The Gunsmith 386

by J. R. Roberts

  “I agree,” Clint said.

  “Also,” Cain said, “I think we will want to check the whorehouses.”

  “Good point,” Clint said. “Why don’t we split up? Whores are used to men of all sizes and shapes. I don’t think you’ll scare them. You’ll probably interest them.”

  “Well,” Cain admitted, “whores interest me.”

  “I’ll check the other boardinghouse, and the hotels, and meet you back at the first hotel where we left our horses.”

  Cain nodded his agreement.

  “If you find them, don’t brace them,” Clint said. “Just come and find me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cain said, “I won’t rob you of the pleasure of killing them yourself.”

  “Thanks,” Clint said.

  They split up from here.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Clint walked away from the second boardinghouse, having gotten the same answers he’d gotten at the first one, this time without having a door slammed in his face.

  If Dunn and Sands were not waiting for him, they would be registered somewhere. If not a boardinghouse, then a hotel. But if, by now, they assumed Clint had not been killed, and they were expecting him, would they be hiding? Or would they position themselves where he could see them?

  Like in a saloon?

  He decided to check the other hotels before going to the saloons.

  • • •

  Cain walked into the town’s one whorehouse, and some of the girls were immediately drawn to him.

  “You’re lookin’ for me, honey,” a blonde said.

  “I’m the one you want, baby,” a brunette said.

  “Like redheads, honey?” a third asked.

  Cain would have liked to take all three upstairs with him, but before he could say anything, an older woman spilling out of her nightgown came up behind the girls and clapped her hands. The flesh of her arms jiggled as she did it.

  “Now, girls,” she said, “you know we don’t crowd the customers as they come in. Get into the parlor with the others.”

  The three girls all whispered their names to him before they obeyed.

  “You’re a big one,” she said to Cain. “My girls are gonna have to work hard to satisfy you.”

  “I am looking for two men.”

  “That’s disappointing. Sorry, honey,” she said, “we only have girls here, no men.”

  “I mean,” he said, “I am trying to find two men who may have come here.”

  “Friends of yours?”

  “Yes,” he said, “they are called—”

  She waved him off and said, “I don’t bother with names myself. Maybe one of the girls will know. But you can describe them to me.”

  He did, giving her the descriptions Clint had given him.

  “That could be anybody,” she said. “Why don’t you go into the parlor, talk to some of the girls, and then maybe pick one or two that you like and take them upstairs?”

  “I will talk to them.”

  He went into the parlor and the girls mobbed him again. They were all powdered and perfumed and falling out of their nighties, and his head swam with the scent of them and the sight of their smooth skin.

  But he wasn’t there to enjoy their charms. He picked out two or three, took them to a sofa with them, and asked his questions.

  • • •

  Clint tried the hotels with no luck and wondered what was taking Cain so long. Maybe he’d found a girl or two he liked and decided to sample their wares? Clint doubted the big half-breed would do that before they were finished with their hunt.

  After the boardinghouses and the hotels, Clint had the saloons left. But walking into a saloon might be walking right into a trap. If he’d learned nothing else in Orwell, he had learned that.

  He decided to check the livery stables instead, see if anyone had laid eyes on Eclipse. That was something people would remember.

  • • •

  Cain sat with one girl in his lap, and one on either side of him. The little redhead in his lap was rubbing her butt against the huge bulge in his pants, all excited. The other girls were letting their breasts loose from their nightgowns, rubbing them on his arms and chest, or placing them in his big hands.

  The usually stolid half-breed was sweating. He had a weakness for women—preferably young ones with red or blond hair, and two of these qualified.

  “Come on, honey,” the redhead said into his ear, while squirming around in his lap, rubbing him with her neat little bottom. “Take me upstairs and ride me hard.”

  “Another time,” he said.

  “Soon?” she asked.

  “I promise,” he said. “Very soon.”

  “Me, too?” the blonde asked.

  “Yes, you, too.”

  The brunette had sensed his lack of interest in her and had slipped away.

  “But tell me, have either of you seen the men I’m talking about?”

  The little blonde frowned.

  “What are their names again?”

  “Dunn and Sands.”

  “Sands,” the redhead said. “I think Molly said somethin’ about two fellas who came in. Maybe she knows.”

  “Which one is Molly?”

  “You relax, honey,” the blonde said. “I’ll get ’er.”

  As the blonde slipped away from them, the redhead slid her hand into his crotch and grabbed him.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, “are you sure—”

  “Yes,” he said, “believe me, I am sure.”

  She stroked him, kissed his neck, and said, “Too bad. I ain’t never been with a man as big as you.”

  “I promise,” he said, his mouth very dry, “soon.”

  • • •

  “I seen a horse like that.”

