The Town Council Meeting (5 page)

Back at the table the other four men—the town council—were already waiting. They watched him as he walked across the room and sat down.

“Rested?” the judge asked.

“Oh yes,” Clint said. “You?”

“Somewhat refreshed.”

“Whose deal is it?” Clint asked.

“It's Ben's,” the mayor said.

Delbert Chambers leaned forward and asked, “Ain't you the least bit worried about what's goin' on outside?”

“Well,” Clint said, “I'd say I was interested, but not exactly worried.”

“I'd be worried,” Lawson said, while he shuffled the cards, “if twenty men or so were outside waitin' to kill me.”

“If I was that worried,” Clint said, “I'd have to stop playing because I wouldn't be able to concentrate on what I was doing—which, in this case, is taking money from you gents.”

“I figure the tide will turn,” the judge said.

“Yeah,” Mayor Patton added, “if he stays alive long enough.”

“Deal the cards, Ben,” Clint said. “Judge, you got something you want to tell me?”

“Well, yeah,” the judge said. “I talked to the sheriff and this is what he told me happened a little while ago . . .”

 

Out in front of the saloon Sheriff Yatesman stared out at the men in the street—all holding burning torches and all wearing guns. He didn't know what he'd do if they suddenly tossed the torches through the window of the saloon.

“What do we do,” one of his new deputies asked, “if they decide to throw those torches through the window of the saloon?”

Yatesman looked at the man.

“Shoot anybody who does that,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sheriff,” another deputy said, “I ain't gettin' paid enough to shoot anybody.”

“Any of you has to shoot somebody you'll get another ten dollars.”

“That suits me,” the first man said. “And it'll suit my brother, too.” His brother was around the back, keeping watch. He had a shotgun and was supposed to fire it if anyone tried to get into the saloon that way.

“Sheriff!” Arnie Coleman shouted, “this has been goin' on too long. You gotta let us in there.”

“Nobody goes inside, unless you're willin' to do it without a gun.”

“That ain't right!” somebody yelled.

“And if you do go in, you can't interrupt the town council meetin'.”

“Ain't no meetin' goin' on in there,” Coleman said. “Just a damned poker game.”

“Well, take off your gun, Arnie, and go in there and tell them that.”

“I ain't takin' my gun off while the Gunsmith's around,” Coleman said. “He killed Big Ed.”

“You can't prove that, Arnie.”

“What if I told you I could?” Coleman asked. “What then?”

“What? You got proof?”

“What would ya need as proof?” Coleman asked.

“Well,” the sheriff said, “it would help if somebody had actually seen Adams around the ranch.”

“Okay, I got men out lookin' for Ray Gomez. He was at the ranch this mornin', and maybe he seen somethin'.”

“Well,” Yatesman said, “if he did, then bring him to me and let him tell me.”

“And then what?”

“And then I'll go inside and arrest Adams.”

“We don't want him arrested,” somebody shouted, “we just want you to bring him out.”

“Yeah,” somebody else yelled, “we'll take care of him ourselves.”

“You boys just sit tight,” Yatesman said. “Let's hear what Gomez has to say and then we'll figure out what to do.”

 

“So,” Clint asked, “they're just sitting around out there waiting for this Gomez to show up?”

“That's about the size of it.”

“Well, where is he?”

“Seems he took some time off, so they're out lookin' for him.”

“Well then,” Clint said, “I guess we better wait to hear what he has to say before we start worrying. Lawson, you wanna deal those cards?”

“I don't think I ever asked you, Adams,” Mayor Patton said. “What brought you to Cannon City in the first place?”

“Curiosity.”

“Curiosity?” Lawson asked. “About our town? What the hell for?”

“Cannons.”

“What?” Chambers asked.

“I thought it was full of cannons,” Clint said. “Otherwise, why the name?”

“It was supposed to be called Canyon City,” the judge said. “That's what we all agreed on.”

“And what happened?” Clint asked.

They all looked around and then the judge said, “Somebody spelled it wrong on the charter.”

“And we became Cannon City,” Patton said.

“Well, wait a minute,” Clint said.

“What?” the judge asked.

“There isn't a canyon here, either,” Clint said.

Since the game was going to go on all night the saloon remained open while others in town closed. That meant that anyone who wanted a drink was now in there. Also, rather than running from the possible confrontation that was brewing, people were gathering inside the saloon, and outside, to see it. The town council meeting had suddenly developed a circus atmosphere.

The sheriff came walking into give the judge a report on what was going on.

“So far the deputies have succeeded in holding back the ranch hands.”

“Nobody wants to risk getting shot, right?” the judge asked. “No one wants to be the first one through the door.”

“I told them they can come in, but they have to leave their guns outside,” Yatesman said. “Nobody is willing to do that.”

“Well,” Ben Lawson asked, “if the deputies are holdin' them back, what've you been doin', Sheriff?”

“I've been out there, too, Lawson,” Yatesman said. “I know you been wanting to replace me, but I've been doin' my job.”

“If I may say so, Sheriff,” Clint said, “it doesn't sound like you have.”

“Whaddaya mean?” the sheriff demanded.

“Well, what have you done to find out who shot Ed Kennedy?”

“I've been tryin' to keep you alive,” the lawman said, “that's what I've been doin'. If you woulda let me put you in my jail, I could've been doin' somethin'.

