Town of Two Women (9781101612125) (5 page)

FIFTEEN

Clint found the house with no trouble, as Doc had assured him. It was two stories, with white columns out front, and balconies above.

He approached the front door and knocked. With this kind of house, he expected the door to be opened by a servant. Instead, a woman who was very unservantlike opened it and stared at him.

“Yes?”

“I'm looking for Mrs. Locksley.”

“You found her,” she said, “but I don't know you.”

“No, you don't, ma'am,” he said. “My name is Clint Adams.”

“Ah,” she said, “you're the one who brought that bitch back to town.”

“Well, uh, yes, but the, uh, bitch was unconscious when I brought her back. Not her doing at all.”

She frowned at him, then said, “Well, come inside,” and backed away.

Clint entered, closed the door, and followed the woman through a large, high-ceilinged entryway into a plushly furnished living room.

“This is very impressive,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. “It's furnished to my taste, of course.”

She stopped, turned, and folded her arms. She was wearing an expensive robe that looked to him like silk, belted tightly at the waist. He hadn't known what to expect the way everyone talked about her. What he found was a beautiful woman, tall and slender, although the tight robe did bulge in the right places. She had long black hair, and the skin of her face was smooth and pale. She wasn't evil looking at all, although she was giving him a rather stern look at the moment.

“I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Adams,” she said. “You found an unconscious girl and brought her to the closest town for treatment.”

“That's exactly how it happened.”

“Fine,” she said, “now get her out of town.”

“I intend to,” Clint said, “as soon as she's ready to ride.”

“Get her a buggy,” Angela Locksley said, “or tie her to a horse again. I don't care how, just get her out of here.”

“Mrs. Locksley,” Clint said, “you're not being reasonable.”

“I thought I was being very reasonable by giving you the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Adams,” she said. “I'm afraid that's as reasonable as I can get after what that woman did.”

“And what did she do?”

“Never mind,” she said. “I don't want to go through the whole business again. It was . . . distasteful.”

“Mrs. Locksley, where's your son? What's his name? Jake?”

“That's right,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“I just thought since I was here, I should probably talk to him.”

“Well, you can't,” she said. “We sent Jake away.”

“Away?”

“Back East,” she said. “To school.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty.”

He'd had trouble guessing Mary's age, but she seemed a little old for a twenty-year-old boy.

“Have you spoken with my husband?”

“I have.”

“Were you impressed?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“I didn't think so,” she said. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, Mr. Adams.”

“Okay.”

“If you don't get that girl out of town, I will have her killed,” she said. “If you get in the way, I will have you killed.”

“I'll tell you what I told your husband, ma'am,” Clint said. “Anyone you send will have to deal with me.”

“I will not send someone,” she said. “I will send several someones. I am aware of your reputation, but you are only one man.”

“As I told your husband, I'm one man who will be fixated on you, and on him.”

“You don't frighten me, Mr. Adams,” she said. “Perhaps you frightened my husband. I rather think you probably did. But you don't scare me. You would not shoot an unarmed woman.”

“I'll gladly shoot anyone you send after me, though,” he told her.

“Then you'll have to deal with the law.”

“You think if you send gunmen to try to kill me, the law will be on your side?”

“In this town?” she asked. “I know it will.”

SIXTEEN

Clint left the Locksley home, shaking his head. The woman was unbendable in her resolve. He'd now spoken to husband and wife, and there was little or no difference—except he did agree that Angela Locksley had the power.

Mary had told him that she was having an affair with Eric Locksley, but she didn't tell him if Angela knew about it. Did the woman hate the girl simply because she thought she was after her son, or did she know about her dalliance with her husband?

That was something Mary might be able to tell him, when she woke up.

Clint still had not gotten himself a hotel room. He didn't know how long the doctor would let him sleep in that spare room, but perhaps he could go back there now and freshen up for his supper date with Gina Hopewell.

Locksley's secretary certainly seemed willing to talk about her boss, so maybe she'd have something to say that would be of value.

Clint returned to Doc Mathis's office and put the question to him.

“You can stay as long as you want,” Mathis said. “In fact, I prefer having you here, in case anything goes wrong.”

“Do you think the Locksleys will send men here after Mary?” Clint asked.

“I think if they send anyone, it will be during the night, trying to catch us unaware. Also, that would be the cowardly thing to do.”

“You don't have much of an opinion of them, do you?” Clint asked.

“I don't have a high opinion of them or of myself,” the doctor said. “Not after what they did to that girl.”

“How could you have stopped them?”

“I could've tried.”

“And maybe ended up on a horse yourself.”

“This town needs a doctor too bad,” Mathis said. “I don't think the town would have let them do that to me. But I wasn't thinking that way then.”

“Well,” Clint said, “don't get too heroic now, Doc. Leave that to me.”

“My pleasure.”

“I'm going to clean up for my supper date.”

“You still have a couple of hours.”

“I thought I'd stop at a saloon first.”

“I can give you a drink here.”

“I'd like a cold beer,” Clint said, “plus I'd like to listen to what's being said in town.”

“There'll be lots of talking, but nobody will do anything until the Locksleys say so.”

“Well,” Clint said, “now that I've talked to both of them, maybe they'll talk to each other and come up with a course of action.”

“It'll be whatever she says, I'm sure.”

“I wasn't impressed with Eric Locksley,” Clint said, “but I have to admit his wife comes across as a formidable woman.”

“She scares every man in town,” Doc Mathis said, “especially her husband.”

“Must make it hard for him to go home each night,” Clint said, “after being the man in charge all day.”

“I wouldn't even want to imagine it,” the doctor said with a shake of his head. “I've never been married, but that sounds like hell.”

