“What? You got proof?”
“What would ya need as proof?” Coleman asked.
“Well,” the sheriff said, “it would help if somebody had actually seen Adams around the ranch.”
“Okay, I got men out lookin’ for Ray Gomez. He was at the ranch this mornin’, and maybe he seen somethin’.”
“Well,” Yatesman said, “if he did, then bring him to me and let him tell me.”
“And then what?”
“And then I’ll go inside and arrest Adams.”
“We don’t want him arrested,” somebody shouted, “we just want you to bring him out.”
“Yeah,” somebody else yelled, “we’ll take care of him ourselves.”
“You boys just sit tight,” Yatesman said. “Let’s hear what Gomez has to say and then we’ll figure out what to do.”
“So,” Clint asked, “they’re just sitting around out there waiting for this Gomez to show up?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Well, where is he?”
“Seems he took some time off, so they’re out lookin’ for him.”
“Well then,” Clint said, “I guess we better wait to hear what he has to say before we start worrying. Lawson, you wanna deal those cards?”
ELEVEN
“I don’t think I ever asked you, Adams,” Mayor Patton said. “What brought you to Cannon City in the first place?”
“Curiosity.”
“Curiosity?” Lawson asked. “About our town? What the hell for?”
“Cannons.”
“What?” Chambers asked.
“I thought it was full of cannons,” Clint said. “Otherwise, why the name?”
“It was supposed to be called Canyon City,” the judge said. “That’s what we all agreed on.”
“And what happened?” Clint asked.
They all looked around and then the judge said, “Somebody spelled it wrong on the charter.”
“And we became Cannon City,” Patton said.
“Well, wait a minute,” Clint said.
“What?” the judge asked.
“There isn’t a canyon here, either,” Clint said.
Since the game was going to go on all night the saloon remained open while others in town closed. That meant that anyone who wanted a drink was now in there. Also, rather than running from the possible confrontation that was brewing, people were gathering inside the saloon, and outside, to see it. The town council meeting had suddenly developed a circus atmosphere.
The sheriff came walking into give the judge a report on what was going on.
“So far the deputies have succeeded in holding back the ranch hands.”
“Nobody wants to risk getting shot, right?” the judge asked. “No one wants to be the first one through the door.”
“I told them they can come in, but they have to leave their guns outside,” Yatesman said. “Nobody is willing to do that.”
“Well,” Ben Lawson asked, “if the deputies are holdin’ them back, what’ve you been doin’, Sheriff?”
“I’ve been out there, too, Lawson,” Yatesman said. “I know you been wanting to replace me, but I’ve been doin’ my job.”
“If I may say so, Sheriff,” Clint said, “it doesn’t sound like you have.”
“Whaddaya mean?” the sheriff demanded.
“Well, what have you done to find out who shot Ed Kennedy?”
“I’ve been tryin’ to keep you alive,” the lawman said, “that’s what I’ve been doin’. If you woulda let me put you in my jail, I could’ve been doin’ somethin’.
“Yeah,” Clint said, “somethin’ to prove I was guilty, so when the Bar K men killed me in your jail you wouldn’t be responsible.”
“So what do you think I should be doin’, huh?” Yatesman demanded.
“If I was you, I would have gone out to question the other two ranchers by now,” Clint said.
“I haven’t had the chance!”
“That’s bullshit, Sheriff,” the judge said. “You been sittin’ on your hands, waitin’ for this Gomez feller to show up and prove that Clint Adams killed Ed Kennedy. What happens when he can’t do that? You’ll have to start from scratch.”
The judge looked at Lawson.
“You know, Ben,” he said, “I’m startin’ to think you may be right. Maybe we do need a new sheriff.”
“Judge—”
“Get out there and prove me wrong, then, Pete,” the judge said. “Find out who killed Big Ed Kennedy; don’t just go along with the mob that wants to lynch Clint Adams for it.”
