The Gunsmith 424

by JR Roberts

  “What about a lynching?” Clint asked. “Don’t you call that a crime?”

  “That woman was an undesirable here,” the mayor said, which sounded like words Stoll had put into the mayor’s mouth.

  “Why are you here, sir?” the mayor asked. “What are you doing in Winslow?”

  “Like you said, “Clint replied, “I brought Aggie back here to be buried.”

  “What business was that of yours?” Mayor Cates asked.

  “The woman was lynched, Mayor,” Clint said. “That’s everyone’s business.”

  “It’s the business of this town, and its citizens,” the mayor said. “But you are not a citizen. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave Winslow.”

  “Before I finish my pie?” Clint asked.

  “By morning,” Cates said.

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you’ll have to deal with the proper authorities.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re not talking about your sheriff?”

  The mayor stood up, drawing the eyes of the other diners.

  “Don’t forget,” he said. “By morning.”

  Clint shook his hand. “You can tell Mr. Stoll that you delivered your message, as he ordered you to.”

  “I don’t take orders from Father Stoll,” the mayor said. “We all take guidance from him. Keep that in mind.”

  The mayor turned and walked out of the dining room, back into the lobby of the hotel.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Clint paid for his meal and walked out, several minutes after the mayor. The eyes of all the other diners in the place followed him.

  He walked through the lobby, and out the front door, then stopped. Once again he realized he had no saloon to go to. Instead, he headed for the tea lady, Carol Holby’s, store, wondering if he’d find it open.

  When he got there and tried the door, it was locked, but a glance through the window showed him that Carol was inside. He knocked on the glass and she came to the door and opened it.

  “Well, look who’s here,” she said. “I thought you hated tea.”

  “I do,” he said, “but I happen to like the tea lady.”

  “Come on, tell the truth,” she said. “There are no saloons in town, so you had nowhere else to go and you don’t know anybody else in town.”

  “That’s not true,” he said. “I know the sheriff, and I know Mr. Stoll.”

  “Stoll?” she said. “You met him?”

  “Let me in and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Come ahead, then,” she said, backing away. “I think I might even be able to offer you a cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll take it,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I still drink tea, though.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Come in the back, then.”

  He followed her, enjoying the way she walked.

  ~*~

  Mayor Cates was shown to Father Stoll’s residence without hesitation.

  “Come in, Mayor,” Stoll said. “That will be all, Bruce.”

  “Yes, Father,” said the young man who had accompanied the mayor.

  Cates entered the house and closed the door behind him.

  “What brings you here?” Stoll asked.

  “I had a talk with Clint Adams just now,” the mayor said. “While he was eating at his hotel.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because you and your men didn’t seem to be able to handle him this morning on boot hill,” Cates said.

  “Don’t worry,” Stoll said. “We’ll handle him.

  “How do I know that?”

  “I’m telling you right now,” Stoll said. “I’ve taken steps to take care of him.”

  “Well, you better,” Cates said. “I told him he had to leave town tomorrow, or deal with the consequences.”

  “Did you tell him what the consequences would be?”

  “No,” Cates said, “but I implied.”

  “Look, Ed,” Stoll said, “when you came up with this plan and brought me in to take over the town, you said you’d leave everything in my hands.”

  “And I have, haven’t I?” Cates asked. “For months?”

  “Yes, you have,” Stoll said, “and you have to continue to do so. Don’t get involved.”

  “I’m very involved,” Cates said. “I’ve got my eye on my end game.”

  “Well,” Stoll, a chess player, said, “we’re a long way off from your end game. There’s still a lot of work to get done before the Kingdom can take you to the governor’s mansion in Phoenix.”

  “I understand,” Cates said. “I told you this was going to take time.”

  “Yes, you did,” Stoll said, “so now you’ve got to step back and let me take care of it.”

  “Are you sure you can?” Cates asked. “I mean, we expected to have to deal with some people, like that bitch Aggie Kimball, but we didn’t expect to have to deal with someone like the Gunsmith.”

  “You can’t let Adams rattle you, Mayor,” Stoll said. “I’ve got a job to do, and I’m going to do it. Don’t you worry.”

  “Okay, Albert,” Cates said. “Okay. Just remember what’s at stake, here.”

  “I know what’s at stake,” Stoll assured him.

  They walked to the door together, and Stoll opened it. They shook hands, in case anyone was watching, and then Cates stepped outside.

  Stoll closed the door, went and got a decanter of brandy from a corner cabinet and poured himself a glass. He knew perfectly well what was at stake, more so than even the mayor did.

  Chapter Thirty

  Carol Holby had a stove in the back area, which was also a storage room. She brewed herself a cup of tea and made Clint a pot of coffee, and they sat at a small table she had back there.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I have no cookies or—what would you get in a saloon? Hardboiled eggs?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You know,” she said, “the one change Stoll has brought about in town that I don’t think is bad is closing the saloons.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I’m thinking of opening a tea room,” she said, “so people can come in and actually have tea and cookies.”

