“True,” Father Joe, “if you need to get anything done in this town, you have to see them.”
“You’ve got to help me, Joe.”
“What can I do?”
“The wedding,” Clint said. “You were involved with the arrangements. Whose idea was the wedding, Whittington’s or Carter’s?”
“Well,” Father Joe said, “that was an odd one. Usually, a wedding is arrangement by the mother and the bride.”
“Not this one?”
“No,” Father Joe said, shaking his head. “It was Whittington himself who came in, and a couple of times Carter came in with him to make the plans.”
“Did they seem to get along?”
“It seemed to me they were like-minded in this,” Father Joe said.
“So then why did the groom come to see you the day before, all upset, and why did he disappear the day of the wedding?”
“Damned if I know, Clint,” Father Joe said, “and I’ve been wondering about it since it happened.”
“Have you talked to the two ladies about it?” Clint asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Father Joe said, “and I should go out there and check on them. Those poor women…”
Clint decided not to let Father Joe know that the ladies in question weren’t really all that upset by the incidents of the past few days.
“Yup,” he said, “poor women.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Clint realized he’d made a mistake. When stopping to talk to all the members of the town council, he had neglected to ask if he could examine their rifles. Still, he doubted any of those businessmen could have followed him without being seen, and taken that shot at him by the hanging tree, even though the shot missed. No, they would have had to hire that done.
Clint went to the saloon, ordered a beer from Eddie.
“I’ve got a question for you,” he said when Eddie came with the beer.
“What’s on your mind?”
“You know anybody in town who’s a good shot with a rifle?”
Eddie stroked the bristle on his jaw.
“You don’t fool me none,” he said.
“I don’t.”
“No. You wanna know if there’s anybody in town who’s a good shot with a rifle, who would hire himself out? Am I right?”
“You’re right,” Clint said. “And in addition to that, would he agree to bushwhack a man for money.”
“This ain’t Dodge City, Mr. Adams,” Eddie said. “You ain’t gonna find that kind of man here. Anybody in this town wants a killer, they gonna have to import him from out of town.”
“Who in town has got the money to do that?”
Eddie shrugged, said, “Pretty much anybody on the town council. Maybe the mayor. They got money.”
“Hmmm.”
“Of course,” Eddie went on, “there is a gunman who lives in town.”
Clint studied the man, then said, “You mean an exgunman, right?”
Eddie shrugged again.
“You know better than me if a man can put down his gun for good,” Eddie said.
“We’re talking about Father Joe, right?” Clint asked.
“He’s the only ex-gunman I know of in town,” Eddie said.
Clint studied on the suggestion over his beer. Father Joe had invited him to town to see him in his new life. Knowing Clint was coming, why would he decide to kill two men? It didn’t make sense.
But then none of this made sense. A would-be groom and would-be father-in-law were killed and hung from a tree. And nobody wanted them dead.
Clint remembered that somebody—Eddie?—had told him about two gamblers who might have wanted to kill Ben Whittington after they accused him of cheating at cards. He had not followed up on those two names.
He waved Eddie over…
Eddie told Clint the two men who had accused Whittington of cheating were ranch hands, working on different ranches in the area.
Clint left the saloon and went back to the sheriff’s office.
“So soon?” Bricker said as he entered. “What did you find out?”
“I’ve got two names, men who played poker with Ben Whittington and accused him of cheating. You know anything about that?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” the lawman said. “When did this happen?”
“About six months ago.”
“Whew,” Bricker said, “that’s even before Father Joe came here.”
“So there was poker going on then.”
“Yeah.”
“When did it stop?”
“About… four months ago.”
“Why would one or two guys hold a grudge for six months and then act on it?”
“I don’t know,” Bricker said. “Would they?”
“I need to ask them. Do you know Tommy Reasoner or Frank Washburn?”
“The names aren’t familiar.”
“Well, they work—or worked—at the Bar Double-K and the 3W’s ranches.”
“Well,” Bricker said, “I know where those are. Want me to—”
“Yeah,” Clint said, “I do.”
They left and walked to the livery to saddle their horses.
As they rode out of town, Clint said, “Eddie says he hasn’t seen either man in town for a while.”
“So we may be ridin’ out to see two men who ain’t even there anymore?”
“Maybe.”
“Great.”
THIRTY-NINE
Tommy Reasoner worked at the Bar Double-K, and he was still there.
“Yeah,” he said, “I did want to kill Whittington—that night. He was cheatin’. Me and Frank both knew it.”
“So why didn’t you kill him that night?” Clint asked.
Reasoner stared at him. He was in his thirties, wasn’t wearing a gun, but was wearing gloves because they had found him working fences.
“Because I ain’t a killer,” Tommy said. “Neither was Frank.”
“So you just swallowed your anger and forgot about it?”
“We didn’t exactly forget about it, but we both went back to work, didn’t get back to Griggsville, never ran into Whittington again.”
