Under a Turquoise Sky (6 page)

Clint was in the middle of his breakfast when the sheriff walked into the place. He was greeted immediately by the owner, Hopper, who spoke rapidly and then pointed toward Clint. He wondered if, once the owner knew who Clint was, he'd actually sent for the lawman.

The longer he was in the restaurant, the more aware Clint had become that word had spread he was there. It had probably started in the kitchen and then, through the waiter, out to the patrons. Now, as Sheriff Cafferty walked toward him, all eyes were on him.

“You created quite a stir in here,” the lawman said.

“A man's got to eat,” Clint said, pointing with his knife at the steak and eggs. “Join me for coffee?”

“I'll join you for breakfast,” Cafferty said, pulling out the other chair and seating himself. “I usually eat here anyway, and usually the same thing you're having.”

“It's not bad,” Clint admitted.

“Best in town.”

The waiter, a young man in his late teens, came over and poured the sheriff some coffee. Clint noticed the boy's hand shaking while he was doing it.

“Did they send for you because I was eating here?”

“Well,” the lawman said, lifting his cup, “in their defense they've never had a customer as famous as you before.”

“Did they think I was going to shoot up the place?”

“They didn't know what to think,” Cafferty said. He sipped his coffee and set it down. Clint was impressed the man did not comment on the strength of it. “I put their minds to rest.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said you were probably just hungry and not to worry.”

“Good advice.”

The waiter came back with the sheriff's plate.

“Can I get you anythin' else, Mr. Adams?” he asked.

“I'll let you know. What's your name, son?”

“My name? Uh, it's Willy…sir.”

“Well, Willy, I'm not going to bite you or shoot you, so try and relax. Okay?”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that, sir,” he said. “I'm just—you know—kinda excited that you're here and I get to wait on you.”

“Well, try and keep your hands from shaking,” Clint said. “We don't want any of our breakfast ending up in our laps, okay?”

“Yessir,” the boy said. “I'll be careful.”

“Good lad.”

He went away and the sheriff cut into his steak.

“I want to thank you again for last night,” Cafferty said. “If you hadn't acted when you did, I might have had to kill that card cheat.”

“That's what I figured,” Clint said. “Don't mention it.”

They ate a few bites in silence and then the sheriff asked, “So what's goin' on with you and the man from the East? What's his name? Martin?”

“Markstein, and what do you mean?”

“I was making my rounds last night, saw the two of you cozying up in front of the hotel, smokin' cigars.”

“You must not have been close enough. I wasn't smoking.”

“No, I saw what you were intendin' to do, but it seems like he interrupted you.”

“He wanted to go out for a walk. I suggested it wasn't a good idea. Then he said he wanted some air and a cigar, so I went out with him.”

“He's got no idea what he's in for out here, does he?” the sheriff asked.

“Maybe not. After yesterday you'd think he would, though.”

“What's he doin' in town? Did you ask?”

“No, but I'm supposed to have supper with him later,” Clint said. “He's got something on his mind.”

“Maybe he wants to hire your gun.”

“I thought of that,” Clint said, “and if that's the case, then he's plain out of luck.”

“You don't hire out?” Cafferty asked.

“Never have, never will,” Clint said. “I'm not a money gun, Sheriff. You've never heard that about me.”

“You're right,” the man said. “I haven't. Sorry I brought it up.”

“That's okay.”

They finished their breakfast and went outside after Clint paid his bill and noticed that the lawman never got one.

“So what are your plans for the day?” Cafferty asked.

“Keep myself occupied while I wait for supper,” Clint said. “I'm kind of curious what the man has on his mind and why he's here.”

“Well, if you find out anything you think I'd be interested in, let me know, will you?”

“Sure thing. Uh, what about those two cheats?”

“I thought about putting them in a cell overnight, but I put them on their horses and sent them on their way.”

“In the dark, unarmed?”

“You don't approve.”

“I approve wholeheartedly,” Clint said. “I'm just wondering if they'd bother coming back.”

“For their money? Or for their guns?”

“Both.”

Cafferty shook his head.

“Didn't strike me as the type,” he said. “I think they'll write it off and start over somewhere else.”