  Clint was talking to a man who worked in a small livery stable near the hotel.

  “When?”

  The man rubbed his jaw and said, “Earlier today. I remember wishing they had brought it here to me.”

  “Where did you see it?”

  “Somewhere in town,” the old man said. He took off his hat and scratched his balding head. “My memory ain’t as good as it used to be. Maybe it was last week?”

  “Look,” Clint said, “just relax and think, old-timer. This is important. Where did you see that horse?”

  • • •

  The blonde brought Molly over, a young and energetic girl with short, dark hair.

  “This is Molly.”

  “Wow, big boy,” she said, “you can handle the three of us, can’t you?”

  “I will,” he said, “I will come back and do that. These girls told me you saw the two men I’m looking for.”

  “What men?”

  “Sands and Dunn.”

  She frowned.

  “What do they look like?”

  He described them while struggling against the redhead’s groping hand.

  “I did see them,” Molly said. “In fact, one of them took me upstairs.”

  Cain put his hands under the redhead’s butt, lifted her off his lap, and set her aside.

  “Tell me,” he said to Molly, “when.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Clint got to the hotel lobby first. Rather than standing in the center the way Cain did, he took a seat against the wall to wait.

  Cain came walking in several minutes later and joined Clint, who now understood why the big man had been standing earlier. The furniture in the lobby was too flimsy to hold his bulk.

  “I think I found Eclipse,” Clint said.

  “I think I found Dunn and Sands,” Cain said.

  Clint looked around the lobby. Once again they were the center of attention.

  “Let’s get rooms so we can talk without being watched,” Clint suggested.

  “
All right.”

  Clint went to the desk to register for the two of them. He used phony names and collected two keys from the clerk. They then went up to one of the rooms, where they could sit and discuss what they had each discovered.

  “You first,” Clint said.

  “Both Dunn and Sands went to the whorehouse earlier today,” Cain said. “One of the girls—her name is Molly—remembered. She went upstairs with Sands. She doesn’t remember who went upstairs with the other man, but she’s trying to find out.”

  “Does she know where they were staying?” Clint asked.

  “She got the impression they were staying with someone, and not in any of the hotels.”

  “That explains why they’re not registered anywhere.”

  “What about your horse?”

  “I found an old-timer in the livery who says he saw Eclipse earlier today. At least, he thinks it was earlier today.”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “His memory is a little fuzzy,” Clint said.

  “Where did he see him?”

  “That’s also something he’s trying to remember.”

  “What can we do to help his memory?”

  “I’m thinking money, whiskey, or both,” Clint said. “I wanted to come back here and talk to you. I told him I’d be back.”

  “That is what I told the ladies.”

  “Was it tough on you?” Clint asked.

  “You don’t know,” Cain said. “I like whores.”

  “Would you rather I go back?”

  “No, that’s all right,” the half-breed said. “I do not mind going back.”

  “Maybe, when this is all done, you can go back for a while,” Clint said.

  “I promised them I would,” Cain said. “And I always keep my promises.”

  “I’m sure that’ll make them very happy,” Clint said. “Let’s go see if we can get some definite answers.”

  • • •

  “Do you think he’d really come walkin’ in here?” Derrick Sands asked.

  “Why not?” Dunn asked. “Comin’ in off the trail, he’ll want a drink.”

  “Yeah,” Sands said, scowling, “but won’t he figure on us bein’ here?”

  “Sure, and he’ll figure he can handle us,” Dunn said. “After all, he’s the Gunsmith.”

  “Well, yeah,” Sands said worriedly, “I been thinkin’ about that, too.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve left five men and six men to kill him now,” Sands said, “and we tried ourselves. Ain’t nothin’ worked. What makes you think the two of us can do it?”

  “We’ve got somethin’ they didn’t have.”

  “His horse?”

  “That’s right,” Dunn said. “He ain’t gonna do a thing while we got that animal.”

  “He ain’t gonna get killed for it!” Sands argued.

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how right you are, Derrick,” Dunn said.

  Sands frowned, still not convinced.

  “Relax,” Dunn said, “and go to the bar and get us another bottle of whiskey.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  When Clint returned to the livery stable, he had managed to wrangle a bottle of whiskey out of the desk clerk at the hotel. The old man’s rheumy eyes brightened when he saw the bottle.

  “That might jog my memory,” he admitted. “Yep, sure might.” He licked his lips.

  Clint unstoppered the bottle, handed it over, let the old man take a healthy swig, and then took it away from him.

  The old man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “All right,” Clint said, “think about it. Where’d you see that horse?”

  “Big feller, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “White over here,” he said, touching his own nose.

  “Yes.” There was a white crescent on his nose, which was why Clint had called him Eclipse.

  “Hmm, yeah,” the old man said, frowning, “I seen him . . . somewhere.”

