Read Anatomy of a Lawman Online
Authors: J. R. Roberts
Anatomy of a Lawman (8 page)
“Minnesota,” he said in a deep voice. “Whataya say?”
“Meet a friend of mine,” Minnesota said. “Clint Adams.”
Wilkes looked at Clint, who put the beer in front of him.
“Your friend’s got a name I recognize, but he’s wearin’ a badge.”
“He’s not here lookin’ for you behind a badge,” Minnesota said. “Well, yeah, he is, but he wants your help.”
“My help,” Wilkes said. “With what?”
“Can we sit?” Clint asked.
“Sure,” Wilkes said. “Why not?”
Clint and Minnesota pulled out chairs, sat down, and put their beers on the table.
Clint explained the situation—Harper getting shot stopping a bank robbery and the Graves gang planning to come back and finish the job.
“Graves,” Wilkes said. “I heard of them. Family, right? Brothers? Cousins?”
“That’s them.”
“And you want my help stoppin’ them?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll get you paid,” Clint said. “I don’t know how much yet.”
“More than Minnesota’s makin’ as a deputy?” Wilkes asked.
“Probably.”
“I tell you what,” Wilkes said. “You talk to Commons over there. If he agrees to go, I’ll agree to go.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “we’ll talk to your friend—”
“He ain’t no friend of mine!” Wilkes snapped.
“Sorry.”
“We just work together,” Wilkes said, “and if he says it’s okay, I’ll do it.”
“All right,” Clint said, standing up. “We’ll talk to him.”
Wilkes sipped his beer, then looked up at Clint.
“Gonna take more than a beer to get him to talk to you.”
“Like what?” Clint asked.
“Like a bottle.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “a bottle it is.”
“Good luck,” Wilkes said. “He ain’t in as good a mood as I am.”
“I guess we’ll have to see how persuasive I can be,” Clint said.
He and Minnesota walked to the bar and collected a bottle of whiskey from the bartender.
“You ain’t gonna bust up my place, are ya?” the barman asked.
“Why would we do that?” Clint asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Those two do it almost every night.”
“How?”
“Fightin’.”
“With who?”
The bartender shrugged.
“With each other,” he said, “or whoever tries to get between ’em.”
“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “We’re not here to fight with them, or get between them.”
“Yeah,” Minnesota said, “we’re just here to drink with ’em.”
Clint started away from the bar, then turned back.
“You got law here?”
“No,” the bartender said. “We only got about twenty-two people living’ here. Don’t need no law. We take care of ourselves.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “whatever works for you, I guess.”
“If you was to take those two out of here,” the bartender said, “it’d be a lot quieter, though. A lot quieter.”
“They seem pretty quiet,” Clint said.
“Yeah,” the bartender said, “now.”
TWENTY-TWO
Minnesota and Clint carried their beers and the bottle over to the other table. The man called Commons had his head down on his crossed arms.
“Commons,” Minnesota said.
The man didn’t stir.
“Commons,” Minnesota said, again, “we got whiskey.”
Commons lifted his head. His eyes surprised Clint. They were bright blue, and clear. He hadn’t been sleeping, and he wasn’t drunk.
Clint put the bottle on the table, with a shot glass over the top.
“Hello, Minnesota,” Commons said. “What the hell is that thing on your chest?”
“A badge,” Minnesota said. “I’m a deputy.”
“And who’s your friend?”
“He’s the sheriff of a town called Guardian.”
“Stupid name for a town.”
“That from a man sitting in a town called Sensible?” Clint asked.
Commons looked at him.
“What’s your name?”
“Clint Adams.”
“The Gunsmith?”
“That’s right.”
“Hell,” Commons said, grabbing the bottle and removing the glass. “Siddown. I’ll drink with the Gunsmith.”
Clint and Minnesota sat down while Commons poured himself a drink.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff Clint Adams, the Gunsmith?”
“I’ve got an offer for you,” Clint said.
“Well, let me have it, then.”
Clint told his story for the second time in twenty minutes. Commons drank while he listened.
“So that’s it,” Clint said. “I’ve got a town to save and I need help doing it.”