“Did you know him before that night?”
“No.”
“And you never saw him again?”
“No.”
“Why haven’t you been back to Griggsville?”
“I heard they don’t have girls or cards in the saloon anymore, thanks to some priest or somebody,” Reasoner said.
“So where do you go to drink and play cards?” Clint asked.
“Clarksville, mostly. Sometimes Shipley, which is a little further away.”
“When was the last time you were in Griggsville?” Bricker asked.
Reasoner thought about it for a moment, then said, “Geez, probably that night. Yeah, I ain’t been back since then.”
“What about your buddy?” Clint asked.
“Who?”
“Frank Washburn?”
“Frank’s dead.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Reasoner said, “four months ago.”
“How?” Bricker aside. “Was he shot?”
“Naw,” Reasoner said, “his horse fell on him, busted him up inside. Lasted a couple of days, but he finally died.”
Clint looked at Bricker, who shrugged.
“I never heard anythin’ about it,” he said.
“Did he have a doctor?” Clint asked.
“There wasn’t no doctor in Griggsville, which is the closest town,” Reasoner said. “His boss sent somebody for the doctor in Clarksville, but he was out somewhere deliverin’ a baby. By the time he got to Frank, it was too late.”
“We have a doctor now,” Bricker said lamely.
“Have you got a rifle?” Clint asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Been fired recently?”
“Yeah,” Reasoner said. “Me and a buddy shot some deer a week ago.”
There was no point in checking the rifle, then.
&
nbsp; “Say, what’s this about?” Reasoner asked.
“You ain’t heard?” Bricker said. “Two men in Griggsville were killed. Whittington was one of them.”
“Yer kiddin’,” Reasoner said. “Are you tellin’ me you think I killed a man six months after I caught him cheatin’ at cards? That’s crazy.”
“Yeah, well,” Clint said, “we’re just trying to be thorough.”
“Well, I didn’t kill nobody.”
Clint believed him.
FORTY
Clint and Sheriff Bricker rode back to town, no wiser than when they’d left. They left their horses in the livery and walked to the church. They found Father Joe doing something at the altar. He turned as they entered.
“Find out anything?” he asked.
“One of the men we went to see died four months ago,” Clint said. “The other one didn’t do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then you’re back where you started.”
“Except that I need a beer, and so does the sheriff,” Clint said. “Join us?”
“Sure,” Father Joe said. “I can finish cleaning this later.”
They left the church and headed for the saloon.
It was late afternoon now, but the saloon only had about half a dozen customers in it. They turned and looked as the three men entered the place. The two men standing at the bar moved to a far end.
“Don’t worry,” Clint said, slapping the lawman on the back, “it’s still me.”
“Or me,” Father Joe said.
“Three beers, Eddie,” the sheriff said.
“Comin’ up.”
Eddie lined three beer mugs up in front of them.
“Find them boys you was lookin’ for?” he asked.
“One of them,” Clint said. “The other one died four months ago.”
“That’s too bad.”
“The one we found didn’t do it,” Sheriff Bricker said. “At least, that’s what he said, and Mr. Adams here believed him.”
“Didn’t you?” Clint asked.
“Ah, yeah, I did.”
“Back where you started, huh?”
“That’s what I said,” Father Joe replied.
“Well, my boss wanted to know when you fellas came in again,” Eddie said. “Okay if I go tell ’im?”
“Sure,” Clint said. “Tell ’im.”
Eddie went back to his boss’s office to give him the word while the three men stood and drank their beers. Maybe Adam Weaving had thought of something useful.
Eddie came out moments later, followed by Weaving.
“Well, gents, welcome,” he said. “Eddie, I’ll have what they’re having.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How is your investigation going?” Weaving asked.
“Not well,” Clint said.
“I’m sorry,” Weaving said, accepting a beer from Eddie. “I was hoping you’d make some progress.”
“Well,” Clint said, “we’ve determined that two men didn’t do it. I guess that’s some kind of progress.”
Nobody commented.
“Isn’t it?”
Still, nobody commented.
Then Father Joe said, “Yeah, sure it is.”
“What about the members of the council?” Weaving asked. “Have you found any of them with a motive to kill Whittington and Carter?”
“No,” Clint said. “I can’t see that any of you had a motive.”
“Okay, then,” Weaving said, “at least that’s progress.”
“I guess so,” Clint said.
The sheriff looked around the saloon, then back at his comrades.
“The killer could be in here,” he said. “He could be anywhere in town.”
“At least it’s a small town,” Clint said.
“Small consolation, I say,” Father Joe said.
Weaving looked around while they were finishing their beers.
“Sorry we’re killing your business,” Clint said.
“Oh, you’re not,” Weaving said. “We haven’t had much since Father Joe here changed everything.”
“They’ll come back,” Father Joe said. “Once they realize they don’t really need the women and the gambling.”
