Gunslinger Page 5

  "There's an old tow sack over yonder on the floor that you can put all that there stuff in. I surefire hope that you find a bunch of good things. You deserve it. I saw your missus make that shot on that feller she done winged. She put a big hole in his arm though. I ain't never seen that kind of shootin', never. Are you always as fast with a gun as what I saw?"

  He was staring at Clint's gun, out and ready, pointed at the door, before he could blink. "Does that answer your question?" The corner of his mouth turned up as he put the gun back in his holster. "Me and 'the missus' practice all the time and we're both darn good. We can hold our own."

  The undertaker just nodded. He had the bodies and a twenty-dollar payment coming from the county because of Clint.

  "I'd like to thank you for providing for my family, Sir. That payment would help us make it through the winter. Now we got Doc, there is less call for my services. Times being as they are, we've been a little strained on the financial end."

  He hummed as he worked, and Clint packed up the spoils in the proffered bag and left. He returned to the Sheriff's office to collect the requisite signature. Smiley grinned at the chit.

  "Old Barnes will throw a fit when he sees this. It would almost be worth it to tag along with you when you go to collect. but my shoulder is hurting, so I gotta decline the invitation to join in on the fun."

  Clint thanked the Sheriff and quietly left the man to his healing.

  "Oh, what do you want now?" Banker Barnes barked at Clint who had just stepped into the bank.

  Clint smiled his best smile and replied, "I have a chit here that I'd like to take care of."

  "Well, give it here," The banker snapped.

  "I'd rather hold it until you've made good on it, if you don't mind. The law allows that. The Sheriff told me so." Clint replied. He held up the chit so the banker could read it through the bars of the teller's cage. The banker blanched, choked, and turned red.

  "Give me that," he demanded.

  "Nope, not until you make good on it," Clint had him over the barrel … of his revolver. "Sheriff said to come get him if there was a problem. He'd be mighty ungrateful if you called him out of his office, what with his shoulder wound hurting, though. He said that he'd probably have to enforce those town ordinances he'd been overlooking. Yep, that's what he said."

  The banker went into the vault without a word and retrieved the money for the chit. That was when Clint reminded Banker Barnes that the State guaranteed payment in gold. Barnes flew into a rage and flatly refused to provide the funds in gold after a lengthy diatribe.

  Clint spun on his heels, spurs jingling and purposefully strode out the door. Barnes held a smug look of satisfaction on his face. He had just turned to return the bank notes to the vault when the bell above the door jangled once more. He whipped around only to see Clint once again. The Sheriff accompanied him this time.

  Arguing turned out to be pointless. Banker Barnes completed his mission of returning the banknotes and retrieved a strongbox from the floor of the vault. He opened the box and removed a medium-sized brown leather bag. It was secured with a rawhide strap at the top of the bag. The banker counted out the reward in gold coin with practiced ease. Only 4 coins remained when he completed the count.

  Barnes showed Clint where to sign for receiving the money under the Sheriff's name, which he gladly did. He then scooped the coins into the sack he got from Mr. Shriver.

  "Please don't come back, and don't let the door hit you on the backside as you leave," was the banker’s last snide remark.

  "Have a good day, and watch out tomorrow just in case another group of bank robbers show up. I might be busy elsewhere and might not be around these parts to save your fat ass the next time someone makes an unauthorized withdrawal."

  Clint thought about his luck today. Two thousand seven hundred dollars in this time period was a LOT of money. They could consider it a fortune. Clint could buy a large working farm for a thousand dollars. Cattle were selling at ten dollars a head according to the sign at the railhead at the end of town. He had noticed the sign when he retrieved the last bandit. Then he thought of Janie. They had enough money for them to get married and settle down if she’d have him. He reminded himself that he hadn't checked the loot and saddlebags on the horses yet. There may be even more. Yep, this was his lucky day.

  If nothing came up to spoil it.

  Next Clint went to pick up the horses that he’d gained, so he stopped by the hitching post beside the bank where the boys tethered them. He learned that Mr. Akin owned the best stable and that it was one street over, turn at the saloon, when he asked about the whereabouts of stable. Clint did as they suggested and made his way, walking with the four horses in tow. Clint watched them to test their soundness as they walked. He'd decided on which ones to keep by the time they reached the stable.

  He called out when he got to the doorway. "Hey, Mr. Akin. Are you open for business? I have a little horse-trading to do with you today. Are you interested?"

  He was leaning forward looking into the depths of the darkened barn. A voice next to his right ear startled him as it said, "Shore thing, Stranger, just keep yur hands steady and we'll git along jest fine."

  Clint detected the click of the hammers of the shotgun as someone pulled them back to the ready position.

  “Sheriff Smiley has sent me to you, Mr. Akin. He recommended that I come to you because you were honest. I own these horses by virtue of my prowess with a gun. My wife and I are law-abiding citizens doing our duty. I shot their former owners for animal cruelty. It was cruel for them to make these poor horses give transportation for their ilk. Oh, yes, I also shot them because they were robbing the bank and were shooting at me.”