“Not enough men in your town to do it?” Commons asked.
“Not enough men who can handle a gun,” Clint said, “and are willing to risk it.”
“So you want me to risk my life when the people who live there won’t?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“And you asked Wilkes the same thing?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he’ll do it if you do it.”
“He said that?”
“Yeah,” Minnesota said, “he did.”
Commons looked annoyed.
“That sonofabitch,” he muttered. “Can’t never make a decision for himself.”
“I think he made a decision,” Clint said.
“How’s that?” Commons asked.
“He made a decision to go with your decision,” Clint said. “I guess he must trust you.”
Commons stared up at Clint, then poured another drink and downed it.
“Yeah, okay,” he said.
“You’ll do it?”
Commons nodded.
“We’ll both do it,” Commons said. “Hell, we got nothin’ else to do but sit around this lousy little saloon in this lousy little town.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “Minnesota and I are heading back tonight.”
“We’ll be along,” Commons said.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Don’t worry, Sheriff, we’ll be along.”
“Okay.”
Clint and Minnesota stood up.
“One thing,” Commons said.
“What’s that?”
“We ain’t wearin’ no badges.”
“That’s okay,” Clint said. “I don’t have any more badges anyway.”
TWENTY-THREE
Clint and Minnesota took their horses to the livery in Guardian, where they rubbed and bedded them down.
“I’m turnin’ in,” Minnesota said.
“I’ll be at the office,” Clint said. “Probably catch some sleep in one of the cells.”
“You gonna check with Buck?” Minnesota asked. “See if he got anybody?”
“Yup.”
Minnesota yawned.
“Well, let me know what he says.”
They left the livery, walked together to the center of town, then split up. Minnesota went to the hotel, where Clint had gotten him a room. Clint walked over to the sheriff’s office. When he walked in, Buck sat straight up in his chair, his feet falling off the sheriff’s desk.
“Oh, Sheriff,” Buck said.
“What are you doing here so late, Buck?”
“I’m in charge,” Buck said. “Thought I’d stay in the office.”
“Well, go get some sleep.”
Buck stood up, rubbing his face with his hands.
“You just get back?”
“Yep.”
“Get those men?”
“Yeah, names are Wilkes and Commons,” Clint said. “They’ll be here sometime after sunup”
“Any good?”
“Minnesota says they are,” Clint said, “and you recommended him.”
Buck headed for the door.
“What about you?” Clint asked.
Buck turned.
“You sign anybody up?”
“Two men,” Buck said. “They’re brothers, which is why I think they took the job.”
“What are their names?”
“Harley and James Prescott,” Buck said.
“Any good?”
“They’ve ridden on some posses with me and Sheriff Harper,” Buck said. “They do what they’re told, know how to use their guns.”
“What do they do normally?”
“Odd jobs,” Buck said. “Just odd jobs.”
“Well,” Clint said, “this is an odd job.”
Buck stood there, nodding.
“Okay, Buck,” Clint said. “Go get some sleep. When you wake up, bring the Prescott boys over here for me to meet.”
“Okay, Sheriff.”
Wilkes and Commons spoke very little until they rode into Guardian.
“At least it’s a real town,” Wilkes said. “More than one saloon, probably more than one whorehouse.”
“More important,” Commons said, “more than one place to eat.”
“You got that right.”
They rode to the livery, where they turned their horses over to the liveryman.
“How long?” the man asked.
“Until the Graves boys have come and gone,” Commons said.
They walked away from the livery, heading toward the center of town.
“Now what?” Wilkes asked.
“Sheriff’s office,” Commons said. “Clint Adams should have someplace for us to stay.”
“Maybe even an advance on our pay,” Wilkes said.
“Don’t go getting in trouble, Wilkes.”
“I won’t,” the other man said, “not yet anyway.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Later in the day Clint was in the office with Buck, Minnesota, Commons, Wilkes, and the Prescott brothers.
“This is it?” Commons asked. “Just the six of us?”
“So far,” Clint said.
“How many men we facin’?” Wilkes asked.
“We’re not sure,” Clint said. “We know there’s four or five brothers, and a bunch of cousins. They’ll also have other gang members.”
