Under a Turquoise Sky (7 page)

They did not discuss business any further over dinner, but did come back to it during dessert. Once again George Markstein offered Clint a small piece of the mine for his help.

“I owe you a partial partnership just for saving my life yesterday,” the man insisted.

“George, I appreciate it,” Clint said, “but I don't want to be a mine owner. I'll find us a guide and ride up there with you to look the operation over and see what kind of a reception you get. That's all.”

“That is hardly all, Clint,” Markstein said. “That is quite a bit.”

When they finished eating, Markstein insisted on paying the bill.

“It will be the first installment of what I will be paying you,” Markstein said. “In fact, I will be paying all your expenses from now on, including your hotel.”

“Well, we'll have plenty of other expenses.”

“Such as?”

“You'll need a horse, we'll need a packhorse and supplies for the ride to the mine,” Clint explained. “We can look for all that stuff tomorrow, while I'm looking for a guide.”

“And how will you find someone you can trust?” Markstein asked.

“Simple,” Clint said. “I'll ask somebody I trust.”

 

Clint found Sheriff Cafferty in his office, going through wanted posters and flyers.

“If you're looking for me, I'm not in there,” Clint said.

“Not lookin' for anyone in particular,” the lawman said, setting them aside. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a guide,” Clint said.

“To go where?”

“Up into the mountains, somewhere above Beale Springs.”

“To a mine?”

“Yep.”

“I didn't know you had any interest in the mines.”

“Neither did I, until tonight.”

The sheriff sat back in his chair.

“Ah, I see. You had your supper with Mr. Markstein.”

“He's got a piece of a mine,” Clint said. “That's what he's doing here.”

“And he wants you to go with him to find it?”

Clint explained Markstein's offer to the sheriff, so that the lawman would know exactly what was going on.

“I get it,” he said. “Lemme think. Somebody you can trust. That's not easy to come by in a mining town. Somebody's always looking to get somethin' for nothin'.”

“I figured if anyone would know somebody, it'd be you.”

“Uh-huh.” The lawman rubbed his jaw. “You payin'?”

“Markstein's paying, but yeah, we're paying.”

“You want somebody who can use a gun?”

“Give me somebody well-rounded,” Clint said. “Somebody I can just tell what I want, and get it.”

“Well, there's Bill Cryder, but he usually has to be told specifically what to do, step by step.”

“Save him for the end. Who else?”

“There's James Washburn,” Cafferty said. “He might do, but the funny thing is, he don't ride very good. Tends to fall off horses a lot.”

“Anybody else?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Cafferty said. “There's a new feller in town. Now, I don't know him that well, but he's been around for a few months doin' odd jobs, and I never heard anybody complain about him.”

“Does he know his way around?”

“Oh yeah, he's guided some supply wagons up the mountain.”

“He sounds like the likely candidate, then,” Clint said. “What's his name and where would I find him?”

The sheriff told Clint he'd find his guide in a saloon called Saloon No. 1. He explained that this was the first saloon to open in Kingman. He also explained that this was not a good part of town to loiter in, but his man seemed to be most comfortable there.

“He's a loner,” Cafferty said. “Does most of his work on his own. Doesn't have any friends that I can see.”

“Well, I don't want to be his friend,” Clint said. “I just need a guide.”

Clint entered Saloon No. 1 and saw what Cafferty had been talking about. It was a ramshackle building that looked as if it was about to fall down, and it didn't improve when you went inside. The bar looked to be leaning to one side, which probably made it easier to slide beer mugs downhill. The tables and chairs were mismatched, and many of them were either three-or three-and-a-half legged.

He walked up to the bar and had no trouble getting the bartender's attention since he was already the center of it.

“What can I get ya?”

“Some information.”

“Fresh out.” The man had bulging biceps, but also a bulging belly.

“I haven't asked you anything, yet.”

“It don't matter.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “before we get off on the wrong foot, I'm looking for a man to give him a job.”

The bartender relaxed and replied, “Shoulda said that from the beginning. Who's the guy?”

“Goes by the name Buck Chance.” It sounded like an alias to Clint, but who was he to judge. Maybe the reason the man stayed to himself was because he was running from something. That didn't matter to Clint, either.

“Sittin' in the back, alone,” the bartender said. “Starin' into his beer.”

“Thanks.”

“You want somethin' now?”

“Sure,” Clint said. “Give me a beer.”

The bartender drew him one and slid it downhill to him. When Clint caught it, he realized why Chance might be staring into his. It was to check and see what was floating in it.

Clint nodded at the bartender, picked up the mug and carried it back to Buck Chance's table.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

“Why would you want to?” Chance asked without looking up.

“I might have a job for you.”

Now the man looked up. Clint was startled by the blue of his eyes. He'd never seen eyes that blue on a man.

“In that case you better sit down, Mr. Adams.”

Clint sat and said, “You know who I am.”

“You sort of announced your presence in town when you gunned down Mike Dolan.”

“Friend of yours?”

“I don't have any friends in Kingman,” Chance said. “Whoever sent you to me musta told you that.”

“Sheriff Cafferty,” Clint said. “He sent me.”

“Fact is,” Chance added, “a few more days or weeks I mighta had to gun Dolan myself.”

“Why's that?”

Chance shrugged.

“Boredom,” he said, then added, “plus Mike deserved it.”

“That's what I've heard.”

“And what've you heard about me?”

“That you're for hire,” Clint said, “that you usually work alone, and that so far, you're trustworthy.”

Chance smiled and said, “That's only because I haven't cheated anyone…yet.”

“You planning on it?”

“Not plannin',” Chance said, “but you never know.”

Clint thought he detected an accent in the man's speech—southern maybe, or more specifically—

“Louisiana?” Clint asked.

“What?”

