The Man with the Iron Badge (6 page)

“Good. Anybody come in?”

“No. You talk to anyone?”

“Just the liveryman,” Clint said. “He's afraid of strangers. I had to convince him I wasn't here to kill anybody.”

Starkweather put the broom aside. “See any place to eat?”

“A few places, actually. But one in particular appealed to me.”

“Why is that?”

“It looks like the biggest place in town,” Clint said. “Where most of the people would eat.”

“We going there?”

“No,” Clint said. “At least, not now. We'll catch a bite at one of the other places, but then we'll go to this place for supper.”

“Okay.”

“Meanwhile, let's go talk with the mayor first, before we get that bite.”

“Okay,” Starkweather said again.

 

Before they could speak to the mayor, they had to find out who the mayor was. Clint decided to get one beer in the first saloon they came to and ask the bartender.

When they entered the saloon, heads turned to take them in. There were about a dozen men in the place, but as Clint and Starkweather approached the bar, about eight or nine of them headed for the door.

The bartender eyed them warily.

“What's wrong with everyone?” Clint asked.

“Uh, we're a little afraid of strangers in this town since the, uh, robbery.”

“Two beers,” Clint said.

“Comin' up.”

As the bartender set the beers on the bar, his eyes fell on Starkweather's badge.

“What's that?”

“That's my badge.”

“Is it real?”

“It's real,” Clint said. “What's your name?”

“Wilson.”

“That your last name, Wilson?”

The man shook his head.

“First name.”

“Okay, Wilson. It looks to us like your sheriff hasn't been replaced yet.”

“Nobody wants the job,” Wilson said. “Not after what happened to the sheriff and his deputy.”

“And what did happen, exactly?”

“They were shot down in the street,” Wilson said, “and then when the gang rode out, they rode right over their bodies.”

“Jesus,” Starkweather said.

“When we got to them, they was all busted up,” Wilson went on, “and they were shot right through their badges. It was the damndest thing I ever saw.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “I guess I can understand why nobody wants the job.”

“Yeah.”

“Wilson, can you tell me the mayor's name? And where to find him?”

“Sure,” Wilson said. “You want the job?”

“No,” Clint said, “but we do want to talk to the mayor.”

“Well, his name is Ralston, Jack Ralston. Everybody just calls him Mayor Jack.”

“Cute. Where can I find Mayor Jack?”

“He's got an office on Main Street,” Wilson said. “Attorney-at-law. You can't miss it. It's painted on the big front window.”

“Okay, Wilson,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“Sorry we emptied your place out,” Clint said.

“Hell, they'll come back.”

Clint nodded, then he and Starkweather left.

As the bartender had promised, the office of Jack Ralston, attorney-at-law, was not hard to find. Clint opened the door and stepped in, with Starkweather right behind him. Clint expected to find a secretary, but instead found a man seated at a desk, with law books on the wall behind him. His jacket hung on the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his white shirt were folded up over his healthy-looking forearms.

“Gents, can I help you?” he asked. “Which of you needs representation?”

“Neither one,” Clint said. “This is Sheriff Dan Starkweather, and I'm Clint Adams. We'd like to talk to you as mayor of this town.”

“You are the Gunsmith, aren't you?”

“That's right.”

“What can I do for you in my capacity as mayor, sir?” Mayor Jack asked.

“We heard and read about the incident that happened here a little more than a week ago.”

“Incident?” Mayor Jack asked. “If you can call bank robbery and murder an incident.”

“Has anyone from this town gone after the gang?” Clint asked.

“No,” Mayor Jack said. “We lost our lawmen, and no one was willing to take over—especially if it meant taking a posse out after them. That gang was vicious. They shot a teller in cold blood.”

“Was the gang in town for any period of time before they took the bank?” Clint asked.

“I don't know,” Mayor Jack said. “That's the kind of thing the sheriff would know, isn't it?”

“It is,” Starkweather said.

Mayor Jack looked at Starkweather, then looked again.

“Is that a badge?”

“It is.”

“What's it made from?”

“Iron.”

“An iron badge?” Mayor Jack looked at Clint. “Is that for real?”

“It's for real,” Clint said, “but never mind that. Was the deputy who was killed the only deputy in town?”

“No,” Mayor Jack said, “we had another one. He resigned rather than take the sheriff's job.” Suddenly, Mayor Jack gave Starkweather a different look. “You happy with your job? You want to be sheriff here?”

“I'm happy.”

“What town are you sheriff of?”

“Danner, Kansas.”

“Kansas? Why not take this job instead?”

“Mayor Ralston,” Clint said.

“Call me Mayor Jack. Everybody does.”

“Mayor Jack, we're not here looking for a job. We've already got a job to do.”

“What job?”

“We're going to track the gang who killed your sheriff and bring them back.”

“And our money?”

“If they still have it.”

Mayor Jack looked at them suspiciously. “What do you want in return?”

“Nothing,” Clint said. “We're going to spend the night sleeping in your jail and get going in the morning. Does anybody in town have any idea what direction the gang went in?”

“Talk to Eddie Forbes.”

“Who's Forbes?”

“Head teller at the bank. He got mad after the gang shot one of the tellers for no reason. After they left the bank, Eddie grabbed a gun from the manager's office and ran out after them.”

“That was foolish,” Clint said.

“He didn't do any harm,” Mayor Jack said, “or good, but he ran after them as far as the end of town. Maybe he knows something.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “We'll talk to Forbes. Is the bank still open?”

“Yeah,” Mayor Jack said, “we managed to bring in some money from another town to keep it going.”

