They found several campfires while riding north, which influenced them to keep going.
“When do we change our minds?” Starkweather asked, two days later.
“Forbes said it was several days’ ride,” Clint said. “We’ll give it another day.”
They had stopped in one small town to refresh their supplies—coffee and beans only, because they were traveling light.
They camped their second night out, built a fire, and had something to eat.
“What if they went to Arizona?” Starkweather asked.
“Then we’ll go to Arizona.”
“We’re not exactly tracking them, are we?”
“No,” Clint said, “we’re too far behind them to track them—unless there was something distinctive in their tracks. If that’s the case, and we find their hideout, we might learn about it there.”
“What’s the original Hole-in-the-Wall like?”
“Lots of different gangs,” Clint said, “all with their own supplies.”
“What if this one’s the same way?”
“Then they’ll see us coming,” Clint said. “If that happens, I’ll be awful glad that you’re wearing a badge that doesn’t catch the sun.”
TWENTY
It was their third day out from Lost Mesa. Late, almost dusk.
“Wait,” Clint said. “Stop.”
“What is it?”
“Something . . . Stay here.”
Clint rode ahead at a slow pace, raking the ground with his eyes.
“What do you see?” Starkweather called.
Clint turned Eclipse so he could look at Starkweather.
“A trail,” Clint said, “or a path worn into the ground. You see it?”
Starkweather stared at the ground, then looked ahead. He was about to say no when it came into focus for him. “I see it.”
Clint rode back to Starkweather’s side, and turned Eclipse so they were facing the right way. There it was—faint, but there.
“Up there,” he said, pointing at the foothills ahead of them.
“Not the mountains?”
Clint shook his head.
“Outlaws are lazy,” he said. “If there’s a canyon in there, it’s in among the foothills.”
“And it might be filled with outlaws.”
“Probably not.”
“Why?”
“They would have spotted us by now,” Clint said. “Probably would have taken a shot at us, too.”
“Maybe they’re waiting for us to get closer,” Starkweather said.
“Well,” Clint said, “we better not keep them waiting.”
They found it. There was a fissure in among the hills that was wide enough for them to walk their horses through. Once they got inside the canyon, they found a cabin—just one.
“This is no Hole-in-the-Wall,” Clint said. “One cabin, no corrals.”
“And nobody around,” Starkweather said.
“Let’s take a closer look,” Clint said.
They mounted up and rode closer.
There were plenty of tracks outside the cabin. Inside there was some worn-out furniture, including a wobbly table that the gang probably ate on. The stove was serviceable, if you had the makings of a fire.
They both walked around the one-room cabin, trying to find something helpful. Starkweather bent over and picked something up.
“What’d you get?” Clint asked.
“These paper bands from the bank,” Starkweather said. “So the money was here.”
“They made their split here,” Clint said. “Took the bags with them, and most of the bands.”
“They sure didn’t leave anything else behind.”
“This doesn’t look like a regular hideout,” Clint said. “I think they found this place and decided to use it after the robbery. Make their split, maybe spend a few days lying low.”
“When they left, they wouldn’t leave all at once, right?”
“Right,” Clint said. “Nate would give them all instructions about where to meet up with him.”
“How come there are no tracks on the floor?” Starkweather asked.
“Over there, in the corner.”
Starkweather looked, saw a broom leaning against the wall.
“They swept up after themselves?”
“Took care of any footprints. Come outside with me. Bring the broom.”
Clint stepped out. Starkweather grabbed the broom and followed.
Look.” Clint took the broom and ran his palms over the bristles. His hand came away covered with dust and some dirt.
“They swept outside, too?” Starkweather asked.
“Wanted to cover not only their tracks, but their horses’, too.” He handed the broom back. “But I’m betting they missed some.”
“Where?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out, and before it gets dark.”
“Where do we look?”
“I’m going to look. You go and find some wood. We’re going to spend the night, and we’ll need a fire.”
“Okay.”
Starkweather set the broom aside, leaning it against the wall. He mounted up and rode off while Clint started walking around the outside of the cabin.
TWENTY-ONE
Starkweather returned with plenty of wood. They chose to build the fire inside the oven, thinking it might last longer that way, require less wood to keep it going all night. However, if they did need more, Clint figured they could break up the furniture and use the pieces.
Clint cooked, and soon the cabin was filled with the smell of bacon and beans.
“You find anything we can use outside?” Starkweather asked.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Depends on how many people have used this cabin,” he said. “I was behind the cabin when I decided to take a look a little farther away.”
“What’d you find?”
“I found a hole somebody was using as a privy. I found some tracks from somebody who needs a new pair of boots. His left heel is worn down on one side. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t walking with a limp.”
“Because of it?” Starkweather asked. “Or was it worn down because he limps?”
“Good point,” Clint said, “Either way it’s something we can use, if he’s one of Nate’s gang.”
Starkweather made a face.
