“I just did my rounds, Sheriff,” Buck said. “What should I do next?”
“First, don’t call me Sheriff,” Clint said. “Just call me Clint.”
“Okay, Clint. What do you want me to do next?”
“What does the sheriff usually have you do?”
“Um, just drift around town and keep an eye out for trouble.”
And how often do you find trouble?”
“Uh, not that much really,” Buck said, “except on weekends, when the cowpokes and drifters come into town and get liquored up.”
“Okay, well, why don’t you just do what you usually do?” Clint said. “Meanwhile, give some thought to who in this town would be useful when the Graves gang comes back.”
“Me?” Buck asked. “You want me to recommend somebody?”
“You know the people in this town,” Clint said. “I don’t. Come up with some names and we’ll talk about them. Okay?”
“Okay, Sher—I mean, Clint.”
Buck went out the door and pulled it closed behind him. Clint looked down at the pile of wanted posters on the desk, then opened a drawer and put them away. He decided to check the weapons in the rifle rack, found them in need of cleaning. He was just about to begin when Doc Foster came in.
“Hey, Doc,” he said. “How’s Jack?”
“I’m takin’ him on the first stage tomorrow,” Doc said. “Then to the train. I’ll need some help carryin’ him from his room. I need four men, because we have to hold him steady.”
“You got me,” Clint said, “provided I’m still here.”
“About that,” Doc said. “You should walk over to the Council meeting with me . . . now.”
“Fine,” Clint said, replacing the rifle in the rack. “Let’s get this over with.”
Doc Foster walked Clint over to the two-story brick City Hall. They walked in and Doc led him to a room in the back.
There was a long table with five chairs, four of which were occupied. Doc Foster walked around the table and sat in the fifth chair.
“Have a seat, Mr. Adams,” said a man whom Clint didn’t recognize.
He only knew Doc Foster and the man from the saloon, Radke.
There was an empty chair in front of the table and Clint sat down in it.
The man seated at the other end of the table introduced himself. “I’m Hal Finley, mayor of Guardian.” He was in his sixties, well dressed and healthy looking.
“Mr. Mayor,” Clint said, nodding.
“You know the two men to my left, Doctor Foster and George Radke,” the mayor said. “To my right are Mr. Lew Preston and Mrs. Henry Dennison.”
Preston was a sad-looking man in his forties. Mrs. Dennison was a handsome-looking woman of about forty.
“Mrs. Dennison is here representing her husband, who died last year.”
Clint wondered why the mayor thought that was important enough to mention.
“Mr. Adams, we understand Sheriff Harper has asked you to take his place until he’s back on his feet.”
“That’s not quite right, Mr. Mayor.”
“Oh?”
“He may never get back on his feet,” Clint said. “I told him I’d wear this badge until I found someone who could handle the job.”
“Well, you understand that the Town Council has to approve you as temporary sheriff.”
“I understand that’s a formality,” Clint said.
“Actually, it’s quite serious—”
“Mr. Mayor,” Clint asked, “do you intend to go out into the street with a gun when the Graves gang comes back?”
“Well . . . I don’t use a gun, Mr.—”
“What about you, ma’am?” Clint asked.
“Certainly not, Mr. Adams,” she said. “You definitely have my vote to keep that badge.”
“We haven’t put this up for a vote yet—” Radke started.
“None of you plan to take up a gun when the gang gets here,” Clint said, “so there’s no way you’re going to take this badge away from me—and there’s no way I’m going to jump through your hoops.” He stood up. “I intend to do what I told Jack Harper I’d do.”
He turned and walked to the door, pausing for a moment.
“But I may just be calling on some of you to pick up a gun, whether you want to or not.”
He left them all there staring as he went out the door.
NINE
Clint was sitting at Sheriff Jack Harper’s desk when the door to the office opened and the deputy came walking in.
“Buck.”
“How’d it go?” Buck asked.
Clint looked down at his chest.
“I’ve still got the badge on,” he said, “but I don’t know for how long.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Basically,” Clint said, “to mind their own business and stay off my back.”
“Really?” Buck grinned. “I really would have liked to see that.”
Clint grinned back at him.
“They weren’t very happy. What’s going on around town?”
“Not much,” Buck said. “Folks are talking; about the sheriff gettin’ shot and the Graves gang comin’ back. They’re wonderin’ who’s gonna stop them.”
“Let them wonder,” Clint said. “Meantime, you got any names for me?”
Buck looked down at his feet.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m still thinkin’ on it.”
“That’s okay,” Clint said. “Just let me know when you come up with somebody.”
“Yes, sir,” Buck said. “I’ll just . . . keep makin’ rounds.”
“You do that, Buck.”
Buck nodded and left the office.
It was a half an hour later when the door opened again and Doc Foster came in.
