The Gunsmith 424

by JR Roberts

  “Well,” Cahill said, “we didn’t hurt the kid all that much.”

  “You two tell the others not to get bored,” Erskine said. “And don’t you get bored again.”

  Miller looked out the window. They were in a barracks Stoll had built for them in the compound.

  “You know,” he said, “if Stoll would share some of these women—”

  “Damnit, Miller!” Erskine said. “Stop bein’ so stupid. Just go and make sure nobody else does anythin’ as stupid as you two.”

  Miller and Cahill walked to the door, then Cahill turned.

  “When are we goin’ after Adams?”

  “As soon as Dooley comes back with his cousin.”

  “Better be soon,” Cahill said, “if you don’ want anyone else to get bored.”

  They left.

  ~*~

  Clint went back to the doctor’s office just as the sawbones was finishing up with Tully. He had wrapped a bandage around his head, and was setting the scissors down.

  “How is he, Doc?”

  Doctor Henry Klinger turned and looked at Clint. He was in his fifties, and had been finishing up with a little boy who had broken his leg when they arrived.

  “He’s fine,” Klinger said. “He might be dizzy for a while, and there’s no permanent damage. It didn’t even need stitches.”

  “That’s good,” Clint said. “What do I owe you?”

  “A dollar,” the doctor said.

  Clint paid the man, and helped Tully outside.

  “I owe you a dollar,” Tully said.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  They started to walk, but Tully stopped.

  “Whew,” Tully said, “the doctor was right. I’m dizzy.”

  Clint took hold of his arm and they waited for the dizziness to pass.

  “Ready?” Clint asked.

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  They walked to the undertaker’s office and stopped just out front as Tully dug in his heels.

  “Want me to go in first?” Clint asked.

  “Maybe you better.”

  There was a chair near the door, so Clint sat Tully down, then went inside to look around. He made sure to lock the back door before leaving.

  “It’s empty.”

  “Just gimme a minute.”

  Clint sat down on the edge of the boardwalk to wait with him.

  ~*~

  Erskine entered Stoll’s residence and told the girl who had let him in, “I need to see him.”

  “I’ll tell Father.”

  “He’s not with ... anybody, is he?”

  “Not right now,” she said.

  “Good.”

  Erskine waited, and when Stoll entered the room he was fully dressed.

  “What’s on your mind, Erskine?” Stoll said. “Do you have all your men rounded up?”

  “All but one,” Erskine said.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Two of my men did somethin’ stupid, out of boredom.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They roughed up the kid, Tully,” Erskine said. “Busted up a few coffins.”

  “Why’d they do that?”

  “Like I said, they got bored.”

  “Well, get control of them,” Stoll said. “Make sure they stay in line, or they don’t get paid.”

  “I’ll make them understand that.”

  “Let me know when you’re at full strength,” Stoll said. “Adams is going around talking to people.”

  “What harm will that do?”

  “I don’t know,” Stoll said, “but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “So you want him killed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t I just plug him from behind at night?” Erskine asked.

  “Because somebody might show up wanting to know who did it, and why,” Stoll said. “But if he’s gunned down in the street—well, that’s the kind of life he lives, isn’t it?”

  “Okay,” Erskine said, “in the street. Fair and square.”

  Stoll laughed.

  “Ten against one? You call that fair?”

  “When the one is the Gunsmith?” Erskine said. “That’s the only way it can be fair.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  When Tully was able to stand, he decided he would rather go home then go back into the office. Clint walked him all the way to his grandfather’s house, and made sure he got inside safely.

  “Take it easy and I’ll check on you later,” Clint said.

  “Thanks, Clint,” Tully said. “I appreciate it.”

  “And keep your doors locked, and your gun handy, just in case.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Tully said, “I’m not gonna let this happen to me again.”

  “Lewis,” Clint said, “neither am I.”

  Tully went inside, and Clint turned and headed back to town.

  ~*~

  Sheriff Gaines was coming out of his office when Clint walked up to him.

  “I’m telling you right now,” Clint said, “I’m going after Stoll. No question.”

  “What happened?”

  “A couple of his men broke into the undertaker’s and attacked Tully,” Clint said. “They almost cracked his head open.”

  “Two men?”

  “He doesn’t know, he never saw them.”

  “Then how do you know how any of them there were?”

  “I don’t,” Clint said, “and I don’t care.”

  “And how do you know they work for Stoll?”

  “Come on, Gaines,” Clint said, “the kid buried Aggie. Who else do you think would send somebody after him?”

  “I can’t go and arrest the man without proof,” Gaines said. “Is that what you want me to do?”

  “No, I don’t want you to arrest him,” Clint said. “I’m going to take care of him and his men myself.”

  “Well, I was just comin’ to find you.”

  “Why?”

  “To warn you,” Gaines said. “The disciples are going to be ten strong when they come for you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I got the word from somebody who was there when they were recruitin’,” Gaines said.

  “Are they ready?” Clint asked, “Loaded?”