“I don’t think they’d bother with a rope, Judge,” Clint said. “It sounds like they just want to put me up against a wall and execute me—firing-squad style.”
“Not while I’m the judge in this county,” the judge said.
“Judge—”
“No more excuses, Sheriff,” the judge said. “Get out there and start your investigation.”
“I ain’t a goddamned detective!” Yatesman snapped.
“Maybe not,” the judge said, “but you’re the closest thing we’ve got, right now.”
Yatesman looked around the table and found no supporters. He turned on his heel and stormed out.
“He’s right, you know,” Chambers said. “He’s not a detective.”
“And we don’t have the time to call a real detective in,” the judge said. “We’ve got to go with what we’ve got.”
“Well, I don’t,” the mayor said, throwing in his hand, “not with these cards. I fold.”
TWELVE
At first light the sound of a buckboard could be heard entering town, along with the sound of horses. The sheriff, his deputies, and the Bar K men in the street all turned their heads to have a look. Finally, the buckboard came into sight, with riders flanking it.
“Great,” one of the deputies said. “That’s Matt Holmes from the Double H.”
“This saves me the trouble of havin’ to ride out and talk to him,” the sheriff said.
“Might save us a lot of trouble if this bunch and that bunch would kill each other,” the deputy said.
“Yeah,” Yatesman said, “that would clear the way for Andy Rivers and the Triple R ranch to take over, completely.”
As they watched the buckboard stopped. The riders fanned out on both sides of it. A man stepped down and faced the saloon and the men in the street.
“Sheriff?” Matt Holmes shouted.
“Here,” Yatesman said.
“Am I safe to approach?”
“Leave your men where they are,” Yatesman said. “I guarantee your safety.” He looked at Coleman and the Bar K men. “I’ll kill the first man who fires a shot. Arnie?”
“Yeah?”
“If I can’t identify the man who fired first, I’ll kill you. Understand?”
“I understand,” Coleman said. “Let’s hear what the old buzzard has to say.”
“Come ahead, Mr. Holmes,” Yatesman said.
As Matt Holmes drove his buckboard into town he quickly sized up the situation. Apparently, the word he’d gotten was correct. Clint Adams was inside the saloon. What he still didn’t know was whether or not it was true that he was playing poker with the judge, the mayor and a majority of the town council.
Once he got the sheriff’s assurance of safety he turned and spoke to his foreman.
“Lee,” he said, “anyone fires a shot, you and the boys know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Lee Jackson said.
“Okay.”
Matt Holmes started walking forward.
Sheriff Yatesman did not step down into the street to meet Holmes. He remained on the boardwalk in front of the saloon with his three deputies. Matt Holmes had to walk in among the Bar K hands. He stopped directly in front of the sheriff.
“I heard Ed Kennedy was dead. Is that true?”
“It is.”
“Killed by the Gunsmith? Clint Adams?”
“We’re still tryin’ to figure that out.�
�
“Adams killed him, all right,” Coleman said. “And he’s inside, being protected by the judge and the mayor.”
“Is that true?” Holmes asked, without acknowledging the presence of Arnie Coleman.
“It’s true that Adams is inside,” Yatesman said. “But we still don’t know for sure that he killed Kennedy.”
“I see,” Holmes said.
“What are you doin’ here, Mr. Holmes?” the sheriff asked.
“I knew that if Ed Kennedy was dead, murdered, you’d have two suspects,” the older man said. “Me and Andy Rivers. Well, I’m here to tell you that I had nothing to do with Ed Kennedy’s death.”
“You could’ve hired Clint Adams to do it,” Sheriff Yatesman said. “Or somebody who was impersonating Clint Adams.”
“If I wanted Ed Kennedy dead, I’d kill him myself,” Holmes said.
“Then maybe Rivers had it done.”
“Andy Rivers would no more hire a killer than I would,” Holmes said.
“Are you sure of that?”
“Dead sure,” Holmes said. “If I know Andy, he’s on his way here right now.”