“They send you to collect the badge?” Clint asked.
“You didn’t make yourself any friends in that room,” Foster said, “but no. They voted to let you keep it.”
“I wonder who they would have sent to take it if they’d voted the other way?”
“That’s just it,” Foster said. “Nobody was willing to try.”
Clint laughed.
“I’m gonna be leavin’ tomorrow with Jack, Clint,” Foster said. “You’re gonna have to find yourself some allies in this town.”
“I’ve got Buck,” Clint said.
“He’s young.”
“He’ll do,” Clint said. “And he’s gonna help me find some others. Come to think of it, Doc. You got any suggestions before you go, I’d like to hear them.”
“Suggestions?”
“For men who’ll fight,” Clint said. “Or for men willing to fight.”
“I’ll give it some thought and let you know in the morning,” Foster said.
“Good,” Clint said. “I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll stop in here first thing.”
“Can I come by and see Jack?”
“Let him rest,” Doc said. “Why don’t you wait until mornin’, when you come to help move him?”
“Okay,” Clint said. “What time?”
“Whenever the stage comes in,” Foster said. “It’ll be stoppin’ right in front of the hotel.”
“See you tomorrow, then.”
Doc Foster nodded and left the office. Clint leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. There wasn’t much else to do at this point.
Twenty minutes after Doc Foster left, the door opened a third time. Mrs. Henry Dennison entered, looked around, and paused when her eyes fell on Clint, who was standing at the stove, waiting for a pot of coffee to be ready.
“Mrs. Dennison,” Clint said. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to take the badge away from me?”
“Hardly,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I just thought I’d come by for a little . . . talk. And my name is Lucy.”
Clint stood up. Lucy Dennison had returned home first, put on a new dress, and fixed her hair and makeup. He had originally thought her a handsome woman of a
bout forty. Now she was an attractive woman in her late thirties.
“Besides, they’d never trust me with anything so important,” she said. “I’m just filling my husband’s chair until his term of service is over.”
“Then what brings you here?” Clint asked.
“Like I said,” she answered, “I just wanted to . . . talk.”
Twice she had hesitated before saying the word “talk.” Clint had the feeling the woman had more than that on her mind.
TEN
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“I suppose that’ll do for a start,” she said. “May I sit?”
“Take the chair at the desk,” he said. “It’s more comfortable.”
She sat down, draping the shawl she’d been wearing over the back of the chair. Her dress was simple, blue, but it just barely covered her shoulders, and showed a shadowy valley between her breasts. It fit tightly, showing her to have a body that had probably once been trim but, as she got older, was filling out nicely.
He poured two cups of coffee, handed her one, and then perched a hip on the desk so that he was looming over her.
She tasted the coffee and said, “It’s very strong. I like it.”
“I’m afraid I’m used to making coffee on the trail,” he said.
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, putting the mug down on the desk.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Well,” she said, “if you’re going to be our sheriff for a while, I just thought we should get acquainted. I rather enjoyed the way you handled the members of the Council earlier today. You’re quite right that none of them intends to lift a finger to try to defend this town. They expect you to do that.”
“That’s usually what people expect when they hire a sheriff,” he said, “but sometimes it’s not that easy. A sheriff and his deputies can’t always do these things themselves. Sometimes they need help from the town.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find men willing to fight,” she said. “Just not from the Council. They’re businessmen and politicians.”
“I understand that,” Clint said. “What was your husband like?”
“Oh, he was like them,” she said. “We owned the General Store, and Henry sat on the Town Council for years. I’m afraid most of the everyday work was left to me while he attended meetings, which usually took place in the back room of a saloon, or in a whorehouse.”
“I see,” Clint said. “Why would he be spending time at a whorehouse when he had a woman like you at home?”
She blushed a bit, a nice rosy hue tingeing the exposed skin of her shoulders and chest.
“My husband’s appetites were something of a surprise to me,” she said. “Let’s just say he needed to find his pleasures somewhere else.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Clint said. “How did he die?”
“He had a heart attack while he was with a whore,” she said. “Fitting, I think. But tell me about you. What brought you here?”
“Sheriff Harper sent for me, asked me to wear his badge while he was away, as a favor.”
“Sounds like you’re a good friend to have,” she said.
“I try to be.”
“Well, I suppose this town will benefit from the friendship between you and Jack Harper.”
“I hope that’s the way it turns out.”
She stood up without drinking any more of her coffee.
“Well, I suppose I should let you get back to your work.”
“I’m just sort of getting to know the office a bit,” he admitted.
“I hope we can get to know each other a little better, too, while you’re here.”
“I’d like that, Mrs. Dennison.”
“No, no,” she said, “you have to call me Lucy.”
“All right, Lucy,”
She started for the door, then stopped and turned back.