  He looked at the whiskey bottle and Clint let him have another drink.

  “Okay,” Clint said, “how about this? Let’s go over what you did this morning, and maybe it’ll come back to you.”

  “Kin we take the bottle with us?”

  “Sure,” Clint said, “we’ll take the bottle with us. What’s the first thing you did this morning . . .”

  • • •

  “I ain’t gonna tell you,” Molly said to Cain.

  “What?”

  She leaned into him and said, “I ain’t gonna tell ya.”

  “Why not?”

  “I want somethin’.”

  “What?”

  “Come upstairs with me,” she said. “I wanna see you.”

  “Huh?”

  “I wanna see you with no pants on.”

  “Now look—”

  “You ain’t so scary, you know,” she said, leaning into him as they sat on the sofa together. She wasn’t his type, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her full breasts as she pressed them together. They swelled and threatened to come out. “Come upstairs with me, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “Promise?” he asked.

  “I promise,” she said.

  “Well . . . okay.” He thought this might be better then spending time arguing with her, or threatening.

  They got dirty looks from the other girls as she took his hand and led him up the stairs.

  • • •

  The old man lived in a shack at the edge of town. He walked Clint there.

  “There ya go,” he said, waving. “I woke up and walked into town.”

  “Okay, let’s do it,” Clint said. “Make sure you take the same route.”

  “I walk the same way every day,” the old man insisted.

  “Good,” Clint said, “then you’ll remember.”

  The old man eyed the bottle.

  “I’d remember better if I could wet my whistle a bit.”

  “I’m gonna give you one more sip,” Clint told him. “After that you can have the rest of the bottle, but only if you tell me where you saw my horse.”

  “Your horse?” the old man asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “You mean them fellers stole yore horse?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sonsofbitches!” the old man swore.

  Clint handed him the bottle and watched while he took a swig, then grabbed it.

  “Let’s get ’em!” the old man said.

  Clint hoped the old coot could hold his liquor and wasn’t already drunk.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  “This-a-way . . .”

  • • •

  Cain let the girl drag him down the hall to a door, waited while she opened it. Then she got behind him and pushed him in, slamming the door behind them.

  “Those other girls hate me now,” she said.

  He thought about the blonde and the redhead, but when Molly turned to face him and dropped her nightgown to the floor, he forgot about them. She was medium height, with full breasts, wide hips, and a generous butt. Between her legs was a forest of brown hair. He always liked when a girl had a big bush. He could already smell that she was ready, and he was about to burst from his pants.

  “You like?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

  He stared at her hardening brown nipples and said, “Yeah, I like.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, “your turn.”

  “Okay,” he said, “I really got to go, Molly, so you just want me to take off my pants so you can look, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And then you’ll tell me what I want to know, right?”

  “Right. Come on, don’t keep me waiting, honey,” sh
e said anxiously.

  Cain set his rifle aside, then his knife, then undid his trousers and pulled them down. He didn’t wear any underwear. His penis sprang out from his crotch.

  “Oh . . . my . . . God!” she breathed.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Clint followed the liveryman toward town, hoping the old coot was taking the same route, hoping against hope that seeing a big horse with a white blaze wasn’t just some dream he’d had.

  “I stopped here and waved to old Mrs. Cartwright,” the geezer said. “She called out, ‘Hi, Jake,’ and I said—”

  “That’s okay, Jake,” Clint said. “I don’t need to know everything you said. Where’d you go from here?”

  Jake turned and stared at the whiskey bottle.

  “No more,” Clint said. “Not until you show me where you saw my horse.”

  “Okay,” the old man said reluctantly, “well, then I went this-a-way . . .”

  • • •

  Molly put her hands over her mouth and stared at Cain’s erect penis. It was easily the biggest and prettiest one she’d ever seen.

  “I ain’t never seen a tallywacker like that before,” she told him.

  “Okay,” he said, starting to reach for his pants, but she leaped forward and block his hands.

  “I wanna touch it,” she said.

  “But you said—”

  “I know, but geez, look at it,” she said. “You can’t expect me not to touch it.”

  He swore to himself that he wouldn’t tell Clint that this happened.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides.

  “Okay,” she said, “okay.”

  She got down on her knees.

  • • •

  Jake took Clint through a neighborhood of large homes that made him think it was a mistake. What reason would the old man have to walk by any of these homes?

  “Jake,” Clint said, “are you sure—”

  “I always stop at Mr. Everett’s house to see if he needs any work done,” the old man said.

  “Oh, I see. And did he?”

  “No,” Jake said, “then I usually stop at Mr. Clement’s house for the same reason.”

  “And did he need work done?”

  “No,” Jake said, “and he got mad at me, told me to get away from the house. He never did that before.”