” the bank manager said. “Would you be wanting any kind of escort? To your horses? Or further?”
“No,” Clint said, “that won’t be necessary. The Sheriff can see us to our horses. After that we’ll be on our own.”
“Very well, then,” Dwight said. “Is there anything else I—I can do for you?” He rubbed his hands together, but not before Clint could see the moisture on them. He’d also felt it when he shook hands with the man.
“You can tell me what’s making you so nervous, Mr. Dwight,” Clint said.
“Nervous?” the man asked. “D-do I seem nervous?”
“You’re stammering,” Roper said, “and your hands are clammy.”
“And your glasses are steaming up,” Clint point out.
The man took off his wire-framed glasses and looked at them.
“Yes, well,” he said, taking out a handkerchief to wipe them with, “this is a great deal of money we have in the bank, m-more than usual, and y-you are … well, who you are.”
“It makes you this nervous that he’s the Gunsmith?” Roper asked.
“Well … yes,” he put his glasses back of in an extremely fussy manner, making sure they sat just so on his nose. “I mean, given his r-reputation, and a-all.”
“And that’s all?” Clint asked. “That’s it?”
“C-certainly,” Dwight said. “What else could there be?”
“Well,” Roper said, “just off the top of my head, you wouldn’t by any chance be planning to have anyone try to relieve us of this money, would you?”
“What?” The man seemed shocked. “N-no, not at all! I—this is m-my bank. I would never—”
“Okay, okay,’ Clint said, “relax, Mr. Roper was just asking. After all, we do expect someone to try and steal this money.”
