Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853) Read Free Page A

down their food.
    Finally, Clint got to the story of the writer who was working on a book about Wild Bill Hickok.
    â€œThere have been books about Hickok before,” Roper pointed out.
    â€œDime novels and penny dreadfuls,” Clint said. “This is supposed to be a work of literary worth.”
    â€œAnd the truth?”
    â€œHe says.”
    â€œHave you read it?”
    â€œWhat he has so far.”
    â€œIs it true?”
    â€œAs far as it goes.”
    â€œAnd well written?”
    â€œWho am I to say, but not bad.”
    â€œYou and Mark Twain are friends,” Roper said. “I put a lot of stock in your opinion.”
    â€œIt reads okay.”
    â€œBut it could use some insight from somebody who knew Bill, right?”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œSo, you thinking of giving the young man your insight?”
    â€œI’m considering it.”
    â€œYou going to ask my opinion?”
    â€œI was thinking about it.”
    â€œWell, if you were to ask,” Roper said, “I’d say if the book is going to be published anyway, it might as well be as accurate as it can be.”
    â€œThat’s what I was thinking.”
    Roper laughed and sat back.
    â€œThen you had your mind made up before you came here, didn’t you?”
    â€œPretty much, I guess.”
    â€œWell then, eat your steak,” Roper said, “and let’s get another beer.”
    * * * 
    During dinner, Roper told Clint he had to leave town for a case.
    â€œCan you talk about it?”
    â€œI could,” Roper said, “but I won’t.”
    â€œYou always did set a lot of store by your ethics.”
    â€œLook who’s talking,” Roper said. “You’re probably the most ethical man I know.”
    â€œMy own ethics maybe,” Clint said.
    â€œThat’s all a man’s got,” Roper said.
    When they’d finished, Roper insisted on paying the bill.
    â€œMy town,” he said.
    â€œThat’s not fair,” Clint said. “I don’t have a town.”
    â€œYou can pay anytime we eat dinner outside of Denver. How’s that for fair?”
    â€œIt’ll have to do.”
    In front of the restaurant, the two men shook hands and Roper said, “I’ll look forward to reading that book. What’s the writer’s name?”
    â€œMark Silvester.”
    â€œMake sure he tells the real story, Clint.”
    â€œI will,” Clint said. “Yeah, I’ve pretty much decided that I will. Thanks, Tal.”

SIX
    Clint walked back to his hotel, found Mark Silvester sitting in the lobby, impatiently tapping his fingers on his knees. When he saw Clint, he stood and quickly approached him.
    â€œMr. Adams, the clerk said you picked up the briefcase I left for you.”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œDid you read my work?”
    â€œMost of it.” In truth, he had paged through the book on Jesse James then read the entire manuscript on Hickok.
    â€œAnd what did you think, sir? I am, of course, particularly interested in your opinion of the manuscript.”
    â€œIt’s passable.”
    â€œThe story, or the writing?”
    â€œBoth.”
    â€œPassable . . .” Silvester repeated. “I’m given to understand you know Mark Twain?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œDo you call him a friend?”
    â€œI have that right, and privilege,” Clint said.
    â€œThen I suppose ‘passable’ from you is a compliment,” Silvester said. “In any case, I’ll take it as such.”
    â€œThat’s fine,” Clint said.
    â€œHave you decided if you’re going to help me, sir?” Silvester asked.
    â€œI’ve almost made up my mind, Mr. Silvester.”
    â€œAlmost?”
    â€œI just need the rest of the night,” Clint said. “Why don’t you meet me down here for breakfast in the morning, and we’ll talk.”
    â€œI’ll do that, Mr.