by JR Roberts
“Um, okay.”
“Just don’t let Mr. Still know that we talked, and you’ll be fine,” Clint assured him.
“Yessir.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “you can go.”
“Thank you, sir.” Billy got up and walked to the door, then turned. “Thanks for not killin’ me, sir.”
“It was my pleasure, kid.”
Billy went out, closing the door gently behind him.
“You really think you can trust him?” Tully asked. “That he won’t go back there and tell Stoll everythin’ that happened tonight?”
“I think when you told him who I was,” Clint said, ”he got it. He knew Stoll had sent him here to get killed. Yeah, I think we can trust him.”
“Okay,” Tully said, with a shrug, “if you say so.”
“So why don’t we go ahead now and get Aggie buried,” Clint suggested.
“I’m with you.”
~*~
They got Aggie’s casket loaded onto Tully’s grandfather’s hearse, hitched up the two horses, and headed for the cemetery. They drew curious stares as they drove up the street toward boot hill, assuming Stoll would hear about their actions, at some point. They’d probably get a visit from some of his disciples. But they were ready. Clint had his holstered pistol and his rifle, and Tully had a pistol in his belt.
~*~
Albert Stoll woke to the pounding on his door. He disentangled himself from the limbs of the young girl he’d taken to bed with him the night before and got to his feet. She moaned, turned over on her belly, and went back to sleep. She was a skinny thing. He usually liked women with more meat on then, but for some reason she’d appealed to him the night before.
But not this morning.
He leaned over and smacked her hard on the ass.
“Ow!” she cried, coming instantly awake.
“Get dressed,” he said. “You have to go to work.”
Rubbing her butt she turned and looked at him and said, “Yes, Father.”
He went to the door, barefoot and naked, and opened it.
The man there averted his eyes. “Father, it’s happenin’.”
“What’s happenin’, Erskine?”
“They’re takin’ the body to boot hill for burial.”
“Goddamnit!” Stoll snapped. “Get some of the disciples together.”
“Yes sir.”
As the man started away Stoll shouted, “And find Billy!”
Chapter Eighteen
Clint and Tully reached boot hill, unloaded the casket and carried it up to an available gravesite.
“We’re gonna have to dig the grave ourselves, since we didn’t arrange for any help,” Tully pointed out.
“That’s going to hold us up,” Clint said. “We’re sure to get interrupted before we finish.”
“Yup.”
“Can you get some gravediggers up here at a moment’s notice?” Clint asked.
“My grandfather could’ve,” Tully said. “I just don’t know who they are, anymore.”
“Do you know who they used to be?”
“Well, sure—”
“Maybe you still can find those men.”
“And leave you here alone?”
“I’ll be fine,” Clint said. “The more men with shovels we have, the more chance of success.”
“All right,” Tully said. “I know somebody I can try to find, if he lives in the same place.”
“Make it as fast as you can.”
“Right,” Tully said, turning and running downhill.
For want of a better place, Clint sat down on the casket to wait.
~*~
What was probably ten or fifteen minutes, Tully reappeared with two men carrying shovels.
“Clint, these are Sam and Lemuel Borden. They used to work for my grandfather.”
“You men are willing to work for Tully” Clint asked.
“And you, Mr. Adams,” one of them said.
“So’s you don’t kill us,” the other added.
“Lem!” the first one said.
Clint realized that Tully had told them who he was, and they were afraid they’d be killed if they didn’t help.
“I don’t want you to do this because you’re afraid,” Clint said, “I want you to do it because I’ll pay you.”
“Yes, sir,” the first one—who Clint now knew was Sam—said.
“Are you men part of Mr. Stoll’s Kingdom?”
“Kingdom?” Lem said, with a scowl.
“His religious group, out there at his compound.”
“No, sir,” Sam said, “we don’t hold with nobody’s religion, and that’s the truth.”
“And you know who’s in this casket?”
“We do,” Sam said, “and she was a nice lady. Never been uppity to us.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said, “let’s get this grave dug.”
“Yessir!” they both said, and started digging.
~*~
Stoll waited in front of his residence or Erskine to come back with members of his disciples. Meanwhile, Billy Caldwell came walking up to him, very meekly, carrying his hat in his hand.
“Billy, where the hell have you been?”
“I was doin’ what you told me to do, Father.”
“And?”
“I got inside, Father, and I couldn’t find that body nowhere.” He was intent on remembering what Clint had told him to say.
“So where have you been all night, boy?”
“The place was empty when I snuck in, but they came back while I was there,” Billy said. “I had to hide, and then I was stuck there until mornin’. When they left, I snuck back out.”
“Did you know they were burying that body today?”
“I heard them talk about it,” Billy said, “but I couldn’t get out to warn ya. I was on my way here when Mr. Erskine corralled me and said you wanted to see me.”
“You’re pretty useless to me, you know that, Billy?”
“I’m real sorry, Father,” Billy said, “but Erskine said you was gonna have some disciples go to boot hill to stop ’em. You want me to go along?”