“I hope you're right,” Clint said. “If they come back, I'm thinking one of us might have to kill somebody.”

“You already did that this week,” Cafferty reminded him. “Take the rest of the week off, will ya?”

Clint was waiting in the lobby when George Markstein came down from his room for supper.

“Ah, excellent,” the easterner said. “I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long.”

He was wearing a suit that would have fit in fine in New York or San Francisco, but for Kingman, Arizona, the man was clearly overdressed.

“No, I wasn't waiting long,” Clint told him.

“Have you picked out a restaurant?”

“Yes,” Clint said. “I had breakfast there and it was very good. It'll be busy, though.”

“No problem,” Markstein said. “As long as we get to eat. I'm starving.”

They left the hotel and headed for Hopper House.

“What have you done with yourself today?” Markstein asked.

“Not much, just took a look around town.”

“You've never been here before?”

“I've been around here, but never actually in Kingman,” Clint said. “What about you? What did you do?”

“I took your advice and stayed inside.”

“And out of trouble,” Clint said. “That's good.”

“Although I don't know if I'm going to be able to do that forever,” Markstein said.

“Forever? Are you staying around here that long?”

“Well, perhaps not forever,” Markstein said, “but I will be around here for some time.”

“On business?”

“Precisely,” Markstein said, “and that is the very thing I want to talk to you about.”

“Your business?” Clint asked.

“Let's talk when we're seated and eating,” Markstein said.

 

When they entered the restaurant, the owner, Hopper, came running over to them.

“Mr. Adams, how nice to see you back so soon,” he said, shaking Clint's hand.

“Mr. Hopper,” Clint said. “I wasn't sure you'd want me back.”

“No, no,” Hopper said, and then, “nononono, not at all. I only sent for the sheriff to—”

“That's okay, Mr. Hopper,” Clint said, “don't worry about it. My friend and I would like to have supper.”

“Of course, of course.” Hopper looked around the crowded dining room. “How about the same table?”

“Perfect.”

“It's small and not many of my customers like sitting in a corner,” Hopper continued.

“Must we sit in a corner?” Markstein asked. “Why can't we have that table over—”

Clint put his hand on Markstein's arm and said to Hopper, “The corner table is fine.”

“This way.”

He seated them and promised to send over their waiter.

“Is it Willy?”

“Yes, he's still working.”

“Good,” Clint said. “Maybe he's calmer now and his hands won't shake so much.”

“He's young,” Hopper said, “and very impressed with you.”

When Hopper left, Markstein said, “Impressed with you? You seem to be fairly well known for someone who just got to town. Should I, uh, know who you are?”

“No reason why you should,” Clint said. “We don't travel in the same circles.”

Markstein sat back and stared at Clint.

“You are being modest, I think,” Markstein said. “I can ask your Mr. Hopper, or the sheriff.”

“So you really don't know?” Clint asked, wondering if the man was just playing dumb.

“I really don't.”

“I have a reputation with a gun,” Clint said. “I'm called the Gunsmith.”

Clint could see that name register with Markstein.

“Oh, my, yes,” Markstein said. “I have heard of you by that name.”

Clint didn't say anything.

“Oh, my, now I understand how you managed to save my life with such ease.”

“There's nothing easy about killing a man, Mr. Markstein.”

“No, no, of course not. I didn't mean—I'm sorry.”

“Forget it.”

Willy came over, and Markstein allowed Clint to order for both of them.

“Something everyone eats here in the West,” Markstein said.

Clint ordered two steak dinners.

“Do you have beer?” Clint asked.

“Yessir,” Willy said.

“Then two beers.”

“Yessir.”

“That young man is…frightened of you,” Markstein said.

“He's just a little excited, that's all.”

“It must be interesting.”

“What?”

“Having everyone know you,” the man said. “Perhaps fear you…or maybe respect you.”

“All of those things happen,” Clint said, “and, yes, it tends to make life interesting.”

“I'm sure if that man you killed—What was his name? Dolan? I'm sure he would not have tried to shoot you if he knew who you were.”

“Maybe not,” Clint said. “You'd be surprised at how many men decide to shoot it out
because
they know who I am.”