“I'm thinkin' maybe New Orleans,” Clint went on. “Or maybe…Baton Rouge?”

Chance sat back and stared across the table.

“That's good,” he said. “It's Baton Rouge. You know what my real last name is?”

“Not if you don't want me to.”

“Oh, I ain't wanted or anything,” Chance said. “I just didn't want to travel through the West tellin' folks my last name was Bon Chance.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” he said, “and my real first name ain't Buck, either, but I ain't tellin' that one.”

“Well, your secret's safe with me.”

“What's the job?”

“Guide.”

“Where?”

“One of the mines above Beale Springs.”

“One of the big ones?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

That stumped Clint.

“I don't know the name of it, but I've got an easterner here in town who bought into it and wants to check it out.”

“That must be the Blue Lady Mine,” Chance said, with a smile. “I heard one of the partners sold out. When do you want to go?”

“Tomorrow morning. I thought we'd use today to stock up on supplies, get a packhorse, and my man needs a horse, as well.

“You hirin' me for tomorrow, or right now?”

“Right now.”

“Your guy got money?”

“He bought a mine, didn't he?”

“Good point.” Chance named a figure and pushed his chair back. “That gonna buckle his knees?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then I'd say you fellas got yourself a guide.” He stood and put out his hand. He was a little over six feet, a fit-looking thirty or so. Clint shook his hand and took a look at the man's gun and holster. They were well cared for, and worn like he knew how to use them.

“Let's go,” Chance said.

“Don't you want to finish your beer?”

“Are you kiddin'?” Chance asked. “Did you look in your mug yet?”

Clint glanced at the trio of flies floating in there and said, “I see what you mean.”

As they headed for the door, Chance said, “Since you just hired me, you wanna pay my tab?”

Since Kingman was only two or three years removed from having been a one-horse town, it didn't take long for Breckens and Edwards to locate Clint Adams after they missed him at the hotel that morning.

“If you'd get your ass outta bed the first time I call ya—” Breckens was still complaining to Edwards.

“Okay, okay, I get it, it's my fault we missed him at the hotel,” Edwards said. “Can we let it drop now?”

They dropped it, but Breckens kept muttering to himself until they saw Clint Adams walking up Beale Street with another man. Breckens pushed Edwards into a doorway.

“Who the hell is that?” Breckens demanded.

“You know who that is, Carl,” Edward said. “He drinks at Number One all the time. It's that fella Chance.”

“Crap,” Breckens said.

“They probably just hired him to guide them to the mine,” Edwards said. “What's the big deal?”

“It's another man we might have to kill,” Breckens said. “We've gone from one to three now, and all for the same money.”

Breckens never told his partner that he'd gotten some money from their employer already.

“Well, we don't even know for sure that the dandy hired Adams, yet,” Edwards said. “If he did, then we're gonna need help.”

“Great,” Breckens said, “more fingers in the pie.”

“Are we havin' pie?”

“Shut up.”

 

Clint took Chance to the hotel first to meet the man who was going to be paying all the bills. George Markstein opened the door to his room and invited them in.

“I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Chance,” he said after Clint had made the introductions, “and very pleased that you'll be guiding us to our destination.”

“I hope you're still pleased after you hear what you've got to pay me,” Chance said.

Markstein looked at Clint, and then back at Chance.

“And how much is that?”

Chance told him and waited for his knees to buckle.

“That's not a problem,” Markstein said without flinching.

“Good,” Chance said. “Then we're all set.”

“Is there something I should be doing?” Markstein asked.

“No,” Chance said, “you've hired me, so the rest is my job. If you'll give me some money, I'll go and buy some supplies.”

“I'll go and buy the horses,” Clint said.

“Wait,” Markstein said. He walked over to his suitcase and took out a wallet. From it he extracted a bunch of bills and brought them back to Chance and Clint.

“How much will you need?”

Clint plucked some bills from the man's hands and said, “This should do it for the horses. If I can, I'll just rent them. That'll be cheaper.”

“And we'll only have to camp one night,” Chance said, taking some bills, “so this should be plenty.”

Markstein seemed surprised that he still had some of the money left in his hands.

“You look surprised,” Clint said. “Did you think we'd take all the money?”

“I think I might have been fortunate enough to find two honest men in Kingman,” Markstein said.

“Don't be so sure about me,” Chance said. He turned to Clint. “I'll pick up the supplies and meet you at the livery.”

“Fine,” Clint said. “It'll take me a while to pick out a couple of likely horses.”

They left the hotel together and stopped briefly out in front.

“We have some rough terrain to cover,” Chance said, “unless we just stick to the roads, which I would do if I was guiding somebody with wagons.”

“Well, we're not in a hurry,” Clint said, “but one night on the trail should be enough.”

“Okay, then,” Chance said, “pick out a couple of sure-footed horses. See if they have any buckskins; they generally have harder hooves.”

“I'll do my best,” Clint said.

“You ride that Darley Arabian, don't you?” Chance asked.

“That's right.”

“Then I guess you won't have any trouble pickin' out horses. I shouldn't be tellin' you what to look for.”

“No problem,” Clint said. “The more I know about what our ride's going to be like, the better choices I can make.”

“On the other hand,” Chance said, “we just might have to settle for what we can get.”

“We'll just have to wait and see.”

They split up there, Chance heading for the mercantile and Clint for the livery.

 

“Let's take Adams now,” Edwards said as they watched the two men go their own ways.

“You know, for the first time in your life you said somethin' smart a minute ago,” Breckens said.

“I did?” Edwards looked puzzled. “What was it?”

“That we don't know if the dandy's even hired Clint Adams,” Breckens said. “Until we do know that, why would we chance goin' up against him?”

“Okay, then how do we find out?”

“We just keep watchin',” Breckens said, “and waitin'.”