The Gunsmith 386 (4 page)

Clint walked Andrea to the apothecary, then went to the bank next door. She was waiting outside for him when he came out.

“Get what you wanted?”

“I did,” he said. “How about you?”

“My dad needed some things for a sick cow,” she said.

“Does he always work on large animals?” he asked. “Cows, horses . . .”

“Oh, he treats smaller animals, too. Dogs, cats, he's even worked on wolves.”

“What about you?” he asked as they started walking away from the bank.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you a vet?” he asked. “I mean, will you be a vet?”

“I don't have the training,” she said.

“I'll bet you do from working with him,” he said. “What you probably don't have are the credentials, the right to call yourself a vet.”

“You're right,” she said. “I'm his assistant, and I can do some of the things he does because I've watched and learned. I'm still watching and learning.”

“Well, you're smart,” Clint said. “You'll get what you want.”

“Where are you off to now?” she asked. “Checking on your horse?”

“No, I did that already,” he said. “I need to go and get some information.”

“Is that what the money is for?”

“Some of it.”

“Well,” she said, “I hope you get what you want.”

“So do I,” he said. “I'll probably come over to your office tomorrow, though.”

“This time I won't avoid you,” she said.

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

He smiled and she turned and walked away, toward her dad's office. Clint headed back to the saloon to buy his information.

 • • • 

When he entered the saloon, the bartender was there alone, wiping the bar with a rag. He looked up when he heard Clint come in.

“Back already?”

Clint walked to the bar and set some money on it. The bartender looked down at it.

“Count it,” Clint said. “That's how much the information is worth to me.”

“I don't have to count it,” the bartender said. He swept the money off the bar, tucked it away underneath somewhere. “There was a fella in here last night who was quiet, until he had a few drinks. Then he began to talk.”

“And who heard him talking?”

“Just me,” the man said. “As you can see, we don't do a booming business here.”

“So what did he have to say?”

“He was upset that some friend of his had got killed,” the bartender said.

“Did he say when? Where?”

“When was real recent,” the man said. “Where was somewhere outside of town.”

“Did he say by who?”

The bartender shook his head.

“Didn't say, and didn't really say what the circumstances were,” the bartender said. “But I got the impression that his friend had been shot.”

This was all close enough.

“Did he say his name?”

The man thought a moment, then said, “I don't think so.”

“Would more money jog your memory?”

“No, no,” the man said, smiling, “I ain't tryin' to jack up the price on ya. I just don't think he said his name.”

“Was he staying in town?”

“He said he was staying at the rooming house.”

“There's a rooming house in town?”

“Yep,” the bartender said. “North end of town, Mrs. Nunally runs it.”

“I knew about the two hotels . . .”

“Well, nobody mentions the rooming house because of them, but he musta found out about it somehow.”

“Not from you?”

“No, but any bartender in town coulda told him about it,” the bartender explained.

“I see,” Clint said. “Anything else you can tell me about him?”

“Naw,” the bartender said. “That's about all I got, mister. Honest.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “thanks.”

He started to leave, then turned back. Sometimes it was the questions you didn't ask that got you killed.

“You got any idea who else is staying at the rooming house?” he asked. “Or how many guests she's got?”

The man thought a moment, then shook his head and said, “Naw, I dunno. I do know she's got about eight rooms, though.”

“Eight, huh?” Clint said. “Okay, thanks, friend.”

“No problem.”

 • • • 

Clint left the saloon, wondering why Sheriff Ingram had not told him about the boardinghouse. Did he keep it to himself deliberately, or had it just slipped his mind? Or not occurred to him to mention?

He walked to the north end of town and located the two-story boardinghouse owned and operated by Mrs. Nunally. It stood alone, with no other houses around it. It certainly would have been his choice as a place to stay in town if he wanted to go unnoticed. Then again, he wouldn't have gone to a saloon and run off at the mouth after a few drinks.

He considered his options. He could go to the front door, knock, and ask if anyone had taken a room over the past two days. Or he could wait and watch as boarders came and went. Maybe he'd recognize someone. And maybe not. The only one of the three men who bushwhacked him he'd seen was the one he'd killed. The other men he'd have to recognize from somewhere else, like maybe Wells.

