Anatomy of a Lawman (2 page)

He found the sheriff’s office and reined Eclipse in. He dismounted, tied the horse off, and stepped up onto the boardwalk. When he walked into the office, it was another odd moment, as if he’d stepped into a sheriff’s office twenty years earlier. Many towns had updated their jails, and some had even modernized their law to include police stations, with uniformed men and a police chief. But he didn’t see any sort of modernization here.

There was a small rolltop desk up against one wall, a gun rack on the wall next to it. The office was empty, in need of a sweep, especially back in the cell block, which had three cells, all empty.

When the office door opened, he turned and saw a young man enter. He had a deputy sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt.

“Can I help ya?” the man asked.

“I’m looking for Sheriff Harper.”

The man immediately looked suspicious.

“Why?”

“He’s an old friend,” Clint said, “and he sent for me.” He held up the telegram.

Now the deputy looked surprised.

“You came?”

“I guess so,” Clint said. “I’m here.”

“You’re Clint Adams?”

“That’s right.”

“Wow,” Buck said. “The sheriff said you’d come. I’m Buck Wilby, the deputy.”

“He was right. You the only deputy?”

“Only one he has right now.”

“Where is Jack?”

“The sheriff is across the street at the Westgate Hotel,” Buck said.

“Should I just wait for him here, then?”

“Uh, no, I think he’d want you to go across the street and see him.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “tell him I’ll come and see him after I see to my horse and get myself a room.”

“The livery is right down the street,” Buck said, “but you already have a room waiting for you across the street—no charge.”

“Is that a fact?” Clint wondered what he had done already to rate a free room.

Buck and Clint stepped outside the sheriff’s office.

“I’ll walk my horse up to the livery and be right back.”

“The sheriff’s gonna be real glad to see you, Mr. Adams.”

They walked their separate ways.

When Clint walked into the hotel lobby carrying his saddlebags and rifle, there were several people checking in at the desk. However, Buck Wilby was coming across the lobby toward him.

“I got your room key for ya, Mr. Adams,” the deputy said.

“Just call me Clint, Buck,” Clint said.

“Okay, Clint. You’re in room five.”

“And where’s Jack?”

“He’s in room eleven.”

“He’s living in the hotel?”

“Um, not exactly livin’,” Buck said. “You’ll see when you go up. Ya want me to take your gear to your room?”

Clint took his key from the deputy and said, “I’ll take my stuff to my room myself. Then I’ll go to Jack’s room.”

“Well, okay,” Buck said. “Just knock on the door when you’re ready.”

“I can do that,” Clint said, and headed up the stairs, aware that the people checking in were frowning at him. How did he get a room ahead of them, they were probably wondering. One of them was a pretty young woman who was watching Clint for a different reason.

Clint checked his room, found it satisfactory. His window overlooked the main street, and there was no access from there.

He tossed his saddlebags onto the bed, and leaned his rifle in a corner. He wondered what all the secrecy was about, but figured he might as well go to room eleven and find out.

He left his room, walked down the hall, and knocked. The door was opened by an older man with white chin whiskers and watery blue eyes.

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” Clint said, “I must have the wrong room. I was told I’d find the sheriff in this room.”

“Sheriff Harper is here,” the man said. “Who wants him?”

“My name is Clint Adams,” Clint said. “Jack sent for me.”

“So he did.”

“Let him in, you old reprobate!” Jack Harper shouted from inside the room.

“You heard him,” the man said. “Come on in. I’m Doctor Foster.”

“Doctor?” Clint asked, stepping into the room.

Clint saw a man lying prone on a bed, facedown, and the room had the smell of illness, or injury.

“Jack?”

“That you, Clint?” Harper asked. “Come around here where I can see you.”

Clint looked at the doctor, who nodded. He walked around to the side of the bed, where he and Sheriff Harper could see eye to eye.

“Clint, good to see you. Sorry I can’t get up,” Harper said.

“What happened, Jack?”

“A couple of the Graves boys came in to shoot up the town, maybe rob the bank,” Harper said. “I stopped ’em, but they shot me in the back.”

“Twice,” the doctor said.

Clint turned to the doctor.

“You get the lead out?”

“I can’t,” Doctor Foster said. He held his hands out. “I’m not good enough. If I go diggin’ in his back, I’ll paralyze him. He needs a surgeon and a real hospital.”

“Then why don’t you get him to one?” Clint demanded.

“He wouldn’t go until you got here and he could talk to you.”

Clint looked at Harper.

“Jack?”

“He’s right,” Harper said. “Don’t blame the old goat. He tried to get me to go.”

“What’s so important that you had to talk to me before you get two bullets out of your back?” Clint asked.

“Hey Doc?” Harper called.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you take a walk and let me talk to my friend?”

“I’ll be out in the hall,” Foster said, not offended at all. “Call if you need me.”

“Okay, Doc.”

Foster went out into the hall and pulled the door shut.

“My best friend in town,” Jack Harper said. “It’s killin’ him that he can’t help me.”

“Apparently he’s managed to keep you alive.”

“At least he’s done that,” Harper said, “but my back hurts like hell.”

“So what do you want from me, Jack?”

“I need your help, Clint,” Harper said. “I need somebody to wear my badge until I come back.”

“So you want me to help you find a replacement?” Clint asked.

“No,” Harper said. “You know what I’m talking about, Clint. I want you to replace me until I get back.”

“Jack—”

“You haven’t been in town that long, have you?” Harper asked.

“No, I just got to town about half an hour ago,” Clint said. “I spoke to your deputy, but he didn’t have much to tell me.”