“I've never been married either,” Clint said, “and I agree.”

He went into the spare room, used the pitcher and basin there to clean up, then put on a clean shirt.

“What saloon would you recommend?” he asked Doc.

“Try the Dry Wash Saloon,” Doc Mathis said. “Plenty of big mouths over there.”

“Where is it?”

The doctor gave him directions.

“Any gambling?”

“No, just drinking.”

“That's very good,” Clint said. “I'll see you later, Doc.”

“Wait,” Mathis said as Clint went to the door.

“Yes?”

“What do I do about food for Mary and me?”

“I'll have something brought up,” Clint promised, “or will do it myself.”

“Okay,” Mathis said. “Mary has got to eat to get her strength back.”

“Understood.”

Clint left, and headed straight for the Dry Wash Saloon.

*   *   *

Harley Trace entered the sheriff's office and said, “Adams is in the Wash.”

“That means that Doc is alone with the girl,” Crabtree said.

“Yeah.”

“Is she awake?”

“I dunno.”

“You haven't seen her?”

“I only seen Adams, and the doc, leaving and comin' back.”

Crabtree thought things over.

“Whataya gonna do, Sheriff?”

“Nothin',” Crabtree said, “at least not until Mr. Locksley tell me.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Keep watching the doc's place. If the girl leaves, follow her. See where she goes. Then tell me.”

“Okay,” Trace said, “but when can I get somethin' to eat?”

“Get somethin' quick now,” the lawman said, “and then get back there.”

“Yessir!”

As Trace left, Crabtree sat back in his chair. What action, he wondered, was Eric Locksley going to take? Or would his next orders come from Angela Locksley?

He was getting tired of waiting.

*   *   *

Eric Locksley sat in his office, wondering what his next move should be. If he was going to take action against the Gunsmith, he was going to need at least half a dozen men, maybe more. Where would he find that many men willing to go up against the man?

He stood up, hands behind his back, and stared out the window. He was staring straight ahead, and not down, so he did not see Clint Adams approach the building.

*   *   *

Angela Locksley got dressed in her riding clothes—trousers, a cotton shirt, boots, and a flat-brimmed hat. None of it was expensive; it was all designed for riding or, in other words, for getting dirty. She hated the idea, but it had to be done. There was a man she knew she could send after Clint Adams, but she was going to have to go out and find him herself.

SEVENTEEN

Clint spent about an hour at the bar in the Dry Wash Saloon, sipping beer and listening to the conversations around him. It took a while, but somebody finally came in and started talking about Mary Connelly.

“Didja hear who brought her back into town?”

“Naw, who was it?”

“Clint Adams.”

“The Gunsmith?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Jesus,” somebody said from across the room, “what's Locksley gonna do now?”

“Ya mean what's his wife gonna do?”

Before long the conversation was taking place in the entire saloon from across the room. He wasn't learning anything he didn't know, except for the fact that no one in the room wanted to do anything more than talk about it.

And then there was the bartender. He just stood behind the bar and listened. He didn't take part in the conversation at all. Clint found this odd, since most bartenders had opinions.

Little by little the men talking about Mary Connelly drifted out of the saloon, until the conversation broke down into separate conversations again.

Clint said to the bartender, “No opinion?”

“On what?”

“Whatever they were talking about?” Clint said. “Mary Connelly.”

“Oh, that,” the man said. “You'd have more opinion about that than I would.”

“Oh? Why's that?”

The bartender, a big man in his fifties who had obviously been around, asked instead, “Would you like another beer, Mr. Adams?”

Clint smiled and said, “Sure, one more.”

The barman brought it over and said, “On the house.”

“Thanks.” Clint sipped it. “So you knew me when I came in?”

“I saw you in Yellowstone once.”

“That must have been a long time ago.”

“Oh, yeah,” the man said. “My first job as a bartender.”

“And yet you recognized me.”

“As soon as you walked in,” the man said. “Also, I ain't seen any other strangers in town.”

“What's your name?”

“Max.”

“Thanks, Max, for not saying anything.”

“Well, you weren't sayin' anything,” the bartender said. “You was just listening. I figured to let ya.”

Clint nodded.

“You find out anything?” Max asked.

“Only that everybody has an opinion, but nobody wants to do anything.”

“People around here don't do anything unless they're told to.”

“By Locksley?”

“Yup.”

“So when they put that poor girl on a horse and rode her out of town . . .”

“They did it because they was told to. And it was Locksley, with a few other men, who actually put her on the horse.”

“Ah,” Clint said, “there's something I'd like to know.”

“Who were the other men?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, the sheriff,” Max said, “and . . .” Max frowned.

“None of the men who were in here?”

“No,” Max said. “Jeez, I can't remember who it was.”

“Can't?” Clint asked. “Or don't want to?”

“No,” Max said, “I'm tellin' you the truth. It really didn't matter who they were, they was just doing what they were told. So I really can't see their faces in my head. Locksley, the sheriff, and some other hands.”

Clint realized what he was saying was true, it didn't matter who the other men were.

“So how much time do you think I have?” he asked Max.

“For what?”

“Before Locksley sends some of those hands against me, and I have to kill them.”

“This time,” Max said, “I think he may have some trouble convincing people. He's probably gonna have to hire some guns.”

Clint nodded. He actually would feel better killing gunmen than citizens of the town doing what they were told to do by Locksley and his wife.

“You've been a big help, Max,” he said.

“I'm a big help in here,” Max said, “but I'm a useless shell out there.”

“None of the hands putting that girl on the horse were yours?”

“All I do with my hands,” Max said, “is pour drinks.”

Clint finished his beer, set the mug down, and said, “Keep pouring drinks, Max.”