“With some of his men?”
“No doubt,” Holmes said. “Your town is about to become an even bigger powder keg, Sheriff.”
“So what do you want, Mr. Holmes?” Yatesman asked, still with respect.
Matt Holmes pointed past Sheriff Yatesman, at the saloon.
“I want to go inside.”
“Why?”
“I want to talk to Clint Adams,” Holmes said.
“What for?”
“I’ll tell him.”
Yatesman stared at Holmes for a few moments, then said, “I’ll have to check.”
“You do that.”
THIRTEEN
Sheriff Yatesman appeared at the judge’s side while the man was laying down a flush.
“You win,” Clint said, tossing his hand onto the table.
“Ha!” the judge said, raking in the pot, “I told you the tide would change. Only took what, about thirty-six hours or so? Forty?”
“Who’s countin’,” Ben Lawson said.
“You’re still way behind, Judge,” the mayor said.
“Not as far behind as you are,” the judge said happily.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Don’t you fellas want to take a break?” Clint asked. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Forget it,” Chambers said. “Just keep dealin’. What else have we got to do?”
“Don’t you folks have day-to-day business to conduct?” Clint asked.
“This is what we do day in, day out,” the mayor explained. “This town stopped growing a long time ago, and it pretty much operates itself.”
“Judge?” the sheriff said.
The judge looked up at him.
“Sheriff,” he said, “when did you come in?”
“A few minutes ago,” Yatesman said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your, uh, meeting, sir, but Matt Holmes is outside.”
“What’s he want?” the judge asked.
“He wants to come in.”
“What for?”
“To talk to Adams.”
Clint looked at the judge.
“Who is he?”
“One of the other ranchers,” the judge said. He asked Yatesman, “Is he alone?”
“No, he’s got a bunch of his boys with him, and he thinks that Andy Rivers is probably on his way to town with some of his boys.”
“Ka-boom,” Lawson said. “That’ll be like lighting a match to a powder keg.”
“That’s kinda what he said.”
“Well,” the judge said to Clint, “what do you think?”
“Sure,” Clint said, “let him in. Let’s see what the man has to say.”
Yatesman went out and came back in with Matt Holmes. Others in the saloon—some of whom had been dozing after being there all night—perked up, thinking that maybe the action was about to start.
“Mr. Holmes,” the judge greeted.
“Judge. Since I recognize everyone else at the table, I assume you must be Clint Adams?”
“That’s right,” Clint said.
“You’re the man who is supposed to have killed Ed Kennedy.”
“And you’re one of the men who possibly paid me to do it.”
“I’m Matthew Holmes,” the white-haired man said. “I own the Double H.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?” Clint asked.
“I want to offer you sanctuary.”
“What?”
“I will take you to my ranch right now,” Holmes said, “and guarantee you safe passage out of town.”
“Now why would you want to do that, sir?”
“Because I don’t like seeing anyone get railroaded for something they didn’t do.”
“What makes you think I didn’t do it?”
“Well, I didn’t hire you,” Holmes said, “and I doubt that Andy Rivers hired you. And if you were being hired by Kennedy to kill us, why would you kill him? You see, none of this makes any sense to me.”
“Well, sir, I appreciate the offer of sanctuary, but I can’t accept.”
“I have enough men outside to get you out of town,” Homes assured him.
“I’m sure you do, but if I took you up on this, Mr. Holmes, then everyone would be convinced that you hired me to kill Big Ed Kennedy. You see? It wouldn’t do either one of us much good.”
Holmes took a moment to think, then said, “I see you’re an intelligent man, sir. That makes me all the more certain that you did not kill Kennedy, so despite all that you say being true, my offer stands.”
“And I still appreciate it,” Clint said, “but no, thank you, Mr. Holmes. I believe I’ll take my chances right here.”
“But, by staying here you’re endangering all these people.” Holmes swept his arm around to indicate the saloon full of men.