“Ah,” Markstein said, nodding sagely, “man's ever present desire to test himself.”

“Something like that.”

“How does it feel to—”

“Can we change the subject now?” Clint said, cutting him off. “Didn't you have something you wanted to ask me?”

“I did, yes,” Markstein said, “but since discovering who you are, I was thinking that perhaps you wouldn't be interested.”

“What else have we got to do for the next couple of hours?” Clint asked. “Go ahead and try me.”

“Do you know what this is?”

Markstein took something from his pocket and put it on the table between them.

“It's a blue rock with some brown veins running through it,” Clint said without touching it.

“Yes, it is, but it has a name,” Markstein said. “It's turquoise.”

“That's turquoise?” Clint asked. “I've seen turquoise before, and that doesn't look anything like it.”

“This is a piece of rough turquoise,” Markstein explained. He picked it up. “I found it in Philadelphia, bought it, and managed to track it down to one of the mines in this region.”

“Then what happened?”

Markstein put the stone back in his pocket.

“I bought the mine.”

“And that's why you're here?” Clint asked. “To work the mine?”

“To oversee the working of the mine, yes,” Markstein said. “It is one of the largest mines in the area and is already being worked quite successfully.”

“How did you get to buy it, then?” Clint asked. “I mean, why did the original owner want to sell it?”

“I made a lump sum offer and he took it,” Markstein said. “That was more preferable to him than digging the stones out and eventually turning them into cash for himself.”

“So you're going to your mine from here?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Near someplace called Beale Springs.”

“I don't know it.”

“You wouldn't,” Markstein said. “I understand it's very small and used to be a water stop. At one time it was called Fort Beale Springs, but the military has left it long behind.”

“When were you planning on heading out?”

“Well, as soon as I could find a guide.”

“You'll have to be careful about that,” Clint said. “You're likely to find yourself being guided right into an ambush.”

“Ah, and so we come to my offer.”

“I can't guide you, George,” Clint said, trying to head the man off. “Like I said, I don't know the area all that well.”

“I realize that,” Markstein said. “I was hoping that you would help me find a guide. You are much wiser in the ways of the West than I could ever hope to be.”

Clint couldn't argue with that.

“I suppose I could do that,” he said. “Shouldn't take me very long and then we can be on our separate ways.”

“Well, no, that's not all of my offer,” Markstein said as Willy arrived with their plates. They both sat back to allow him to set them down. He had brought their beers earlier.

“What do you mean?” Clint asked.

“I would like you to come to the mine with me,” Markstein said.

“Why?”

“Because I know nothing about mining.”

“You said there are people in place,” Clint said. “I don't know much about mining, either—turquoise mining, anyway.”

“But you've done some.”

“I was involved in a gold mine for a while, but—”

“It should be about the same thing,” Markstein said, “but still, that's not it either.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don't know what kind of reception I'm going to get up there,” Markstein said, finally.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I said I bought the mine I meant I bought half of it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yes, the other partner would not sell. So, I have a partner, and not a willing one.”

“So you want…what? A bodyguard?”

“I want someone who will look out for my interests,” Markstein said. “Someone at home with this part of the country and with the people. And the fact that you are who you are…well, that's just a bonus.”

Clint believed him, because Markstein had told him about his offer before he found out who Clint was.

“If you are on your way somewhere, then I won't bother you,” Markstein said. “If, however, you have no one waiting for you at the moment, I would offer you whatever payment you require. Perhaps a small piece of the mine?”

“No,” Clint said. “That won't be necessary. Like I said, I've had some experience with gold mines and I don't really want to be an owner again.”

“Then payment?”

Clint chewed a piece of excellently prepared meat while he gave it some thought.

“Sure, why not?” he said after he'd swallowed.

“How much?”

“Whatever you think is fair,” Clint said. “I have to admit I'll be doing this out of curiosity, not for the money.”

“Excellent!” Markstein said happily. “I will make it worth your while, I assure you.”

“I believe you, George,” Clint said, “but how about we set that aside for now and get down to eating these steaks?”

“I agree wholeheartedly.”