He decided to knock on the door.

“I don't have any rooms,” the severe-looking woman who answered the door said.

“I'm not looking for a room.”

“Then why are you bothering me?” she asked. “I have work to do.”

“I just have a few questions.”

She folded her chubby arm beneath her formidable bosom.

“Why should I answer questions?”

“Because you may have a killer in your house.”

She dropped her hands.

“What do you mean?”

“Answer my questions and maybe I can tell you.”

She hesitated, then said, “All right, ask. But you can't come in.”

“I don't want to come in,” Clint said. “Have you had a new boarder in the past two days?”

“Yes.”

“What's his name?”

“Sands, Derrick Sands.”

“Do you know where he's from?”

“No.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I do not.”

“He's not in his room?”

“He doesn't have a room here.”

“I thought you said he was a boarder.”

“He was. He is not anymore.”

“When did he leave?”

“This morning.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“He didn't say, and I don't care,” she said. “He was an unpleasant man. Now that you intimate he was a killer, I can see why.”

“Where was he keeping his horse?”

“I don't know, the livery stable, I suppose.”

Clint frowned. He had never gotten round to checking the livery stables. Maybe if he had, he would have found Derrick Sands.

Damn it.

“Okay, Mrs. Nunally,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Hmph,” she said, and started to close the door.

“Oh, wait.”

“Yes?”

“You said you had no rooms available,” he said, “but that Sands left this morning.”

“Well, I've still got to clean the room,” she said. “I can't rent it the way it is.”

“You mind if I take a look before you clean it?”

“Mister,” she said, “I don't have all day to wait—”

“I'll give you five dollars.”

She opened the door wide and said, “In advance.”

She told him he could have five minutes for his five dollars. It was a high price, but five minutes were all he'd need.

He entered the room and saw what she meant. If the man had been in the room for two days—or even one—he was a slob. The sheets were soiled and all over the place. The drawers in the chest were hanging open, but they were empty.

He walked around, picked the sheets up off the floor, and a slip of paper fluttered out. He picked it up. It was a telegraph slip, the kind you filled out when you wanted to send a telegram. It said: Orwell, Texas. Nothing else.

Maybe it was enough.

 • • • 

Clint headed for the telegraph office, then remembered the clerk said he'd left some telegrams at the front desk of his hotel. He stopped there first and picked them up. One from Roper, one from Rick Hartman, both saying the same thing. They didn't know anything about a price being put out on Clint's head. That meant if it had been done, it had been done privately.

He pocketed the telegrams, then continued on to the telegraph office.

 • • • 

“You got more you wanna send?” the clerk asked as he entered.

“No,” Clint said, handing him the slip he'd found in the room at the boardinghouse. “I want to know if this telegram was sent yesterday or today.”

The clerk took it and read it.

“Oh yeah, I sent this.”

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Was there a reply?”

“No.”

“Where did you send it to?”

The clerk thought a moment then said, “Kirby.”

“Kirby, Texas?”

“That's right.”

“Not Orwell?”

“No.”

“And who did he sent it to?”

“I don't remember.”

“Don't you have it written down somewhere?”

“Well,” the clerk said, scratching his head, “I got it around here someplace.”

“Can you look for it?” Clint asked.

“It might take a while.”

“That's okay,” Clint said.

 • • • 

From the telegraph office, Clint headed back to Doc Martin's office, after all. He needed to find out if he could ride Eclipse without doing any damage to the animal. If he was okay to ride, then Clint would be leaving for Orwell first thing in the morning. Hopefully, before then he'd have the name of the man Derrick Sands had sent a telegram to, and then he'd likely have the names of both of the men who had tried to kill him.

But first he had to make sure he had a horse, even if he had to rent one.

“Back so soon?” Doc Martin asked as he let Clint in.

“Something's come up,” Clint explained.

“Oh? What's that?”

“I have to ride tomorrow,” Clint said. “Can Eclipse travel?”

“How far?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “How far is Orwell?”