“That’s because I told him not to say anythin’,” Harper said. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

“Look, Jack,” Clint said, “I can help you, but I can’t—”

“This town is a throwback, Clint,” Harper said. “It needs a firm hand.”

“There are plenty of other men out there with a firm hand.”

“Yeah, but you’re here now,” Harper said.

“That’s because I didn’t know what I was walking into.”

“Exactly.”

“You sent me a telegram that asked me to come, but didn’t say why,” Clint said. “You tricked me.”

“I need you, Clint!” Harper said. “If you turn me down, I’ll have to keep lookin’, and I won’t have time to get these slugs out of my back.”

“You’re crazy, Jack,” Clint said. “Leave your deputy in charge and go to the hospital—where? In Kansas City? Somewhere else?”

“Doc says Kansas City, but Buck can’t handle the job. It’s too big for him.”

“It’s just a town—”

“I told you,” Harper said. “This is no normal town. This is how Abilene used to be. Tombstone. Dodge. You get it?”

“I know what you’re saying, but—”

“And the Graves boys ain’t done!” Harper said, cutting him off again.

“What?”

“They’re coming back, and with more men,” Harper said. “More family.”

“Did you kill any of them?”

“I don’t know,” Harper said. “I know I hit at least one, but I was shootin’ from my belly.”

“And how many are coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“And when?”

“I don’t know that either,” Harper said, “but somebody needs to get this town ready for them. Buck can’t do that, and I don’t have the time to look for someone else.”

“Don’t you have somebody in town—a leader—who could take your place?”

“No,” Harper said. “Doc’s on the Town Council and he’s talked to them, but none of them can handle a gun, and they don’t know what to do to get ready for the gang to come back.”

“Jack,” Clint said, “this is unfair. If I say no, you could end up dead before you find someone else.”

“I know that,” Harper said. “I tricked you into comin’. I admit it. But that’s how desperate I am to keep this town safe. I’ve been the law here for twelve years, Clint. If word gets out that I’m gone, who knows what will happen?”

“You mean, besides the Graves gang?”

“Yeah,” Harper said. “Trouble could come from anybody.”

Clint stared down at his friend. Harper was sweating and looked pale. The bandages on his back showed some blood leakage.

“Damn you, Jack—”

“My badge is on that table, Clint, right there next to you.”

Clint looked down, saw the star sitting on the table next to the bed.

“Come on, Clint,” Harper said. “Pick it up.”

Clint picked it up.

“Pin it on.”

Clint hefted the tin in his hand, then put it in his shirt pocket.

“I’ll hang on to it until I can think of something,” Clint said.

“I guess I’ll accept that.”

“You have to let the doctor take you to Kansas City,” Clint said.

“I will,” Harper said, “as long as you tell me you’ll either pin the badge on, or find somebody to pin it on who can do the job.”

“I promise, Jack.”

Harper heaved a sigh of relief, then said, “Good. Now maybe you should tell the doc to get in here. I need somethin’ for this pain.”

 

Instead of calling the doctor in, Clint stepped out into the hall.

“He wants something for the pain,” he said.

“Finally,” Doc Foster said. “He wouldn’t let me give him anythin’ because he wanted to be alert when you got here.”

“Before you go in, Doc,” Clint said, “what are his chances?”

“Here, he has no chance,” Foster said. “In a good hospital, with a good surgeon, I give him fifty-fifty.”

“That’ll he’ll die?”

“Fifty-fifty that he’ll walk,” Foster said, “if he doesn’t die.”

“I see.”

Clint took the badge out of his pocket and looked at it.

“You gonna pin it on?” Foster asked.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Take the advice of an old man,” Foster said, putting his hand on the doorknob.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t think about it for too long.”

Doc Foster went into the room.

Clint left the hotel and went to the nearest saloon. It was midafternoon, and the Dust Cutter Saloon was doing a bang-up business. Tables were full, the bar was busy, and girls were working the floor.

“Whataya have?” the bartender asked.

“Beer,” Clint said, “nice and cold.”

“Onliest kind we got, mister,” the bartender assured him. The barkeep brought him his beer and went about his job, which suited Clint. He didn’t need a nosy bartender chattering at him tight now.

He was mad.

He was angry at Jack Harper for getting himself shot in the back, and he was angry at his friend for tricking him, inviting him to Guardian under false pretenses.

The sheriff’s badge felt heavy in his shirt pocket. He’d worn a badge early in his life, but quickly learned what a thankless job it was to be a town or county sheriff. You were expected to do your job to the best of your ability, which was no problem. It was when you needed a little extra help—some extra deputies or a posse—that you learned you were on your own.

He expected nothing different from the town of Guardian. If Jack Harper expected this town to stand up for itself against a gang of gunmen, he was in for a disappointment. Then again, he’d been sheriff here for twelve years. He knew the town better than Clint did. Maybe that wasn’t the case here. Maybe things were different.

Yeah, right.

Clint decided to listen to some of the talk going on around him. Eventually, among all the inane conversation that went on in a saloon, he picked out a conversation about the Graves gang.

“. . . ain’t the sheriff’s fault they’s gonna be comin’ back here,” one man said.

“It ain’t? He shot one of ’em, didn’t he?” a second man asked.

“Sure he did,” a third man said, “but they was robbin’ the bank.”

“And didn’t they put two slugs in his back?” the first man asked.

“Which is gonna make him useless when the gang comes back,” the second man said. “We’re gonna be sittin’ ducks for them Graves boys, and it’s his fault. Too bad he didn’t die from them slugs.”