“No,” Stoll said, “you’d be worthless to them, too. Just ... go and get yourself some breakfast.”
“Yes, Father,” Billy said, putting his hat back on. “Thank you, Father.”
As Billy walked away Stoll saw Erskine approaching with four other disciples—all armed!
Chapter Nineteen
Clint was impressed the speed with which the brothers worked. Before long, they had a proper grave dug, and still no sign of Stoll’s disciples.
“All right,” Clint said, “let’s lower the casket in.”
With the four of them, it was not an arduous task, and in minutes Aggie Kimball was in her grave.
“All right,” Clint said, “let’s get her covered.”
Hoping to avoid being interrupted, Clint and Tully also picked up shovels and began dumping dirt into the grave. They were almost done as a crowd began to gather and people realized what was happening. Then, when there was a stir in the crowd, Clint looked down the hill and saw the men approaching.
“Here they come,” he announced, pointing.
Tully looked down the hill. The brothers patted the dirt onto the grave before also looking.
“Uh-oh,” Lem said.
“What?” Clint asked. “Oh, I see.”
In front of the five disciples came Mr. Stoll, himself. His men were armed, but he wasn’t.
“Clint—” Tully said, touching the gun on his belt.
“Don’t touch that gun, Tully,” Clint said. “Leave this to me. Step aside with Sam and Lem.”
The three men obeyed and stepped to one side.
Stoll had his men push through the crowd, and then they all ascended to the new gravesite.
“You there!” Stoll called. “Dig that women up, right now.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Clint said.
“You men,” Stoll said. “Dig it u
p!”
“Sorry, Mr. Stoll,” Tully said. “These men are in my employ, and my work is putting bodies in the ground, not digging them up.”
Stoll looked at Clint.
“I suppose you must be Clint Adams.”
“I am,” Clint said. “And you’re Mr. Stoll?”
“I’m called Father Stoll,” the man replied.
“Not by me.”
“Father,” Erskine said, “do you want us to kill ’im?”
Clint kept his eyes on Stoll, let his hand drop down near his gun.
“If they draw on me you’ll be sorry,” he said.
“You think you can outdraw five men?” Stoll asked.
“Maybe not,” Clint said, “but I’ll kill you first and you’ll never know the answer to that question.”
That stopped Stoll in his tracks.
“Stop!” a voice rang out.
They all turned to see Father Paul, standing just at the head of the grave, where a headstone would go.
“What do you want, Priest?” Stoll asked.
“This body cannot be dug up after being buried,” Paul said. “This is sacred ground.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Stoll said.
“I’ve blessed it myself,” Father Paul said. “If you want to dig this grave up you’ll have to kill me, not the Gunsmith.”
Clint could see Stoll’s mind working. He could probably justify killing Clint Adams. But would he be able to justify killing a priest?
“All right. That’s enough,” another voice called out.
This time it was Sheriff Gaines walking up the hill. Someone had obviously gone to fetch him.
“There won’t be any shootin’ here,” he announced. “You men back down the hill.”
The disciples looked at Stoll to see if they should obey.
Now Stoll was thinking whether or not he could get away with having the town lawman killed. In the end, his decision was probably based upon the fact that he didn’t have that much power—not yet, anyway.
Stoll waved his men back, and they retreated down the hill. Father Paul stood tall at the gravesite, his hands clasped in front of him. From what Clint could see, the priest was clean-shaven and sober.
“You two can go,” Gaines said to Sam and Lem.
“I’ll pay you boys later,” Clint said, “don’t worry.”
“We ain’t worried, Mr. Adams.” They shouldered their shovels and went down the hill.
That left Clint, Tully, Father Paul, the sheriff and Stoll on boot hill.
“Well,” Stoll said to Clint, “I suppose you’ve got what you wanted.”
“Yes,” Clint said, “I wanted this woman buried, but I also want to know who hanged her.”
“I’d like to know that, too,” Sheriff Gaines said.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Stoll said.
“Of course you do,” Clint said. “Everybody in town knows you ordered it. I just need to find the men who actually did it. Undoubtedly some of your disciples.”
“That’s gossip,” Stoll said. “The sheriff knows he can’t act on gossip.”
“He’s got me there, Adams,” Gaines said.
“Well then,” Clint said, “you might as well tell that crowd to get on with their day. There’s nothing you can do here.”
“And you?” Gaines asked.
“Don’t worry,” Clint said, “I’m not going to kill him. I don’t kill unarmed men.”
Gaines nodded, turned and went down the hill.
“You men think you can defy me,” Stoll said. “The three of you are all that stand between me and ... ”
“And what, Mr. Stoll,” Father Paul asked. “You’re Kingdom?”
“I won’t waste my breath on you,” Stoll said. He pointed. “And that abomination will not remain. It will be dug up, eventually.”
“Not while I’m here it won’t,” Clint said.
“This is far from over.” Stoll turned and walked back down the hill.
Chapter Twenty
“Wow!” Tully said.
