“Yeah, I noticed them come in. They don’t look happy. Big Ed’s men?”
“That’s right.”
“And what are they so mad about?”
“Big Ed’s dead.”
“Oh,” the judge said. “That’s too bad. And they think Adams killed him?”
“Yes, sir.”
The judge looked at Adams.
“Didja?”
“No, sir.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Don’t know that I have to, Judge.”
Now the judge looked at Yatesman.
“What exactly is the problem you want me to address, Pete?”
“Well . . . Adams won’t come along peaceable.
“You got evidence that says he killed Ed Kennedy?” the jurist asked.
“Well, not exactly.”
“What do you have, Sheriff?”
Yatesman told the judge he’d ridden out to the house, saw Big Ed in his house where his foreman had found him, shot. He and some of the hands had heard the shot and had come running. The foreman, Arnie Coleman, said the old man had told him he was going to hire the Gunsmith to clear up the trouble between him and his fellow ranchers.
“And did he?” the judge asked.
“I don’t know, Judge.”
“Son, did Big Ed try to hire you?”
“I’ve never met Big Ed, Judge,” Clint said. “If he wanted to hire me, I didn’t know anything about it. Maybe he made that decision when he heard I was in town.”
“But he never sent for you?”
“No, sir.”
“Pete, anybody see Adams out there?”
“Well, no . . .”
“Judge,” Clint said, “what if one of the other ranchers heard that Kennedy wanted to hire me and sent in a man pretending to be me to kill Kennedy when they were alone?”
The judge looked at Yatesman.
“That make sense to you, Sheriff?”
“It’s possible, I guess, but Adams can’t prove that.”
“T’aint his job to prove it,” the judge said. “It’s yours. I suggest you get those ranch hands out of here and go find some evidence before you try to arrest this man.”
“But, Judge,” Yatesman said, “I’m just barely holdin’ those men back. I think Mr. Adams would be safer in my jail.”
The judge looked at Clint.
“What do you think of that suggestion, son?” he asked.
“I think it stinks,” Clint said. “In a cell with no gun I’d be a dead man.”
“I agree with him, Peter,” the judge said. “Move those men out of here.”
“What if they won’t go?”
“Then arrest every last one of ‘em!” the judge said impatiently.
“You know,” Yatesman said, standing up, “this is exactly why I been askin’ for the money to hire me some deputies.”
“Is that a fact?” the judge asked. “Well, there’s the mayor over there. Why don’t you ask him for the money? In fact, why don’t you just bring the whole dang poker game over here to this table so we can have a damned town council meetin’ on the subject right now?”
Yatesman stared at the judge for a few moments, until he realized the man wasn’t being serious.
“Awww . . .” he said, turned and walked to the men at the bar.
“Thanks, Judge,” Clint said.
“Don’t thank me, young feller,” the man said. “I’m only sidin’ with you on this because you’ve got all my money. If it wasn’t for that, I’d be sidin’ with the law.”
“Why?” Clint asked. “The law’s got no right to put me in a cell.”
“The law’s got every right to do what it wants if I say so,” the judge said.
“Well then, if you did that, you’d be putting the sheriff into an awful position.”
“How’s that?”
“He’d have to try to take my gun from me.”
“And you’d resist?”
“I would.”
“And those eight men tried to gun ya here and now, you’d fight back?”
“I would,” Clint said.
“You’d get killed.”
“So would a lot of them,” Clint said, “and so would a lot of innocent people—maybe you, or the mayor. Maybe both. That wouldn’t be very good for the town, would it?”
“Blast the town,” the judge said. “It wouldn’t be so damn good for me, neither.”
They both looked over at the bar. The men were protesting, but it looked as if the sheriff was getting them closer to the door.
“You up for continuing our game?” the judge asked.
“Sure, why not? If you’re not afraid of catching a stray piece of lead.”
“I’m more afraid of not gettin’ my money back.”
Both men stood up and walked back to the poker game, reclaimed their seats.
“Damn well about time,” the mayor said. “This feller’s got all my money, Judge, and I can’t get it back if the two of you are gonna go off and—”
“Gents,” the judge said, cutting the mayor off, “I think I’ve got a mighty good reason for suggestin’ we raise the stakes a little.”
FOUR
They raised the stakes, and while they played the judge relayed the little problem they seemed to have to the other players. At the same time he introduced Clint to the other men.
“That sour-lookin’ feller is our mayor, Walter Patton. We all just call him Mayor. That feller is Delbert Chambers, and this here is Ben Lawson. Ben, what do you do?”
“I open for ten,” Lawson said.
“Call,” the judge said. “The four of us have been in this town for over thirty years. In fact, the four of us pretty much built this town and we been the town council all these years.”
“Are you a real judge?” Clint asked. “I raise.”
“That I am, son,” the judge said. “My name’s Curtis.”
“Judge Curtis? No first name?”
The man grinned around a slim cigar.
“My first name’s Judge,” he said, “and any man at this table tried to say different will have to deal with me.”
The other three men said nothing.