  “They’re waitin’ for one more man,” Gaines said, “and from what I hear, he might be good enough to do the job alone.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know that, yet, but I wanted to warn you as soon as possible.”

  “I appreciate it,” Clint said, “but this feller better be as good as you say.”

  “I can’t be a judge,” Gaines said, “because I don’t know who it is. When I do know, maybe I’ll be able to have an opinion.”

  “Well, I wanted to tell you what happened,” Clint said, “and that I blame Stoll.”

  “I guess I can’t talk you out of that.”

  “Not in a million years,” Clint answered. “People like Stoll just get my goat. They think they can do or say anything they want and not pay the consequences. Well, he’s going to find out he’s wrong.”

  “I don’t know how you expect to be able to face Stoll and ten of his disciples,” Gaines said. “I mean, even if I suddenly decide to stand behind my badge, that would only be two of us.”

  “Maybe three,” a voice said.

  They both turned and saw Gator Jenkins standing there. For a big man he had come up on them very quietly.

  “I been hearin’ what the sheriff’s been hearin’,” Gator said. “Ten against one just doesn’t sound right.” He was not wearing a gun, but was holding a shotgun.

  “Is that your weapon of choice?” Clint asked.

  “At least with this I have a chance of hittin’ what I shoot at,” Gator said. “I’m better close up, with my hands.”

  “However you want to play it,” Clint said, “I’m glad to have you on my side.”

  “I’m not so much on your side as I‘m against Stoll,” Gato
r said.

  “Like I said, whatever you have to tell yourself,” Clint said.

  “You’re both crazy,” Gaines said.

  “You can make your decision at the last minute, Sheriff,” Clint said, “but you’re going to have to pick a side.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Gaines said. “By warnin’ you I probably already have.”

  “So how do you wanna do this?” Gator asked. “Go to the compound and start shootin’?”

  “No,” Clint said, “there are too many innocent people there. The sheriff says they’re still waiting for the tenth man to show up. Maybe what we should do is not wait.”

  “Force them into action?” Gator asked. “Sounds good. You got any other help?”

  “I talked with Daisy Fulton, but I don’t think we can expect her to take an active role.”

  “No,” Gator said. “Who else?”

  “The new undertaker, Lew Tully,” Clint said. “They broke in on him last night and hit him on the head. He’s pretty mad.”

  “But he’s an undertaker,” Gator said.

  “He’s got a gun,” Clint said.

  “Well,” Gator said, “maybe he’s a better shot than I am.”

  “We need to talk about it,” Clint said. “I told Tully I’d check in with him later. Maybe you should come along.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “What about Father Paul?” Gaines asked.

  “The priest?” Gator asked.

  “He’s got a score to settle with Stoll,” Clint said, “but I don’t know if he’ll pick up a gun.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” Gator said.

  “Right,” Clint said, “let’s go ask him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “You want me to use a gun?” Father Paul asked.

  “I’m asking you,” Clint said, “if you would use one. Otherwise, how do you think you can help us?”

  Father Paul looked at Gator. “I know you.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “Have you come to my church?” Father Paul asked.

  “No,” Gator said, “but you’ve come to mine.”

  “Now I remember,” Father Paul said. ”The Whiskey.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well,” the priest said, “every once in a while it takes more than sacrificial wine to get through the day.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Gator said.

  They were inside the priest’s house; the furnishings were as spare as they could possibly be. It was all rather depressing.

  “Father,” Clint said, ”the word going around town is that Stoll is sending ten of his disciples after me.”

  “Ten?” Father Paul said. ”That’s ludicrous.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Clint said.

  “Why don’t you just leave town?” Father Paul asked.

  “There’s a couple of reasons,” Clint said. “First, it’s bad enough I have the reputation I have, but if I start running from fights it’d be even worse. And second, I’m not leaving until I’ve freed this town of Albert Stoll’s influence.”

  “Well,” Father Patrick said, “I’m in total agreement with you, there.”

  Clint was impressed by Father Paul’s demeanor. The man seemed to have stopped drinking, completely.

  “Not since before the burial,” Father Paul said.

  “What?”

  “You were wondering when I had my last drink,” the priest said. “Since before Aggie was buried. I decided I needed to be thinking more clearly.”

  “And what has thinking more clearly brought you?” Clint asked.

  “I told you at Aggie Kimball’s grave that if you needed my help, you should ask for it.”

  “And I’m asking.”

  “But I won’t pick up a gun.”

  “Well then,” Clint said, “I’m afraid you’re not very helpful to me, Father.”

  “I’m sorry,” Father Paul said. “I’m against everything that Stoll stands for, but that doesn’t mean I can kill him.”

  “I suppose not,” Clint said.

  “Perhaps we can figure out another way that I may help, if we talk about it.”

  “Well, there’s one more person to be included in this conversation,” Clint said. “If you want you can come along with us.”

  “Why not?” the priest asked. “I’m not accomplishing anything here.”

  ~*~

  Together the three men walked to Lew Tully’s grandfather’s house.