“These people are free to leave whenever they want,” Clint said. “They’re here because they don’t want to miss a bloodletting. They deserve whatever they get.”
“Again,” Holmes said, “I can see we’re in agreement. Very well.”
“Will you and your men be leavin’ town, Matt?” the judge asked.
“It would probably be better for all if we got out before Andy Rivers get here,” Holmes said. “Sir, may I shake your hand?”
Clint looked up at Holmes, then stood up.
“If you don’t mind doing it left-handed,” Clint said, extending his left hand and keeping his gun hand free.
Holmes chuckled, said, “Sir,” and shook hands with Clint left-handed. The he looked at the members of the town council. “Gentlemen.”
“Thanks for comin’ in, Matt,” the judge said. “Probably saved us a bunch of bother.”
“Don’t mention it, Judge.”
“Sheriff?” the judge asked. “You got any questions for Mr. Holmes before he leaves?”
“No, sir,” the lawman said, “I’m convinced he didn’t have nothin’ to do with killin’ Ed Kennedy.”
“Then have a good day, Matt,” the judge said. “I got to get back to my meetin’.”
FOURTEEN
When the sheriff and Matt Holmes got outside, both groups of men were ready to shoot it out. Both foremen were in the middle of the street with their jaws jutting out and their gun hands ready.
“Coleman!” Yatesman shouted. “Don’t you pull that hogleg out.”
“Lee!” Holmes shouted. “Get the men turned around. We’re leaving.”
Both men turned and looked at Yatesman and Holmes and then backed off.
“Good-bye, Sheriff,” Holmes said. “I wish you luck—and don’t believe Andy Rivers as easily as you believed me.”
“About . . . hiring Adams?”
“Yes,” Holmes said. “Andy is devious. He just might have done it.”
“But . . . do you think Adams killed him?”
“No,” Holmes said, “but I wouldn’t put it past Andy Rivers t
o hire an imposter. So . . . good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Matt Holmes stepped into the street, grabbed his foreman’s arm, and walked over to his buckboard. He climbed aboard—assisted by Lee Jackson. The foreman then mounted up, turned his men around, and headed out of town. Matt Holmes turned his buckboard and followed.
“What happened inside?” Arnie Coleman demanded.
“Nothin’ much,” the sheriff said. “Matt Holmes is convinced that Clint Adams didn’t kill your boss.”
“He’s coverin’ for him!” Coleman said. “Can’t you see that?”
“There’s no proof,” Yatesman said.
“So what are you gonna do?”
“Well, I was gonna ride out to talk to Andy Rivers, but Mr. Holmes figures Mr. Rivers is on his way here, so I’m gonna wait. If he doesn’t ride in soon, I’ll go and see him.”
“What for?”
“To ask him if he hired Clint Adams,” the sheriff said. “What about your guy, Gomez?”
“We still ain’t found him.”
“Well, keep your men in line, Arnie,” Sheriff Yatesman said.
“Sooner or later,” Coleman said, “somebody’s gonna get brave.”
“Gettin’ brave is the same as gettin’ stupid,” the lawman said. “Is it gonna be you?”
“You never can tell, Sheriff,” Coleman said. “You just never can tell.”
Inside the judge looked at Clint between hands and asked, “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Matt Holmes,” the judge said. “Why would he make an offer like that?”
“He obviously doesn’t think I killed Kennedy.”
“Or he’s coverin’ for you,” Lawson said.
“Leave it to a lawyer to come up with that conclusion,” Clint said.
“I’ll bet it’s the same conclusion they’re comin’ to outside.”
“Then why are you here, Lawson?” Clint asked. “You obviously think they’ll be coming in for me sooner or later. Lead’s going to be flying soon.”
Lawson smiled.
“We told you,” he said. “This is all we do. I’m ready for a little excitement.”
Clint looked around the saloon and said, “Apparently, so is the whole town.
The Town Council Meeting Page 4