“Is this all you ever eat on the trail?” he groused. “Beans and bacon?”
“No,” Clint said, “sometimes I eat plain beans, sometimes plain bacon. If I took a packhorse with me everyplace I went, I’d have more of a variety of food to eat, but I like to travel light, kid.”
“Just convinces me even more that I don’t want to spend my life on the trail.”
“Got some place you want to settle down yet?” Clint asked.
“No,” Starkweather said, “I’m just talking.”
“Think you’ll return to the East?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you could just go back to Danner and keep the job.”
“That’s one way to go,” Starkweather said, “but I don’t know how I’ll feel about being a lawman after all this.”
“You’ve got time to make up your mind.”
“Because I’m young?”
“No, because it’ll take us a while to catch up with your d—I mean, with Nate and his gang.”
Clint cleaned off the plates and utensils when they were done, then made another pot of coffee.
“How about some two-handed poker?” he asked, when they were once again seated across from each other.
Starkweather looked sheepish, then said, “I, uh, never really learned how to play poker.”
“Is that a fact?” Clint took a worn deck of cards from his saddlebags. “Well, you can’t very well survive in the West if you don’t know how to play poker. We’ll start with five-card stud.”
Clint dealt the cards.
“These are certainly worn out,” Starkweather said, picking them up.
> “I play a lot of solitaire when I’m alone on the trail,” Clint said. “I’m sure you do the same.”
Starkweather looked sheepish again.
“Damn, boy, but your education surely is lacking.”
By morning they had each slept four hours, and Starkweather had learned how to play both solitaire and poker. In fact, Starkweather was sitting up playing solitaire when the sun came out. That was his signal to put the cards down and make a pot of coffee. When the coffee was ready, he went over and nudged Clint.
“Time to get up.”
“I’m up.”
Clint got to his feet, rolled up his blanket, then came to the table for coffee.
“Black jack on red queen,” he said.
“I got it.”
Starkweather finished the game while they drank coffee, then Clint said he’d go outside and see to the horses.
By the time he walked the horses around to the front of the cabin, Starkweather was there with their saddlebags and rifles.
Once they were mounted, they sat there for a moment.
“Where to now?” Starkweather asked. “We didn’t find anything that would tell us where they’re headed.”
“I don’t think they’d keep going north,” Clint said. “Rough terrain, and outlaws—like I said—are lazy.”
“So?”
“So we go to Arizona, kid,” Clint said. “Ever been to Arizona?”
“No.”
“Then don’t look so glum,” Clint said.
TWENTY-TWO
“I’ve got to tell you,” Starkweather said as they rode into the town of Fenton City, Arizona. “I never expected you to stick with me this long.”
“Five weeks since we left Labyrinth,” Clint said. “You think that’s a long time?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Clint said, “when you’re twenty years old. To me, though, it’s not long at all.”
“Still,” Starkweather said. “Long time for you to be minding somebody else’s business.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“We’ve been riding through Arizona for two weeks,” Starkweather said. “What if they’re not even in the state anymore.”
“We haven’t heard anything about their kind of job being pulled,” Clint said. “No robberies, no banks, or stagecoaches. They’re still in Arizona, Dan. They don’t have any reason to leave. They’re not wanted here.”
“So what are they doing?”
“My bet is they’re scoping out a job, waiting for the right time to pull it,” Clint said. “When they do, we’ll hear about it.”
“So what do we do until then?”
“What we’ve been doing,” Clint said.
“Visiting your friends?” Starkweather said. “You sure know a lot of people. So far I’ve met a newspaper publisher, a store owner, a rancher—a pretty rancher—and a saloon owner. Who is it this time?”
“Somebody who actually might be able to help us,” Clint said. “A lawman.”
“The town sheriff?”
Clint nodded.
“Tom Dockery,” he said. “Been the law here for about three years. Before that he was a deputy federal marshal. A lot of inmates in Yuma have him to thank.”
“Why settle this close to the prison, then?” Starkweather asked. “So he can track escapees?”
“He does that, sure, but I don’t think that was his goal. He was just looking for a place to settle, and when he found this town, it was growing.”
Starkweather looked around. “Looks like it might still be growing.”
They dismounted in front of one of the town’s two hotels, went in, and got two rooms.
“Your friend the sheriff, he going to make a comment about my badge?”
“Probably,” Clint said. “Hey, you knew what you were doing when you decided to wear an iron badge. If it bothers you, then start wearing tin.”
Starkweather’s attitude had softened with each week they rode together. Lately, their relationship had become sort of big brother-little brother.
“I’m not going to wear tin,” he muttered.
“Then don’t complain when somebody makes a comment,” Clint said, flicking the iron badge with a fingernail.
He handed Starkweather his key. “Take the horses over to the livery.”
“It’s your turn,” Starkweather argued.
“No, it’s your turn,” Clint said. “I did it last time.”