“Too far,” Martin said. “That wound could open up and fester.”

“I thought it wasn't bad.”

“It's not,” Martin said, “and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“All right,” Clint said. “I'll have to rent a horse.”

“So you'll be back?”

“Of course,” Clint said. “I'm not going to leave my horse here for good.”

“No, of course not.”

At that moment Andrea came walking in, carrying a basin and some bottles.

“Oh, I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Just came by to ask a question,” Clint said, “and I got my answer.”

“What question?”

“I'm sorry,” Clint said, “your father can tell you. I've got a lot to do.”

“How long will you be gone?” Martin asked.

“I don't know,” Clint said. “A day or two maybe.”

“Well,” Martin said, “we'll take good care of your horse while you're gone.”

“Thank you,” Clint said. He looked at Andrea and said again, “I'm sorry, I have to go.”

He turned and went out the door. Andrea looked at her father, but he only shrugged.

 • • • 

“Sands?” Sheriff Ingram asked.

“Yes, Derrick Sands. Ever heard of him?”

“No, can't say I have.”

“He had a room at Mrs. Nunally's boardinghouse,” she said. “I think he was one of the men who tried to bushwhack me.”

“What was he doing here in town?”

“I don't know.”

“And you think he's meeting the other one in Orwell?” the lawman asked.

“According to his telegram,” Clint said, “he's meeting somebody there.”

“But he sent the telegram to Kirby.”

“Yes. Where is Kirby?”

“Actually,” Ingram said, “it's between here and Orwell.”

“Then I'll be able to check Kirby on the way?” Clint asked.

“Sure, I suppose, if you want to. I mean, it's not on a straight line.”

They were sitting in Ingram's office. Clint had turned down the offer of coffee.

“Where are your deputies?” Clint asked. “I've never seen them.”

“One is making his rounds,” Ingram said. “The other is out with my tracker, trying to find your men's trail.”

“Maybe,” Clint said, “when they do, it'll lead them to Orwell.”

“Or here.”

“Or Kirby,” Clint said.

“When will you be leavin'?” Ingram asked.

“First thing in the morning,” Clint said. “I'll be renting a horse. Mine's not ready for the trip.”

“I can loan you a horse, save you some money.”

“Your horse?”

“I have more than one,” Ingram said. “Don't worry, it'll be a good one.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “I accept.”

“I'll have it ready for you in the morning, out front,” Ingram promised.

“Thanks.”

Clint stood up.

“Where to now?”

“I've still got some things to do before I leave,” Clint said.

“I'll buy you a drink tonight,” Ingram said. “How about the Jack of Hearts?”

“Fine,” Clint said. “I'll see you there later.”

“Fine.”

Clint left the office.

Clint went to his hotel to check with the clerk and see if the telegraph clerk had found the name.

“Sorry, sir,” the man said, “no messages.”

“Okay, thanks. Let me know as soon as one comes, though.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm going to be riding out of town tomorrow, but I want to keep my room. I'll be back in a few days.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

 • • • 

Clint had intended to go to his room and pack his saddlebags, but for some reason today he had been hungry since the start of the day. Even after breakfast, and later pie. He decided to go into the dining room and have an early steak.

There were only a few tables taken, so he was served immediately. While he was eating, he thought about Maria and the night they'd had together. Maybe that's what had his appetite in an uproar. The girl had worked him hard.

He was finishing up when he saw the telegraph clerk come to the doorway and look around, When the clerk spotted Clint, he hotfooted it across the floor.

“I found that name, Mr. Adams!” he said excitedly.

“Good,” Clint said. “What is it?”

The clerk looked at the piece of paper in his hand.

“Uh, it's Dunn, Adam Dunn.” He looked at Clint. “I shoulda remembered that, since it's like your name.”

“I get it,” Clint said. “Can I have that?”

“Sure.”

Clint took the piece of paper and handed the clerk a couple of dollars.

“Thanks!” the clerk said, and hurried back out.

Clint looked at the name on the slip of paper. He didn't recognize it, but now he had two names: Adam Dunn and Derrick Sands. And hopefully he'd find one or both of them in Orwell, Texas.