“Not Artisia.”

“No,” Mayor Jack said, “a town west of us called Val Verde.”

“Okay, so we'll find Forbes at the bank.”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, Mayor,” Clint said. “If we think of any more questions, can we find you here?”

“Until late—maybe nine p.m. After that I'll be home. I live in a two-story frame house on the north end of town.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

As they started to leave, Mayor Jack said, “Mr. Adams.”

“Yes?”

“I'm sure there are men in this town who would follow you, sir, once they know who you are.”

“We're not looking for a posse, Mayor,” Clint said. “We'll do just fine by ourselves.”

“Are you after a reward?”

“No.”

“What's your interest, then?” Mayor Jack asked. “I'm curious.”

Clint looked at Starkweather, who shrugged.

“Mayor,” the younger man said, “we believe the gang was led by a man named Nathan Starkweather.”

“Nathan . . . I know that name, don't I?”

“He has a reputation,” Dan Starkweather said. “He's also my father.”

“He's a killer.”

“Yes,” Starkweather said, “he is, and he killed three people in your town. I'll bring him back.”

“Here?” Mayor Jack said. “You're going to bring him back here?”

“It's his most recent crime,” Starkweather said. “I'll bring him back for trial.”

“Here?” Mayor Jack said again. “Wait, he's your father and you're going to bring him back?”

“He's a criminal, and I'm a lawman,” Starkweather said. “That's my job.”

“Did he commit a crime in your town?”

“He did.”

“Then take him back there.”

“I will,” Starkweather said. “After you're done with him here.”

The mayor sat back heavily in his chair. “I don't want him back here.”

“Excuse me?” Clint asked.

“We just want the money back.”

“He killed your sheriff, a deputy, and a teller,” Clint said. “You don't want to try him for that?”

“No,” Mayor Jack said. “Besides, we have no lawman, and the jail is closed.”

“We reopened it,” Clint said.

“I swept it out,” Starkweather said.

“Name somebody to the job,” Clint said. “Hell, take the job yourself.”

“Me?” Mayor Jack looked appalled. “I'm a politician, not a lawman.”

“Look, Mayor—” Starkweather started.

“No, this is final,” the mayor said. “We won't prosecute Nathan Starkweather or any of his men.”

“But you will take your money back,” Starkweather said.

“Yes, of course.”

Starkweather looked at Clint, unsure about what to do next. Clint shrugged and left the office. Starkweather followed.

Clint and Starkweather went from the mayor's office to the bank. When they entered the bank, there were several sharp intakes of breath. The employees were frightened. No one could blame them.

“Tell them who you are,” Clint said, “before somebody pulls a gun out of a draw.”

“Ladies and gents, my name is Sheriff Dan Starkweather. We're here to speak with a man named Eddie Forbes. Is he here?”

“I'm Forbes,” a man said, from behind a teller's cage.

“Eddie, can we talk to you outside?” Starkweather asked.

Forbes did not move from behind the cage. “Who's he?”

“His name is Clint Adams,” Starkweather said. “He's help—”

“The Gunsmith?” a man said, from behind his desk. “You're the Gunsmith?”

“That's right.”

“Are you going after the gang that killed Herbert Fowler?” the man asked.

“Herbert Fowler was the teller who was killed?” Clint asked.

“Yes.”

“We're going to track the gang, yes,” Clint said. “And we intend to bring them and the money back here.”

“Why do you n-need to talk to me?” Forbes asked.

“Let's talk outside, Eddie,” Clint said, waving. “Come on.”

Slowly, the meek-looking man came out from behind the cage. He approached Clint and Starkweather timidly. Clint put his arm around his shoulders and helped him out the door.

“Eddie, we heard that you did a pretty brave thing during the robbery.”

“I—I didn't do anything—”

“We heard you ran after the robbers with a gun,” Starkweather said.

“I was . . . angry that they had killed Herbert. And then I saw the sheriff and his deputy on the ground—shot, trampled.”

“You lost your head.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You ran after the gang with a gun.”

“I did. But I didn't fire it. I-I'm no good with a gun.”

“That's okay, Eddie,” Clint said. “We just want to ask you one thing.”

“W-what?”

“Do you have any idea which direction the gang went when they rode out of town?”

“H-how would I know that?” the man asked, his eyes worried and watering.

“Well, they may have said something while they were in the bank,” Clint said, “or you may have seen where they went.”

“I—I'd like to help, really I would.”

“We're going to be in the jail overnight,” Clint said. “We'll be leaving in the morning. If you think of anything you might have heard, or saw, come and see us, Eddie.” He put his hand on the man's shoulder. “All we're asking is that you think it over.”

“A-all right,” Eddie Forbes said, “I will.”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

After the teller went inside, Starkweather asked, “You really think he knows something?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “I didn't when we walked in there. But he's too nervous. If he knows something, maybe he'll come across.”

 

Clint and Starkweather had decided they would eat their supper in the jail. They stopped in the restaurant to pick it up, and as Clint had figured they would, they attracted attention.

Now they were sitting at the sheriff's desk, eating their steak dinners.

“This isn't bad,” Starkweather said.

“Thinking about taking the mayor up on his offer?” Clint asked.

“No,” Starkweather said.

“You like Danner that much?” Clint asked. “Nice place to live?”

“I don't live there.”

“Where do you live?”

“Nowhere, at the moment,” Starkweather said.

“You never told me your father committed a crime in Danner.”

“He killed a man,” Starkweather said. “I heard about it.”