“No, I did it last time.”
“You sure? Go on,” Clint said. “Get going.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll drop your gear off in your room for you, and then I’ll go and see Tom. You meet me at the sheriff’s office, and then we’ll get something to eat.”
“Okay,” Starkweather said. “Fine. But if that monster of yours tries to bite me . . .”
Actually, Starkweather and Eclipse had formed a good relationship. The big Darley hadn’t tried to bite him in weeks.
Clint walked into the sheriff’s office without knocking. Tom Dockery had his back to the door as he pinned some wanted poster to a board on the wall. He was wearing his gun.
“Back to the door, Dock,” Clint said. “That’s not good.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” Dockery said. “I knew you were in town before you even got off your horse.”
“That a fact?”
Dockery turned around and grinned at Clint. The two men closed on each other and shook hands.
“Been a while,” Clint said.
“Yeah, what? Two years? Last time you were here?” Dockery asked.
“Well, since you hardly ever leave this place, it’d have to be here, right?”
“Town looks pretty good, right?” Dockery asked.
“It looks okay. And you look pretty good. Younger than when I last saw you, I think.”
“Hey, fifty is young,” Dockery said. He backed up a few feet. “You look fit. Still on the trail?”
“Still riding.”
“Heard you rode in with somebody.”
“Yeah, a kid named Dan Starkweather,” Clint said. “Wears a badge out of Kansas.”
“Starkweather?” Dockery said. “Not kin to Nate Starkweather, is he?”
“His son.”
“And he wears a badge?”
“That’s right.”
“What are you doing with him?”
“He’s trying to find his father.”
“What for?”
“To bring him in,” Clint said.
Dockery looked surprised. “Why are you helping him?”
“Because he was smart enough to ask for help,” Clint said. “And if I don’t, he’ll end up dead.”
“That’s just like you, ain’t it?” Dockery asked. “Minding everybody else’s business.”
“Seems like I minded yours once or twice.”
“Hey, I’m not complainin’,” the lawman said. “You saved my life enough times for me to be grateful you were mindin’ my business. So, what can I do for you? Far as I know Starkweather and his gang ain’t wanted in Arizona.”
“No, they’re not,” Clint said, “but maybe there’s some word about them being seen.”
“I haven’t heard that from any other law in the state,” Dockery said.
“Maybe you could send some telegrams?” Clint said. “Ask around?”
“You gonna be in town long enough to get the answers?” Dockery asked.
“We could use a couple of days on real beds,” Clint said.
“I guess I can send a few telegrams, then,” Dockery said. “Got time for a steak?”
“As soon as the kid gets here,” Clint said. “He’s meeting me here.”
“Great,” Dockery said. “What kind of lawman is he?”
“The kind who’s still learning,” Clint said. “The kind who wants to learn.”
“Well then,” Dockery said, “I guess he couldn’t be ridin’ with a better man, could he?”
“Well,” Cli
nt said, “I guess he could do worse.”
TWENTY-THREE
“Want some coffee?” Dockery asked.
“You still making it weak?”
“Naw,” Dockery said, “I finally learned how to make real coffee.”
He went to the stove and came back with two cups and the pot. When he poured it out, it was black as sludge.
“Looks good,” Clint said.
Dockery sat behind his desk just as the door opened and Starkweather walked in.
“Sheriff Dan Starkweather,” Clint said, “this is Sheriff Tom Dockery.”
“Glad to meet you, Sheriff,” Starkweather said.
Dockery shook hands with Starkweather, and the badge caught his eye.
“An iron badge,” Dockery said. “That sounds like a good idea.”
Starkweather looked at Clint.
“I didn’t mention it,” he said, spreading his hands.
“Does it get heavy?” Dockery asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Well,” Dockery said, “I guess they all get heavy, sometime. Come on, who wants a steak?”
“I want a thick one,” Starkweather said.
“Me, too,” Clint said.
“Good,” Dockery said, grabbing his hat. “Follow me.”
Dockery led them to a nearby restaurant.
“Best place in town to eat,” he said. “Only opened a few months ago. I know the owner.”
When they walked in, a handsome woman with blond hair came walking over with a smile on her face. The smile transformed her, made her beautiful.
“Thanks for bringing me more customers, Tom,” she said.
“Justine Thorn, this is my friend Clint Adams and his friend Dan Starkweather.”
“I’m happy to meet you both,” Justine said.
“The place looks busy,” Dockery said.
“Always a table for the law, Tom,” she said. “Come on.”
She showed them to a table in the rear.
“Enjoy your dinners. Take my advice and have the steak.”
“That’s what we’re here for, Justine,” Dockery said.
“Welcome to town, gents,” she said. “Your waiter will be right with you.”
“Did Clint tell you who I am?” Starkweather asked.
“Sure,” Dockery said. “Who you are and what you’re doin’.”
The Man with the Iron Badge Page 6
