The Gunsmith 386 Read Free Page A

that’s not important,” he said. “I sent that telegram to the sheriff in Wells, and got a reply pretty quick. I also sent my deputies out to pick up that body.”
    â€œAnything helpful from the sheriff?”
    â€œNot yet,” he said. “He’s gonna check around, see what he can find out. If the three men spotted you in town and recognized you, they might have talked about planning to ambush you.”
    â€œAnd no word on a couple of strangers riding in here recently?”
    â€œNo,” Ingram said, shaking his head. He was holding the coffee cup in front of him, talking over it, taking small sips in between. “I’m still checking, though. I can let you know when we have the body at the undertaker’s.”
    â€œGood,” Clint said. “I’d like to take another look at it. Maybe it’ll look familiar when I can study him without having to worry about being shot in the back.”
    Ingram finished his coffee and set the cup down, pushed his chair back.
    â€œWell, I better get to it, then,” he said. “I’ll send word when the body comes in.”
    â€œAppreciate it, Sheriff.”
    â€œSure thing,” Ingram said. “I don’t like the idea of somebody being ambushed in my county.”
    â€œBelieve me,” Clint said, “neither do I.”
    Clint finished his pie and coffee and left the hotel. An idea had occurred to him while he was eating, and he decided to act on it. He walked through town, found the people pleasant enough as they nodded to him in passing, even though he was a stranger.
    Eventually he came to the storefront he was looking for—the telegraph office. He went inside and sent two telegrams of his own. One went to his friend Rick Hartman in Labyrinth, Texas, and the other went to Talbot Roper in Denver. Roper was a private detective—probably the best in the country—and a good friend.
    Both telegrams asked the same question. Had either man heard any news about a price being put on Clint’s head? Of course, the three men might have simply spotted him in Wells and decided to try and make a name for themselves, but there were also a lot of people out there with money who would like to see the Gunsmith dead. There was no harm in checking that out.
    He told the clerk he was staying at the Harvest House, and asked that any replies be brought there.
    He left the office, stopped just outside. The sheriff didn’t know anything about two strangers riding into town together recently, but what if they had decided to ride in separately?
    There were three people who either kept track of strangers in town, or they were simply in a position to have that information. They were the local lawman, bartenders, and men who owned or worked in livery stables.
    Clint had already talked with the sheriff, so that left saloons and livery stables.
    He decided to try the saloons first.

SIX
    There were four saloons in Hastings. Two were holes in the wall, real small, with no girls or gambling. Clint nursed a beer in each of them. First he listened to the conversation around him. He could often pick out strangers that way. However, the few patrons in each of these saloons seemed to know each other very well. In the end, he asked the bartenders if they’d seen any strangers in town, and they each had the same answer:
    â€œJust you.”
    The other two saloons were larger, with all the trappings: girls, gambling, music.
    He stopped at the Wild Horse Saloon first, decided to save the Jack of Hearts for last.
    The Wild Horse was crowded for midday, girls already working the floor, gaming tables already open and in full swing. Clint made room for himself at the bar and ordered a beer. Unlike the beer at the other two saloons, this one was ice cold.
    He followed the same sequence, first waiting and listening. While this saloon was crowded, most of the customers seemed to know one another, and the bartender.
    â€œI’m