  "Well, why in tarnation didn't you say so right off?" he asked, lowering the twin hammers of the double-barrel shotgun on safety again. "Dag nab-bit, no one ever tells me nothing! They should tell me first off, afore I shoot someone who comes nosing 'round my business without so much as a by your leave."

  "That is an oversight I won't forget, Sir," he said. "My name is Clint Robertson and me and the missus arrived in town just in time to witness the bank robbery."

  "My name is Chance Smith Akin, but everyone calls me Smitty. You’re welcome to if you're of a mind."

  "So then, are you interested in purchasing what I don't keep?" Clint asked.

  "Yes, Sir. Glad to help, iff’n I can. I take it that you'll be keeping the black stallion and the roan mare?"

  "Why, yes? How did you know?" Clint replied with a chuckle.

  “It was no hard choice. I spied them animals and stepped over to take a gander at them when the hubbub died down out there. Them two are the better of the choices, but I’d change the roan out as soon as I am able. I reckon that one’ll go lame soon enough.”

  “How do you know?” Clint inquired.

  "Lift the back leg on the right. Look at the frog. It's diseased. Your mare ain't long for this world. Best use her til she drops."

  Clint lifted the mare’s leg and sure enough saw what Smitty talking about.

  It’s a shame that we don’t have Koppertox around to treat that thrush. She’s a beautiful mare, but she’s worthless to us without treatment. It’s a shame that we’re only 75 years too early.

  The summers that he’d spent working on his uncle’s farm taught him the value of a good supply of equine vet supplies.

  “Before we get going, do you have a reliable stable boy I might send out on an errand?”

  Smitty said that he did and called the boy out.

  “This here is Clarence Thompson. He’s the Widow Thompson’s boy. He’s honest and smart,” Smitty declared.

  “Good! Boy, I need you to run an errand for me and there’ll be two bits in it for you. Are ya interested?”

  “Twenty-five cents!” the boy exclaimed. “You bet!”

  Reasonable payment for a service such as this was a nickel. The offer seemed a fortune.

  “Here is an eagle.” Clint said holding the gol
d coin out. “Go to the hotel. Tell the clerk that I want to rent the best room they have. Use my name, Clint Robertson. You can tell him I’m the one who stopped the bank holdup if you need to. The gold piece is to pay for my room. Here’s a quarter for you. Please inform the clerk that I want a bottle of good Kentucky whiskey in the room when I get there.”

  The boy grabbed the coins from Clint’s hands and was off like a shot. Smitty chuckled at the boy’s antics. That quarter was equal to what Smitty paid for a week's worth of part-time work.

  “You’ll spoil the lad that way.” Smitty groused, but he couldn’t stay angry long. He proceeded to point out the strengths and weaknesses on the animals that Clint brought him.

  "Thanks for the advice." Clint said. "Now I have a couple questions. What will you pay for those three horses? I’ll throw in the tack except for two sets. We want to keep the best of the two saddles based on your judgment. Also, I want to trade some for a new horse for my wife, preferably a mare so that we can make little horses, too."

  "Let me think on that, young fella," Smitty said.

  The ladies started for the boarding house as Clint had walked away. Janie glanced back at Clint with a look of admiration and longing. Her new friend caught her expression and gave Janie a knowing look.

  “We’ll just have to discuss that situation when we get back to my room.”

  They continued on and Janie noticed that the town was back to normal, for the most part. A young lad passed them using a stick to propel a hoop up the street. The townspeople were carrying on with business as if nothing untoward happened.

  Janie and Agnes resumed their walk along the street and soon turned off the main thoroughfare, headed for the Widow Johnson’s boarding house. They entered the neat little clapboard house with yellow paint and made their way back to Aggie's room. She invited Janie inside and shut the door. To say that Mrs. Johnson was a nosy busybody was just a kindness. So Aggie kept to herself as much as she could. The women made themselves comfortable and talked.

  Aggie’s room was very large, allowing space for a settee and a table “Tell me” Janie began “Who’s President now? We’ve been out of touch.”

  Janie spotted a broadsheet laying on the table as Miss Farnsworth explained the politics of the day. The masthead proclaimed the date to be May 23, 1875. Janie visibly blanched at the revelation and trembled.

  Agnes noticed and mistook the action for the jitters from the shooting. She apologized for her manners and offered to get Janie a cup of tea. She disappeared from the room before Janie could comment.

  Widow Johnson always kept a kettle on the stove. Aggie was quickly back with an herbal tea designed to calm the nerves. It reminded her of Celestial Seasonings Chamomile tea, one of her favorites, when Janie tasted it.

  Janie soldiered on asking more questions to get her mind off the shock of learning the date and the trauma of the gunfight. It helped put events of the shootings in the back of her consciousness.

  Janie learned that the railroad had only reached the town just over a year ago. It had been a boon to the town and explained the tremendous growth in the population.