“Delbert, there, he’s a lawyer. Delbert, what do you do?”
“Call.”
“Mayor?”
“I call.”
“And Ben, he’s a bookkeeper. Keeps the town’s books, among others. Ben?” the judge asked.
“I call.”
“So we’re sittin’ here playin’ poker with the Gunsmith,” Delbert Chambers said, “while there are eight angry men outside wantin’ to pump him full of lead?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Goddamn it,” Ben Lawson said, “if I was thirty years younger and fifty pounds lighter, I’d get the hell out of this chair and outta the line of fire.”
In fact, Clint noticed that all four men were in their sixties and—except for the mayor—were carrying plenty of extra weight around their middles.
“Can I ask you gents something?” Clint asked.
“You can if we can keep playin’ while you ask,” Chambers said. “I’ll take three cards, Judge.”
The judge dealt him three.
“Did you all know Ed Kennedy?” Clint asked. “And the other ranchers he was fighting with? I’ll take two.”
“Oh hell, yes,” the mayor answered. “We all know each other. Those old bastards have been fighting for years.”
“Friendly rivals,” Clint asked, “or would one of them hire a gunman to kill the other?”
“In a heartbeat,” Chambers said. “Only reason they’re not tryin’ to kill each other is they’re too old to get on a horse anymore. Too old to go out in a blaze of glory. Yeah, they’d hire it done.”
“You sure Big Ed didn’t try to hire you?” Lawson asked. “Two cards.”
“I’m sure,” Clint said. “I have never met the man.”
“Sure seems funny,” Chambers said.
“Whaddaya g
onna do, Adams?” Lawson asked.
“I’m going to sit here and play poker.”
“Pretty brave,” Mayor Patton said. “I was you, I’d get on my horse and get out of this town—this county. I’ll take one card.”
“I walk out that door somebody’s liable to take a shot at me,” Clint said. “Right now I’m safer in here, sitting with you gents. I don’t figure anybody’s going to want to shoot up the town council.”
All four men laughed and the judge said, “You’ve never been to one of our meetings.”
“Folks are yellin’ at us all the time,” Delbert Chambers said.
“Take a shot at one of us in a minute, if they thought they could get away with it,” Ben Lawson said, chuckling.
“Well,” Clint said, “somebody took a shot at Ed Kennedy and it wasn’t me. I’m going to sit right here until I can figure a safe way out.”
“Well, I gotta tell ya,” Chambers said, “I agree with you. You go into a cell without your gun and you’re a dead man. I bet twenty.”
“Naw,” Lawson said, “be best to put yourself in the sheriff’s care until he can find out who killed Big Ed.”
“And what if everybody just decides that I did it?” Clint asked.
“Well then,” Lawson said, “Delbert here would defend you in the judge’s court.”
“And the judge would listen to all the evidence and decide whether or not you should go to trial,” Chambers said.
“I call,” was all the judge said.
Clint looked around the table. He sure hoped all of these men were better at their jobs than they were at poker.
“Sorry,” Clint said, “I pass.”
“In this hand?” Chambers asked.
“On putting myself in the sheriff’s care.”
“Can’t blame you for that,” Mayor Patton said.
“Don’t start that again,” the judge said.
“Start what?” Clint asked. “I raise twenty.”
“Fold,” Lawson said. “Our esteemed mayor doesn’t think Yatesman’s doin’ the job. He’s been wantin’ to replace the man for a long time.”
“And why haven’t you?”
“Can’t fire him without a majority vote of the council,” Patton said. “I call.”
“And there isn’t one?”
“No,” Chambers said. “Call. I think Yatesman’s doin’ his job.”
“I call,” the judge said.
“Full house,” Clint said.
“Again?” Chambers complained, throwing his two pair down.
“Maybe we should put Mr. Adams in a cell,” Lawson said.
“Not while he’s got my money,” the judge said. He looked at Clint. “Deal.”
FIVE
“Why don’t we offer Adams, here, the job?” Lawson asked.
“What job?” Clint asked, shuffling the cards.
“Sheriff,” Lawson said. “You fellas can’t tell me you wouldn’t rather have the Gunsmith as sheriff instead of Pete Yatesman.”
“Pete Yatesman wouldn’t attract gunslingers to town,” Chambers said. “Adams would.”
“And are you proposing he investigates his own involvement in Ed Kennedy’s death?” Patton asked.
“Hold on,” Clint said. “I’ve got something to say about this. I am not involved in Ed Kennedy’s death, and I don’t want the job as sheriff.”
He dealt out the cards for another hand of draw poker.
“Doesn’t matter what you say, son,” the judge commented. “The word is out there. There’s folks who are gonna believe you did it.”
“What the hell kind of system of justice is that?” Clint asked.
“That’s the only one we got in town,” the judge said. “Come on, Ben, don’t make us ask you every time.”
“I open for five . . .”
It was late afternoon and Clint was getting hungry.
“They serve food in this saloon?” he asked the table.
“Nope,” Chambers said.