“Perhaps we can have dinner together one night?” she asked. “After you get yourself settled in.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “We’ll talk about it another time.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
She smiled, nodded, and left the office.
Clint poured himself some more coffee and sat down at the desk. He hoped that the visits were done and that no one else from the Town Council would show up. Buck would be back soon, and he hoped the young man would have some suggestions of men who could use a gun and would be willing to stand against the Graves gang.
Clint finished his coffee, then decided to take a turn around town himself. He’d kept his gun strapped on the whole time he was in the office, so he grabbed his hat and headed out the door.
He heard the shot, and then a bullet slapped into the wooden door.
ELEVEN
Clint hit the ground, rolled, and came to a stop in front of a horse trough. There was another shot and water splashed when the bullet hit.
He heard somebody running toward him, and when he looked, he saw it was Buck.
“Buck! Get down!” Clint shouted.
Buck stopped short, unsure about what to do. Other people on the street had scattered, taking cover wherever they could. Buck was still confused when a bullet struck the ground in front of him. That unfroze him and he ducked for cover.
Clint had his gun out, was trying to see where the shots were coming from. From the sound he figured one shooter, with a rifle. Buck had been a sitting duck, standing in the middle of the street like that, so Clint assumed that the shooter was missing on purpose.
Welcome to the neighborhood, he thought. Maybe somebody was just testing him to see what his reactions were.
A few minutes later he decided that was what was happening, because there were no further shots. He stood up carefully, looked over to where Buck was lying sprawled in the dirt. He waved and the deputy got up and walked over to him, gun in hand.
“What happened?” he asked. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said, his eyes raking the rooftops across from them. “Buck, I want you to check behind those buildings.”
“Sure, Sheriff,” Buck said. “Uh, what am I lookin’ for?”
“Anything you can find,” Clint said. “Access to the rooftops, tracks in the dirt . . . anything you can, Buck—and be careful!”
“Yes, sir.”
As Buck went to check the backs of the buildings, Clint approached them from the front. The hotel where he was staying was directly across from the office. Flanking it was a hardware store on one side, and a store on the other that sold ladies’ clothing.
He checked the hotel first. As he entered, the desk clerk looked up at him.
“Um, Mr. Adams?” he said.
“Sheriff Adams for now,” Clint said. “Anybody come through here in the past ten or fifteen minutes?”
“Uh, no, sir,” the clerk said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve been here the whole time, sir,” the clerk said. “I haven’t seen anyone.”
“Where’s your roof access?”
“At the end of the hall from your room,” the clerk said.
“Keep your eyes open,” Clint said.
“For what?”
“Did you hear shots outside just now?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, somebody took a couple of shots at me and my deputy,” Clint said. “Just watch for anybody coming through here, maybe carrying a rifle.”
“A rifle?”
“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “They won’t hurt you. If you see someone, just stay out of their way, but let me know which way they go.”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
“Oh, and tell me if you recognize who it is.”
The clerk nodded.
Clint went up to the second floor and walked to the end of the hall. There was a hatch in the roof. He looked around, saw a couple of chairs that could have been used to climb up. What he didn’t know was whether or no
t there was access from an adjoining roof, or somewhere else. He had to go up and find out.
He pulled a chair over, stepped up, and pushed open the hatch. He would have liked to climb up with his gun in his hand, but there was no way he could do that. He needed both hands to reach up and pull himself through.
He took a deep breath, pulled himself up and through the hatch, then quickly rolled aside and drew his gun. He came up on one knee and looked around. There was no one on the roof with him. He was alone.
He got to his feet, walked to both sides. Those building were too low to offer access, unless someone had a ladder. He didn’t see one.
He walked to the front and looked down. There was no access there. On the street, people were just starting to move around again after the shooting.
He walked to the rear and looked down, saw Buck in the alley that ran along the backs of the buildings.
“See anything, Buck?”
“I think so,” Buck said.
“Where?”
“On the ground behind the hardware store,” Buck said. “Looks like somebody might’ve used a ladder.”
“I’m coming down,” Clint called. “Wait for me.”
TWELVE
“You’re right,” Clint said. “There was a ladder set up here.”
Clint stood up. Near the base of the building were the marks of a ladder in the dirt.
“So they took the shots from the roof of the hardware store?” Buck said.
“Or they pulled the ladder up behind them and then used it to get on the roof of the hotel.”
“So they fired—what? Three shots? Then had to use the ladder to get down from both rooftops? That would have taken a while, wouldn’t it?”
“We were on our bellies,” Clint said. “Couldn’t stand ’til we were sure the shooting was over. That gave whoever it was the time to climb down and get away.”
“You wanna go up on the roof?” Buck asked. “I can go and find a ladder.”
Anatomy of a Lawman Page 3