“You really think men are going to admit that to themselves?” Weaving asked.
“Yes, I do.”
Weaving put his beer down, one third of it still in the mug.
“You fellas have another, on the house,” he said. “I have to go back to work.”
“I do, too,” Bricker said as Weaving walked away, “but I’ll have another.”
Clint looked at Father Joe, who said, “Why not?”
FORTY-ONE
Outside the saloon they split up. Sheriff Bricker went back to his office, while Clint walked Father Joe back to St. James Church.
“You know what still bothers me?” Clint asked.
“What?”
“The fact that somebody followed me without my knowing it,” he said.
“What’s so unusual about that?”
“It’s never happened before.”
“Never?”
“Never,” Clint said, “at least, not by somebody other than an Indian.”
“You’re saying it takes an Indian to track you?” Father Joe said.
“Track, follow… sneak up on.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at Father Joe.
“What?” the vicar asked.
“What do you know about the Dagen brothers?”
“I know that you said you talked to them and they didn’t do it,” Father Joe said.
“Yeah, but I just realized something.”
“What?”
They stopped in front of the church.
“When I got there, Delbert—I think it was Delbert—came out of the house and pointed a gun at me.”
“So?”
“So then Clem—at least, I think it was Clem—came up behind me—and I didn’t hear him.”
“So you’re saying the Dagen brothers are part Indian?” Father Joe said.
“I’m saying they’re light on their feet,” Clint said. “Maybe too light.”
“Did you check their guns?”
“Yeah, but maybe not all of their guns,” Clint said. “I think I’m going to have to go out there and pay them another visit.”
“You want some company?”
“Are you going to bring your Bible?”
“I am,” Father Joe said. “Just let me go and get it, and then we can saddle our horses.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “Okay, maybe a Bible will come in handy. Who knows?”
They rode to within sight of the Dagen place and reined in.
“How do you want to play this?” Father Joe asked.
“Well, since I have a gun and you have a Bible, I thought I’d go first.”
“And what do I do?”
“You make sure Clem doesn’t sneak up on me again.”
“I can do that.”
They dismounted, and Clint handed Eclipse’s reins to the vicar, then started toward the house.
While Father Joe kept a wary eye out for Clem, he opened his saddlebags, took out his rolled-up holster, unrolled it, and strapped it on.
“Welcome home,” he said, adjusting the belt.
Clint got up to the house and moved alongside it. He peered in a window and saw that the house was empty. He walked to the front, opened the door, and stepped inside. Still empty. When he came out, Father Joe was approaching, leading their horses. Clint noticed the gun and holster on his hip.
“What’s that all about, Father?” he asked.
“Better range than a Bible,” Father Joe said. “I don’t want someone shooting you while I’m throwing a Bible at them.”
“I appreciate the thought.”
“I checked the barn,” Father Joe said. “Their horses are gone.”
“I wonder where they went,” Clint said.
“We could try tracking th
em,” the vicar said. “There are a lot of tracks, but I’ll bet you’re still good enough to pick out the fresh ones.”
“Suddenly,” Clint said, “I’ve got an itch.”
“Where?”
“Right in the middle of my back.”
“You think they’re out there right now, watching us?” Father Joe asked.
“Could be,” Clint said. “If so, they’re both damned good. Too good just to be a couple of dumb farmers. Although I don’t think they’re so dumb.”
“So they act dumb to throw people off,” Father Joe said. “And this place doesn’t look like it makes any money, so how do they live?”
“Maybe,” Clint said, “they put their special skills to use.”
“Killing people?”
“Why not?”
“For money,” Father Joe said.
“Otherwise, why would they feel the need to kill Whittington and Carter?” Clint asked.
“So somebody hired them.”
“And we’re back to trying to figure out who in town wanted those two men dead.”
Suddenly, it got very quiet.
“I’m starting to feel that itch you were talking about,” Father Joe said.
“I’ll go left, you go right,” Clint said. “And let the horses go.”
“Okay.”
“One… two…”
The first shot came before three.
FORTY-TWO
Father Joe let go of the horses, who moved away from the house. The animals had a great sense of self-preservation—especially Eclipse.
Clint dove right, and Father Joe dropped left. They both rolled and came up with their guns in their hands. To the vicar it felt like he’d never put the gun down.
“Where are they?” Clint asked.
“Can’t see. They’re a long way off.”
“That shot came close,” Clint said. “The horses were in the way.”
“We can’t give them a clean shot.”
“No,” Clint said, “but we’ve got to get closer. We can’t do much damage from here.”
“I can work my way around behind the barn,” Father Joe said. “Maybe I can see something from there.”
“I’ll try for that stand of hackberry trees there,” Clint said.
“Okay,” Father Joe said. “On three?”
“Again?” Clint said. “Let’s just… go!”
The Vicar of St. James Page 10