 • • • 

After he finished eating, he went back to the sheriff's office, but Ingram wasn't there. Behind the desk sat a young man with a deputy's badge.

“He ain't here, Mr. Adams,” the deputy said. He swallowed hard, obviously intimidated by being in the presence of the Gunsmith.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“No, sir,” the deputy said. “He's just . . . out and about, I guess.”

“Okay, well . . . just tell him I was looking for him, will you?”

“Sure, Mr. Adams,” the deputy said. “Can I tell him what it was about?”

“Just tell him I have a name for him.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Thanks.”

Clint left the office. Since he was depending on Ingram to get him a horse for the next morning, all he had left to do was go back to his room, pack his saddlebags, and make sure his weapons were in proper working order.

 • • • 

When he got to his room, it was getting on toward dusk. From beneath the door he saw light. He put his hand on his gun and opened the door.

Maria lay on the bed, stark naked with her eyes closed. Rather than pretending to be asleep, she writhed slowly while moving her hands over her body. She started at her breasts, rubbing them and playing with her nipples until they were erect. As she continued to tease herself, she purred softly as if she were alone in the room. Clint watched while he undressed, enjoying every second of the show she was giving him.

Her hands drifted down over her stomach as her legs opened wide. One hand eased down her thigh while the other went straight to the thatch of hair covering her slick little pussy. Arching her back when she touched herself, Maria ran her fingertips up and down to trace her pink lips. Clint couldn't wait another second before crawling onto the bed to start licking her. That seemed to genuinely surprise her, but Maria quickly began grinding against his face.

Clint's tongue brought her to a quick climax that sent shivers through her body. When she opened her eyes, she watched him settle on top of her and guide his erect penis toward her dripping wet slit. Maria reached down with both hands to open herself for him, and when he entered her, she placed her fingers on his shaft to feel him sliding in and out. Once he picked up speed, she moved her hands up onto his chest and wrapped her legs around him.

For several minutes, he savored the warmth of her skin and the touch of her nails against his body. She then wrapped her arms around him and held him close enough for Clint to feel the heat and firm, smooth texture of her breasts. Every time he pumped into her, she let out a short, groaning breath. Maria's hands roamed over Clint's back until she stretched her arms over her head to grab on to the iron bars of the bed's frame.

Clint rose up so he was kneeling between her legs. Still inside her, he held her legs and spread them open wide so he could start thrusting with building intensity. Maria's eyes remained closed but a smile crossed her lips. Leaning forward a bit, he placed his hands upon her breasts and massaged them as he pumped in and out of her. Maria's skin was hot and she moaned with pleasure as he rubbed his palms against her nipples.

Looking down, Clint drank in the sight of her. The sound of her breathy moans made his erection even harder. She squirmed so much and responded so intensely to everything he did that Clint got the sudden urge to drive her wild. Keeping one hand on her breast, he teased her nipple while reaching between her legs to rub her clit as he continued to drive into her. That caused her eyes to snap open and her voice to catch in her throat. It wasn't long at all before her entire body was rocked by a powerful climax. When she was through, Maria crawled out from under him and pushed Clint onto his back.

Taken by surprise by her sudden move, he was surprised again when she wrapped her lips around his cock and started bobbing her head up and down. She sucked him hungrily, eager to drive him just as wild as he'd driven her. As she ran her lips up and down his rigid pole, she raked her nails along his chest and stomach. Soon her entire body was in motion as if she meant to crawl on top of him without letting her mouth stop what it was doing.

Her mouth slid over every inch of his cock. When she brought her head up, Maria swirled her tongue around his tip until he took her head in his hands and kept her in that spot. Slowly, she began to suck him again. This time, she took every inch of him inside her mouth until her lips closed at the base of his shaft. Maria didn't move very much after that. She didn't have to. Her tongue was busy sending shivers down his spine until Clint thought he would burst.

She eased her head up and then bobbed up and down even faster than before. Clint could only take that for so long before his climax approached. He leaned back, let out a long breath, and let it happen. She drank him down, licked her lips, and asked for seconds a little while later.