  “I tend to think that tea rooms and saloons can both survive in the same town,” Clint said.

  “Really?” she asked. “You think a tea room would work here in the West?”

  “Actually, no,” he admitted, “I was just trying to be nice.”

  “Bastard!” she said, with a smile. “So, tell me about you and Mr. Stoll.”

  “Well,” he said, “you must have heard what happened this morning on boot hill.”

  “Yes, it’s all over town,” she said. “I wish you had let me be there.”

  “We had to keep our intentions to ourselves, Carol,” he said. “Sorry, but I promised Tully that.”

  “Yes, all right. I understand. But you mustn’t have had much time to talk with Stoll there, at the grave site.”

  “No,” Clint said, “he had men with him, but then the priest came along, and the sheriff—”

  “My God,” Carol said. “Father Paul was there? I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Yes, he was,” Clint said. “Now that I think of it, I haven’t spoken to him since then. I should probably go and have a talk with him.”

  “About what?’

  “About this Kingdom Stoll keeps talking about.”

  “Oh, that,” she said. “I always thought that was just another word for Heaven.”

  “That’s the feeling I got, too,” Clint said, “only he’s assuring his followers they’re going to go there, isn’t he?”

  “Oh yes,” she said, “he told us that in no uncertain terms. Follow him to the Kingdom.”

  “I don’t think even priests and ministers tell their flock that,” Clint said. “How does he get people to believe him?”

  “He’s very persuasive,” she said. “Almost ... hypnotic when he speaks.
”

  “Hmm,” Clint said, “well, I went to see him at his compound, and I didn’t get that feeling, at all.”

  “Maybe you’re just not the type,” she said.

  “And I guess you’re not, either.”

  “No, it was pretty obvious to me that his whole plan was just to get me into his bed,” Carol said, “like the other women.”

  “Do you know any of them?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she said, “some have been customers of mine, some of them have husbands. Some, like Brenda, really didn’t need that much persuasion.”

  “Really?” Clint asked. “Why’s that?’

  “Brenda is kind of the town slut,” Carol said. “She worked in the biggest saloon in town.”

  “Why would he take her into the compound, then?”

  “Well,” she said, “if he’s a man who likes sex, then he’d like Brenda. Men like her very much. In fact, you’d like Brenda, and she’d really take to you.”

  “You think so?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t seeing anything on his face that would give him away. “Are there any other saloon girls in his compound?”

  “Oh, several,” she said. “Grace and Lily and ... Betty, I think. But to them the saloon was just a job. To Brenda it was a lot more than that. She liked the attention—craved it, in fact.”

  “Then she doesn’t sound like somebody who’d believe what he’s handing out.”

  “Oh, I don’t think she does,” Carol said. “She’s there for all her own reasons.”

  He finished his coffee.

  “More?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “What will you do now?”

  “Well,” he said, ”in the absence of a saloon, or a tearoom, I guess I’ll head back to my hotel.”

  “You’re not leaving town any time soon?”

  “No,” he said, “not till I get to the bottom of this whole Kingdom thing.”

  “Do you think you will?” she asked. “I mean, Stoll is pretty much in control of this town. He’s even got the mayor and the town council committed to his ... religion.”

  “No religion that condones lynching a woman, nude, should be allowed to prosper. This is something new to me, battling a religion or a religious leader, but since I don’t believe in him or his Kingdom, or what he did to Aggie, I feel justified.”

  “Well,” she said, “I hope you beat him. Please keep me informed, and why don’t you come back later tonight and ... let me know how things are going?”

  “Will you make me drink tea?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, “but I’ll make you do something else you might enjoy.”

  Clint was considering doing something right at that moment that he’d enjoy, but a thought occurred to him while he was sitting there with Carol, and he wanted to see about it.

  “In that case,” he said, “I’ll be sure to come back.”

  She smiled, took his arm, and walked with him to the door. Before opening it, though, she gave him a long, hot kiss filled with promise, then gently shoved him outside.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Clint stopped in on Sheriff Gaines, who was drinking coffee at his desk.

  “You look lost,” the lawman said.

  “A saloon would help,” Clint said, “but no, I’m not lost. I need some names from you.”

  “Whose names?”

  “The owners of the saloons Stoll closed down.”

  “Why?”

  “I just want to talk to them,” Clint said. “I’m looking for anything that might help me shut Stoll down.”

  “Well, we had four saloons in town,” Gaines said. “I can write down the names of the owners.”

  “And where to find them.”

  “If they’re still here,” Gaines said. “I know two of them who said they were gonna move on and start over somewhere else.”

  “And did they?”

  “I don’t know,” Gaines said. “They might just be keepin’ their heads down.”

  He wrote their names with a pencil on the back of a wanted poster and handed it to Clint, who read the names aloud, along with the names of the saloons they owned.

  “Burke Hargrove, the Palace; Ed Cotton, the Red Door Saloon?” he looked at the sheriff.

  “Actually,” Gaines said, “it was the batwings that were red. Very strikin’.”