Clint turned to face Father Paul.
“Thank you for your support, Father.”
“I thought about what you said to me,” he said, adding, “once I sobered up. And this woman deserves to be prayed over.”
Clint and Tully took off their hats as Father Paul said a prayer to speed Aggie’s way to Heaven—or wherever.
“Amen,” Father Paul said.
“Amen,” Clint and Tully echoed, and replaced their hats.
“If I can be of any further help,” Father Paul said, “be sure to let me know.”
“We will, Father.”
The priest turned to leave, then turned back.
“Mr. Adams, will usurping Mr. Stoll involve gun play?”
“I’d prefer that it doesn’t, Father,” Clint said, “but there’s no telling.”
The priest nodded and walked away.
“Well,” Tully said, “that’s that. Do you think Stoll will have her dug up?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “it might not look too good for him to do that.”
They looked down at the crowd, which was now dispersing. There was no sign of Stoll, or of Sheriff Gaines.
“Where to now?” Tully asked.
“I’m going to check back into the hotel,” Clint said. “Then I think I’m going to visit Mr. Stoll at his compound.”
“You think he’ll let you in?”
Clint spread his hands. “Isn’t he accepting everyone into his Kingdom?”
“Should I go with you?”
“No, I’ll do that part alone,” Clint said. “You can go back to your office and decide what you want to do with your life.”
They started walking down the hill together.
“Big decision, there,” Tully said. “Run my grandfather’s business, or return East.”
“What would you do there?”
“I don’t know,” Tully said. “I guess I’d have the same problem. What to do.”
They walked together as far as the undertaker’s office. Clint went inside to reclaim his saddlebags, then headed for the hotel to check in again.
~*~
When he came out of the hotel a little later he found Sheriff Gaines waiting for him.
“That was somethin’, you did,” he said to Clint.
“Thanks for your help, Sheriff,” Clint said. “Things got pretty tense for a moment.”
“Just doin’ my job,” Gaines said. “What are your plans now? Leavin’ town tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so,” Clint said. “Your Mr. Stoll kind of rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Mr. Adams—”
“You can call me Clint, since you saved me from having to kill half a dozen men on boot hill.”
“Really?” Gaines asked. “You could’ve taken them all?” Then he waved his hands. “Never mind. What do you intend to do about Mr. Stoll?”
“Well,” Clint said, “I’m going to go over to his compound, take a look around, and talk with him.”
“You two didn’t get along too well at boot hill.”
“The circumstances will be different,” Clint said. “Not as big an audience. I think we’ll be able to talk more ... openly.”
“I’m thinkin’ maybe I should go with you.”
“I’m thinking not,” Clint said. “Might look like you were taking sides.”
“And it didn’t look that way this mornin’?”
“Like you said,” Clint reminded him, “you were just doing your job.”
“I wonder of Mr. Stoll sees it that way.”
“I don’t know,” Clint said, “but I can ask him and get back to you on that.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Clint walked to the compound, this time going right to the front gate. Several people, men and women, met him there.
“Can we help you?” an attractive woman in her late twenties asked.
“I hope so. I’m interested in what your group has to offer,” Clint
said.
“You’re Clint Adams,” one of the men said. He looked at the others. “Father won’t want him here.”
“We’re not supposed to refuse anyone,” the woman said. “Father has always said that.”
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Stoll,” Clint said, “but I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. Why don’t you go and ask him if you should allow me to enter?”
“You’re the Gunsmith,” said the man who recognized him. “You’ll just force your way in.”
“I won’t do that,” Clint said. “If Mr. Stoll doesn’t want to see me, I’ll turn around and walk away.”
“See?” the woman said. “Bruce, why don’t you go and ask Father? I’ll stay here with Mr. Adams.”
Bruce was the man who recognized Clint, and he frowned, but eventually turned and hurried away.
“The rest of you better get back to work,” the woman said.
The others drifted away.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Clint asked.
“Yes, of course, but this is part of my duties, greeting new people.”
“What’s your name?”
“Laura.”
“Hello, Laura. I’m Clint.”
“Are you really the Gunsmith?” she asked, her eyes shining with interest.
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s very exciting.”
“Is it?”
“Well, I’ve never met anyone so famous before.”
“How long have you lived here, Laura?”
“In Winslow?” she asked. “Or with Father?”
“Well ... both.”
“I’ve lived here all my life,” she said. “But I’ve been with Father Stoll for the past three months.”
“Do you like it here?”
“Oh yes,” she said, “it’s wonderful. Father is so ... spiritual.”
“Do you enjoy all the work?”
“Well, there is a lot,” she said, “and who enjoys work, but I don’t mind it.”
“And what about at night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have your own room, or do you sleep with Father Stoll?” he asked.
“Mr. Adams!” She turned red, touched her face with her hand. “Why would you ask such a question? I sleep in the women’s barracks.”
“I see.” Maybe she hadn’t been invited into “Father’s” bed, yet. Or perhaps she was lying.