  “Why, we’re just a booming now. People are moving in all the time. There were about 85 people living in town last time they counted, approximately one hundred and fifty with the people on farms here abouts. There’s even more iff’n you count the dogs, cats, and cows.”

  They had a good laugh and Janie settled down a bit. Agnes noticed that something was different with Janie, something she wasn’t able to put her finger on, but Aggie wasn’t one to pry.

  They talked of the finer points of Clint. Janie became flushed with the candor Aggie offered in her assessment of the man.

  Smitty pondered what he had in front of him and the horses already in stock. He made a close examination of the saddles on all four horses and then checked them once more.

  "Forty bucks, and I have a mare already bred, and she's due to foal any day. She's sound, and only eight. Do real fine with that stallion you've kept. That one's a good choice. He's a beauty. No brand, so you're clear on ownership. The only brand I see isn’t a local brand. I doubt that I'll have any trouble, and you get a twofer with the mare and foal."

  “Before you ask, a twofer is two animals for the price of one. I am giving you that because of the favor you did for the town. While most of us don't like Banker Barnes, we need him. Iff'n he goes bankrupt, so does everyone else, including the town.”

  Clint chose, with Smitty's help, the tack already on the stallion and the tack from the pinto mare. He helped Mr. Smith remove the tack from the horses and they led them to a corral out back. The men placed his tack on a couple of barrels in the tack room used for that purpose. Smitty then showed him the mare.

  She was beautiful and whiter than snow. While she was not an albino, she was everything else. It was obvious that she was pregnant but what was not obvious, was that she was already in the earliest stages of labor. The mare should foal within the next week.

  Smitty observed; “There’s a storm brewing. It might just speed things along for her.”

  He agreed to stable the stallion and store the tack for four bits a day. Clint paid for five days, just as he had at the hotel. He took the saddlebags with him, thanking Smitty for the twenty dollars in gold that the stableman had paid him. He knew that he'd gotten the better end of the deal, but Smitty smiled without a word. That was the end of the discussion.

  His business now concluded, and the saddlebags tucked into the tow sack, Clint headed for the Widow Johnson’s home. Clint knocked on the door, but no one answered. He knocked again only louder this time. Aggie heard it even through her closed door and went to answer. Janie followed. Mrs. Johnson did not allow men in the house, so the trio sat on the front porch. They quietly talked about the discussion that had ensued in Aggie's room, but the ladies left off the discussion that they’d had about Clint.

  The couple said their goodnights as dusk had fallen. Clint escorted her to the hotel. Janie slid her hand in his once again as they walked. He smiled at the gesture. The rumble of thunder in the distance broke the silence. Janie became apprehensive because of last night’s events.

  Clint and Janie noticed a redhaired young man behind the counter as they entered the hotel. Clint strode up to the counter and told him he was Clint Robertson and that young Master Johnson had been by to hire a room.

  “My kid brother was here and I have the best room available for you,” he said smiling. “I’m Jacob Johnson. Pleased to meet you.”

  Jacob extended his hand and Clint shook it. He did not offer it to Janie as was the custom of the times. He handed Clint the key to the room instead and told him that it was at the top of the stairs. The wooden stairs gave off a creak a little more than halfway up as they ascended the stairway.

  Clint unlocked the door and ushered Janie through. The oil lamps were flickering, giving off a soft glow. A quick examination of the room showed a table and two chairs, a plush stuffed couch, and a dry sink that held a white porcelain pitcher and matching basin. Little scrollwork patterns broke the smooth surface of the pieces. There was a small sideboard against the wall with a mirror hung above it. The top was a piece of burl walnut that shown with care not normally seen in a hotel like this. A rug with an intricate pattern and a multitude of exotic colors in the weave covered much of the floor. Clint recognized the passageway in the wall as the bedroom door. A quick peek confirmed his suspicion.

  “Don’t we have bags of loot to examine?” Janie eagerly asked.

  They did. The couple turned to the table and the tow sack placed there. The easiest to check by far were the gun rigs. There was only one good gun of the bunch, a Colt 45 in almost perfect condition. The rest of the weapons were crap, a mix of 44-40 and 32-20. One gun, a Schofield top break 45 looked like the owner had not cleaned the gun since it left the factory. At least the ammunition would be usable. They stacked the guns and holsters on the chair by the window.

  They examined the long guns
next. There was only one real good rifle again, a Henry chambered in 44-40. They set it aside with the Colt and stacked the others by the chair. The clothing was next. Janie judged it unsalvageable, and she tossed them out the window into the alley behind the hotel. Someone could use the scraps. They’d probably end up as someone’s rug. She didn't want them. They used the bag to hold the guns that they would sell.

  Next it was time to check the saddlebags. The first only contained more dirty clothes and a box of 44-40 shells. The second was slightly better. It contained a new shirt, a clean handkerchief, and two boxes of 32-20 shells. The third was the jackpot. It contained four boxes of 44-40 shells, five double eagles, one hundred dollars in banknotes, and a folio wrapped in oilcloth. They put those items aside while they continued the search. They found one last item, a velvet bag with satin drawstrings.