  “Bertrice Evans, the Little Queen.” Again, he looked at Gaines. “Beatrice? A woman?”

  “Nope,” the lawman said, “it’s a man.”

  “Bertrice?” Clint said, again.

  Gaines smiled. “Everybody just calls him Bert.”

  He looked at the last one. “Gator Jenkins?”

  “That’s his name.”

  “Doesn’t sound like somebody who likes to get pushed around.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  Clint read the name of the saloon. “The Whiskey River?”

  “That’s it. The biggest, baddest saloon in town-and the first to get closed down.”

  Clint had another thought.

  “What about whorehouses?”

  “There were two in town,” Gaines said. “Gator owned one, the other was owned and run by a woman named Daisy Fulton.”

  “Is she still in town?”

  “Yeah, she’s got a house on Elm Street.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “thanks for this. I’ll talk to all of them tomorrow—all that I can find, that is.”

  “Cup of coffee before you go?”

  “I just had—”

  “I can spike it.”

  “Okay.”

  Gaines poured two cups, then took a whiskey bottle from his desk and added a dollop to each cup. He handed one to Clint, who took it and remained standing.

  “Thanks. What I wouldn’t give for a beer, though.”

  He drank the coffee, which was only lukewarm.

  “Maybe,” Gaines said, “if you succeed in takin’ care of Stoll, we’ll both get a beer before this is over.”

  “Right.”

  Clint put the cup down on the desk.

  “Thanks for the drink.”

  “The bottle’s here anytime.” Gaines put it back in the drawer.

  Clint walked to the door, stopped there.

  “You hear anything from your ex-deputy?”

  “Nothin’ helpful,” Gaines said, “but I know he’s workin’ for Stoll.”

  “Does he believe in him?”

  Gaines shook his head.

  “With him, it’s just about money.”

  “Do you have any idea where Stoll’s money is coming from?” Clint asked.

  “Not a clue.”

  “Somebody’s got to be backing him,” Clint said. “Give it some thought, will you?”

  “Sure,” Gaines said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Clint nodded and left the man’s office.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Clint decided to talk to Gator first, Daisy second, and then he’d think about the others, but he wasn’t going to talk to any of them until the next day. So he went back to his hotel for the night to think about the questions he’d be asking tomorrow. What did he need to find out to get rid of Albert Stoll?

  ~*~

  Dan Erskine looked over the men who were gathered in the saloon. Grey, Miller, Cahill, several others. And Dooley was there, hauled out of his ugly girlfriend’s bed by Brent. Everybody had a full beer in front of them.

  “We’re nine,” Erskine said, “countin’ me.”

  “That’s plenty,” Cahill said.

  “Not enough,” Erskine said.

  “Jesus,” Miller complained, “how many do we need for one man?”

  “We need,” Erskine said, “one more.”

  “You got a particular one in mind?” Grey asked.

  “Yeah, he does,” Dooley said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Erskine looked at Dooley.

  “Where’s your cousin?”

  “See?” Dooley said to the others. “He didn’t want me
, he wants my cousin, Earl.” He looked at Erskine. “You had to haul me out of a warm bed for that?”

  “What the hell,” Brent said. “That girl was ugly as sin.’

  “She was warm,” Dooley said, “and meaty, and she had wet holes. That’s all I care about. I ain’t fussy.”

  “When we take care of Adams,” Erskine said, “you can go back to your girl. Now, where’s your cousin?”

  “He’s out there,” Dooley said, waving his arm, “somewhere.”

  “Can you find him?”

  “Sure.”

  “In one day?”

  “Yeah, I can.”

  “Then take Brent, and find him.”

  “Hey, why me?”

  Dooley looked at him. “You’re the one who dragged me out of bed. Why not?”

  “Erskine—”

  “Go,” Erskine said, “the two of you.”

  “In the dark?” Brent asked.

  “There’s a bright moon,” Erskine said.

  “Oh, come on,” Dooley said, standing up, “you ain’t afraid of the dark, are ya?”

  “I just don’t want to break my horse’s leg.”

  “We’ll get two nags,” Dooley said, “this way if they step in a chuckhole we just have to shoot ’em.”

  “And what if they fall on us—”

  “I know every rock and tree, Brent,” Dooley said. “Don’t worry.” He finished his beer, and put the mug down with a bang. “Come on!”

  Dooley went out the door the bartender opened for him, followed by Brent, and then the barkeep locked it, again.

  “What about the rest of us?” Cahill asked.

  “Just don’t go anywhere,” Erskine said. “Stay where I can find you at a moment’s notice.”

  “Like here?” Miller asked.

  “Yeah, like here,” Erskine said, “only don’t be drunk when I need ya.” He pointed at the bartender. “I’m countin’ on you to see to that.”

  The man waved, and nodded.

  “And where are you gonna be?” Grey asked.

  “Where else?” Erskine asked. “Back in the compound.”

  “So does the great man share any of his women with you?” Miller asked. “Just curious.”

  “No, he don’t,” Erskine said, but he didn’t tell them that might be changing, very soon.