  “I knew Mr. Tully,” Father Paul said. “I’m sorry that when he died I was unable to give him a proper funeral.”

  “You can tell that to his grandson, Lew,” Clint said. “Did you know him before he left town to go back East?”

  “No,” Father Paul said, “I moved to Winslow after that.”

  Clint looked at Gator.

  “I knew the old man, too, but I also came here after the kid left.”

  They approached the front door and Clint knocked. It was opened by a tired looking Tully.

  “Lew, this is Gator Jenkins, and Father Paul,” Clint said. “We’re here to talk over what’s to be done about Stoll. Do you think you’re up for it?”

  “Come on in,” Tully said. “I was making a pot of coffee, but I’ll make a bigger one.”

  He showed the three men into the parlor of the neatly furnished home.

  “Very nice,” Father Paul said.

  “My grandfather had good taste.”

  “He was a good man,” Father Paul said. “I’m sorry I was unable to give him a proper funeral.”

  “That’s all right,” Tully said. “I’ll be right back. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  There was a sofa and two chairs. Father Paul took one chair, Gator the other. That left half the sofa for Clint. After some minutes Tully came back with a tray and four mugs of coffee.

  “I was able to squeeze out four,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Clint said, and the others only nodded. ”How’s your head?”

  Tully touched the bandage and said, “Sore, but it’ll feel better if we get Stoll.”

  “Gaines had some news for me today,” Clint said. “Stoll is sending ten disciples for me.”

  “Ten? That’s crazy!”

  “I thought so, too.”

  Tully looked at Gator. “Are you going to help him?”

  “We all are,” Father Paul said.

  “You, Father?” Tully said. “But you’re a priest.”

  “I know what I’m supposed to be,” Father Paul said, “but how can I be a priest without a church? And Albert Stoll took that away from me.”

  “So we’re going to get it back,” Clint said. “We’re going to get back your church, get back Gator’s saloon, and get the town back on its feet.”

  “By doin’ what?” Father Paul asked. “Killing ten men?”

  “Eleven,” Gator corrected, “counting Stoll.”

  “What?” Father Paul said.

  “No,” Clint said, “no, we’re going to do it without killing eleven men—”

  “Good!” Father Paul said.

  “—if we can,” Clint finished.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Dooley entered the barracks, looked at Erskine, lying on his bunk.

  “So?” Erskine asked.

  “He’s at the saloon, with Brent and the others.”

  “It’s about time.” Erskine swung his feet to the floor, pulled on his boots, then stood up and strapped on his gun. ”Okay, let’s go.”

  They left the barracks and walked quickly across the compound.

  “Where you off to, Erskine?” Brenda asked, at the gate.

  Erskine knew he had to be careful. Whatever he said, she’d take it back to Stoll.

  “I’ve got some business in town,” he said. “I’ll be back in a while.”

  “That’s good,” she said, “because Father will be lookin’ for you, in a while.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Brenda was wearing a tight dress,
and Dooley tripped over his own feet, trying to get a good look at her. She smiled at him and blew a kiss, which made him trip, again.

  Erskine slapped him in the back of the head and said, “Get yourself straight!”

  “Yeah, yeah ... ” Dooley said.

  They went through the gate and headed for town.

  ~*~

  “We have to keep our eyes open,” Clint said.

  “For somebody trying to kill you?” Tully asked.

  “For anybody we recognize as one of Stoll disciples.”

  “More like acolytes,” Father Paul said.

  “What’s the difference?” Gator asked.

  “A disciple is a student,” Father Paul told him, “while an acolyte is a follower, usually of a religious leader.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “whatever they’re called, we need to watch for them.”

  “I wouldn’t recognize any of them,” Tully said.

  “How about from boot hill?” Clint asked.

  “Well,” Tully said, “maybe one or two.”

  “That’s all you need.” He looked at Gator and Father Paul. “How about you two?”

  “Sure,” Father Paul said, “they came to my church on more than one occasion, to intimidate my people.”

  “Same thing with my saloon.”

  “And your whorehouse?” Father Paul asked.

  “Yes,” Gator said, “and my whorehouse.”

  “Okay, okay,” Clint said, “let’s keep our focus.”

  “Why don’t we just go out to the compound?” Tully asked. “They’re bound to be there.”

  “I think Erskine and his men are in this for money,” Clint said. “That means they won’t want to spend so much time at the compound. There’s got to be someplace else they spend time.”

  “Normally, that’d be a saloon,” Gator said.

  “It may still be a saloon,” Clint said. “One that only serves them.”

  “You think there’s a saloon operatin’ somewhere in town, in secret?” Gator asked.

  “I do,” Clint said. “These men are drinkers, they have to be drinking somewhere.” Clint looked at Gator. “Is that something you can find out?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Gator said.

  “Meanwhile, if we spot a disciple or a acolyte or whatever, we follow them. Maybe they’ll lead us to where they meet. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Tully said.

  “Sure,” Gator said. “I’ll try to find out another way, but if I see one of them, I’ll follow ’im.”