“So a dozen, or more?” Commons asked.
“Maybe.”
“Buck told us you ain’t gonna stop lookin’ for men,” Harley Prescott said.
“I’m not,” Clint said, “but starting today we’ll all have jobs to do.”
“Like what?” Wilkes asked.
“Somebody will be on watch at all times. If you see a gang of men approaching town, you’ll sound the alarm.”
“Then what will we do?” James Prescott asked.
“We’re going to work that out,” Clint said. “I’ll come up with a schedule, and we’ll all have jobs. We’ll rotate, too, so nobody does the same job day after day until the Graves gang gets here.”
“Okay,” Commons asked, “so what’re our jobs?”
“I’ll let you know later this evening,” Clint said. “I’m going to work it all out. Meanwhile, get yourselves scheduled, get yourselves armed. Wilkes, get yourself a gun.”
“I don’t use a gun,” Wilkes said.
“You own a rifle?”
“No.”
“We’ll get you one,” Clint said. “You’re not going to be able to use a knife, or your hands, when the Graves gang rides in.”
“I don’t use—”
“We’ll get him a rifle,” Commons said.
Wilkes looked at his partner, who just shook his head. The big man subsided.
“You boys make sure your guns are cleaned and in proper working order,” Clint told the Prescotts. “Buck tells me you can shoot. I’ll have to trust him.”
“We can shoot,” Harley Prescott said. “Rifles better than pistols, though.”
“That’s okay,” Clint said. “My guess is we’ll be doing a lot of rifle work when the time comes.”
Clint was sitting on the edge of his desk while he talked. Now he stood up.
“That’s all,” Clint said. “Come back here tonight at seven, after you’ve all had supper.”
“Suits me,” Wilkes said. “I’m hungry now.”
“Listen up,” Clint said as the new recruits headed for the door.
They all stopped and turned.
“Prescotts, you fellas have your rooms already. Commons and Wilkes, I got you rooms at the hotel. But as far as meals go, you pay your way, understand? No free rides just because you’re working for me.”
“Sure, Sheriff,” Harley said.
“No problem,” James said.
Clint looked at Commons and Wilkes.
“Okay,” Commons said.
Wilkes didn’t say anything.
“Wilkes?” Clint said.
“Yeah,” Wilkes said, “yeah, okay. No free rides. Can we go now?”
“You can go,” Clint said. “Wilkes, if you want a gun, I will get you one for free. That okay with you?”
“That’s fine,” Wilkes said.
“Okay, then,” Clint said. “See you all at seven.”
The four recruits left. Clint turned to Buck and Minnesota. “That okay with you fellas?”
“Sure, Sheriff,” Buck said.
“Minnesota?”
“Strikes me you still ain’t seen me shoot, Sheriff,” Minnesota said.
“I have a feeling you’ll hold your own,” Clint said.
“That’s so?”
“If we have a chance, though,” Clint said, “I’ll watch you shoot. In fact, I can watch all of you shoot. I’ll try to work it out.”
“Good,” Minnesota said. “I’d like to see those Prescott boys shoot.”
“And I’d like to see Commons and Wilkes shoot,” Buck said.
“Wilkes usually likes to use his hands, or a knife,” Minnesota said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him fire a gun.”
“That’s okay,” Clint said. “By the time the Graves gang gets here, he can learn.”
Before any of them could say another word, the door to the office opened and Lucy Dennison came in.
“Oh, Sheriff,” she said, “am I interrupting?”
“Not at all, Mrs. Dennison,” Clint said. “Boys, I’ll see you later.”
“Sure, Sheriff,” Minnesota said. “Come on, Buck, I’ll buy you a drink.”
The two deputies left.
TWENTY-FIVE
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Dennison?” Clint asked.
“I thought we settled on you calling me Lucy?” she said.
“Oh, right,” he said. “Lucy.”
“I think you promised me some supper last time we talked, and I haven’t heard from you at all.”
“Well, I’m, sorry, Lucy, but I have been a little busy. I’ve been meaning to come and see you.”
“So I saved you the trouble,” she said. “I’ve come to see you.”
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