“Yeah,” Clint said, “somethin' to prove I was guilty, so when the Bar K men killed me in your jail you wouldn't be responsible.”

“So what do you think I should be doin', huh?” Yatesman demanded.

“If I was you, I would have gone out to question the other two ranchers by now,” Clint said.

“I haven't had the chance!”

“That's bullshit, Sheriff,” the judge said. “You been sittin' on your hands, waitin' for this Gomez feller to show up and prove that Clint Adams killed Ed Kennedy. What happens when he can't do that? You'll have to start from scratch.”

The judge looked at Lawson.

“You know, Ben,” he said, “I'm startin' to think you may be right. Maybe we do need a new sheriff.”

“Judge—”

“Get out there and prove me wrong, then, Pete,” the judge said. “Find out who killed Big Ed Kennedy; don't just go along with the mob that wants to lynch Clint Adams for it.”

“I don't think they'd bother with a rope, Judge,” Clint said. “It sounds like they just want to put me up against a wall and execute me—firing-squad style.”

“Not while I'm the judge in this county,” the judge said.

“Judge—”

“No more excuses, Sheriff,” the judge said. “Get out there and start your investigation.”

“I ain't a goddamned detective!” Yatesman snapped.

“Maybe not,” the judge said, “but you're the closest thing we've got, right now.”

Yatesman looked around the table and found no supporters. He turned on his heel and stormed out.

“He's right, you know,” Chambers said. “He's not a detective.”

“And we don't have the time to call a real detective in,” the judge said. “We've got to go with what we've got.”

“Well, I don't,” the mayor said, throwing in his hand, “not with these cards. I fold.”

At first light the sound of a buckboard could be heard entering town, along with the sound of horses. The sheriff, his deputies, and the Bar K men in the street all turned their heads to have a look. Finally, the buckboard came into sight, with riders flanking it.

“Great,” one of the deputies said. “That's Matt Holmes from the Double H.”

“This saves me the trouble of havin' to ride out and talk to him,” the sheriff said.

“Might save us a lot of trouble if this bunch and that bunch would kill each other,” the deputy said.

“Yeah,” Yatesman said, “that would clear the way for Andy Rivers and the Triple R ranch to take over, completely.”

As they watched the buckboard stopped. The riders fanned out on both sides of it. A man stepped down and faced the saloon and the men in the street.

“Sheriff?” Matt Holmes shouted.

“Here,” Yatesman said.

“Am I safe to approach?”

“Leave your men where they are,” Yatesman said. “I guarantee your safety.” He looked at Coleman and the Bar K men. “I'll kill the first man who fires a shot. Arnie?”

“Yeah?”

“If I can't identify the man who fired first, I'll kill you. Understand?”

“I understand,” Coleman said. “Let's hear what the old buzzard has to say.”

“Come ahead, Mr. Holmes,” Yatesman said.

 

As Matt Holmes drove his buckboard into town he quickly sized up the situation. Apparently, the word he'd gotten was correct. Clint Adams was inside the saloon. What he still didn't know was whether or not it was true that he was playing poker with the judge, the mayor and a majority of the town council.

Once he got the sheriff's assurance of safety he turned and spoke to his foreman.

“Lee,” he said, “anyone fires a shot, you and the boys know what to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Lee Jackson said.

“Okay.”

Matt Holmes started walking forward.

 

Sheriff Yatesman did not step down into the street to meet Holmes. He remained on the boardwalk in front of the saloon with his three deputies. Matt Holmes had to walk in among the Bar K hands. He stopped directly in front of the sheriff.

“I heard Ed Kennedy was dead. Is that true?”

“It is.”

“Killed by the Gunsmith? Clint Adams?”

“We're still tryin' to figure that out.”

“Adams killed him, all right,” Coleman said. “And he's inside, being protected by the judge and the mayor.”

“Is that true?” Holmes asked, without acknowledging the presence of Arnie Coleman.

“It's true that Adams is inside,” Yatesman said. “But we still don't know for sure that he killed Kennedy.”

“I see,” Holmes said.

“What are you doin' here, Mr. Holmes?” the sheriff asked.

“I knew that if Ed Kennedy was dead, murdered, you'd have two suspects,” the older man said. “Me and Andy Rivers. Well, I'm here to tell you that I had nothing to do with Ed Kennedy's death.”

“You could've hired Clint Adams to do it,” Sheriff Yatesman said. “Or somebody who was impersonating Clint Adams.”

“If I wanted Ed Kennedy dead, I'd kill him myself,” Holmes said.

“Then maybe Rivers had it done.”

“Andy Rivers would no more hire a killer than I would,” Holmes said.

“Are you sure of that?”

“Dead sure,” Holmes said. “If I know Andy, he's on his way here right now.”

“With some of his men?”

“No doubt,” Holmes said. “Your town is about to become an even bigger powder keg, Sheriff.”

“So what do you want, Mr. Holmes?” Yatesman asked, still with respect.

Matt Holmes pointed past Sheriff Yatesman, at the saloon.

“I want to go inside.”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to Clint Adams,” Holmes said.

“What for?”

“I'll tell him.”

Yatesman stared at Holmes for a few moments, then said, “I'll have to check.”

“You do that.”

Sheriff Yatesman appeared at the judge's side while the man was laying down a flush.

“You win,” Clint said, tossing his hand onto the table.