“We can send out for somethin’, though,” the judge said. “I mean, if you just don’t want to leave the saloon.”
“Yeah,” Patton said, “then we can keep playin’.”
“That sounds good,” Clint said.
“Sandwiches okay?” the judge asked.
“Sandwiches are fine.”
“Sammy?” the judge shouted.
The bartender came running.
“Yeah, Judge.”
“Where’s Joby?”
“In the back.”
“Send him to the café for some sandwiches.”
“What kind, Judge?”
The judge looked at Clint.
“All kinds,” he said.
“You heard the man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” the judge said, “who deals?”
Half an hour later a boy about ten came in carrying a wicker basket. He carried it to the poker table.
“Thank you, Joby,” the judge said.
“You got to pay,” Joby said.
“Mr. Adams,” the judge said, “since you’re the only one ahead, how about you buy lunch for the table?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
He gave the boy the money for the food, then tipped him four bits.
“Thanks, mister!”
The kid ran out.
“Great,” Patton said, “now we’ll have to do that all the time.”
“You ruined him,” Lawson said.
“Hey,” Clint said, “even a kid’s got to make a livin’.”
They left the basket on the floor and passed sandwiches around. Clint ended up with meat loaf. It was better than anything he’d had at the café, except for breakfast.
While they were eating the batwings opened and the sheriff walked in. He came right to the table.
“Hey, Sheriff,” the judge said. “Have a sandwich?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He bent over, pulled out a sandwich. Turkey.
“Sammy?” the judge shouted.
“Yeah, Judge.”
“Five beers.”
“Comin’ up.”
“Thanks, Judge,” the sheriff said.
“Don’t thank me,” the judge said. “Thank Mr. Adams. He’s buyin’ lunch.”
The sheriff stopped chewing, then shrugged and continued. The bartender came over with the five beers and set them on the table.
Clint said, “I guess you better start me a tab, Sammy.”
The bartender looked at the judge, who nodded.
“Sure thing,” the barman said and went back to the bar.
“What’s on your mind, Sheriff?” the judge asked.
“I, uh, came to talk to Adams.”
“So, talk,” the judge said. “We can play while you talk.”
Yatesman looked around the table.
“Everybody here knows what’s goin’ on,” the judge said. “Just consider this a town council meeting.”
Yatesman thought about it, bit into his sandwich, and said, “Yeah, okay.”
SIX
“They’re gonna come into town later this afternoon,” the sheriff said.
“Who is?” Clint asked.
“The men from the Bar K.”
“How many?”
“All of ‘em,” Yatesman said. “I ain’t gonna be able to stop twenty men.”
“You better,” the judge said.
“What?”
The judge looked up at him.
“Joby!” he shouted.
“Yeah, Judge.”
“Run to my office and get my gavel.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy ran out.
“Judge—” the sheriff said.
“Wait.”
They played a hand while Joby was gone. The judge won it.
“Hey,” he said, raking in the money, “tide’s gonna turn.”
Joby came in and gave the judge his gavel.
“Wait, boy.”
He slammed the gavel down on the table
.
“Here,” he said to Joby, “put it back.”
“Yes, sir.”
The judge looked up at the sheriff.
“This is now an official meeting of the town council, Sheriff,” he said. “It’s your duty to see that we’re not disturbed.”
“Against twenty men?” Yatesman asked. “With no deputies?”
The judge looked around the table.
“All right, gents, pony up.”
“Huh?” Chambers asked.
“Ten dollars each should do it.”
“For what?” Lawson asked.
“Come on, come on,” the judge said. He took out a ten and put it on the table. The other men followed, placing a ten on top until there were four—and then Clint reached over and laid down a fifth.
“Obliged,” the judge said.
He picked up the fifty dollars and handed it to the sheriff.
“Hire yourself some deputies,” he said.
“Temporary one,” Patton added. “Just until this thing is over.”
“Don’t if anybody’s gonna volunteer, when they hear what’s happening.”
“Don’t wait for volunteers,” the judge said. “Now go on.”
The sheriff picked up his beer, drank half of it, and then left.
“Nice move, Judge,” Mayor Patton said. “Now whose deal is it?”
A couple of hours later the sheriff returned. The judge had just lost a hand he was sure was his. He’d had as full house, but he lost when Clint dropped his cards on the table, revealing four threes.
To their credit, as Clint continued to win, these four men never made a comment about cheating. To a man they realized they were being outplayed. They didn’t like it, but they respected it.
“Goddamn, man,” the judge said. “We’re getting’ a lesson today.”
“And payin’ for it,” Patton said.
“You fellas want to call it a day?” Clint asked.
“Hell no,” Chambers said. “Deal ‘em.”
The judge looked up at the sheriff.
“What now?”
“I got my deputies.”
“Good.”
“I got three,” Yatesman said. “You wanna know who they are?”
“No, I don’t wanna know who they are,” the judge said. “Just make sure they keep the Bar K boys out of here.”
“Out of the saloon, completely?” Yatesman asked.
The Town Council Meeting Page 2
