Under a Turquoise Sky (8 page)

When Clint had first left Eclipse at the livery, he'd only concerned himself with the liveryman's ability to take care of his horse. Now, as he entered, he took a better look at the overall operation. The place looked well cared for, and the horses stabled there looked healthy, which was important. Too many times he'd seen mangy horses in liveries, and had refused to board his own horse there, whether it was Duke in the old days, or Eclipse now.

“Back to check on your big boy?” the liveryman asked. He approached, wiping his scarred hands on a rag. He was in his sixties and bore all the earmarks of a man who had handled horses all his life—including parts of two fingers missing, having been bitten off. “He's doin' real good.”

“Actually, I need a couple of horses for a trek up to one of the mines,” Clint said.

“Saddle horses?”

“One saddle, one pack animal.”

“Actually,” the man said, “I've got two for you that will do the trick, for sure. They're out back.”

“Let's go have a look.”

The man led Clint through the stable to a back door and along the way said, “My name's Axel.”

“Clint Adams.”

“I know,” Axel said. “It's a real honor to have your horse in my place, Mr. Adams.”

“Thanks.”

Out back was a corral with about a dozen horses in it.

“You lookin' ta buy or just rent?”

“I think it would make more sense for me to rent them,” Clint said. “We'll be comin' back this way and I can return them with no problem.”

“Okay,” Axel said. “I got two buckskins in here the other day that I think will do the job. You know why?”

“Because their hooves are harder than most horses'?”

Axel cackled and said, “I knew you was a man who knew horses.”

Clint wasn't sure he even knew that about buckskins until Buck Chance had told him. He wondered if Chance's knowledge of buckskins had anything to do with the fact that he'd chosen the name Buck to replace his real name.

“See them two, in the back?” Axel said. “One's a golden hair, one's a dun, but they're both buckskins.”

“Let me have a closer look.”

They approached the corral and the man opened the gate so they could enter, then closed it behind them.

As they walked through the corral, the horses scattered to let them through. When they reached the two buckskins, Axel stood aside proudly and allowed Clint to examine them. Clint concerned himself mostly with the condition of their legs, which seemed sturdy enough.

He placed his hand on the haunches of the golden-haired mare and asked, “This one is, what, six?”

“Yep.”

“And the dun gelding? Four?”

“Five, just turned.”

They were good-sized horses, the mare actually bigger than the gelding—sixteen hands to slightly over fifteen.

“Whataya think?”

“I think we should go inside and talk price,” Clint said.

“I got me a bottle of good whiskey we can do it over,” Axel said anxiously.

“I hope you're not one of those fellas who likes dickering,” Clint said as they walked back through the corral.

“Well, now—”

“Because I hate dickering,” Clint said. “I like a man who sets a fair price the first time through.”

“Well,” Axel said, as they reentered the livery, “that don't make for much whiskey drinkin', does it?”

“Well,” Clint said, slapping the older man on the back, “certainly not a whole bottle.”

By the time Buck Chance found his way to the livery, Clint and Axel had come to terms on renting the two horses.

“I know you,” Axel said as Chance entered. “I got your sorrel in number four.”

“That's right.” He looked at Clint. “How'd we do?”

“Like you said,” Clint replied. “Two buckskins. How'd you know.”

“I saw one over here the other day,” Chance said. “I was just hoping he had two.”

“You want them ready to go in the mornin'?” Axel asked.

“Oh, hell,” Clint said, “I forgot about a saddle.”

“I got one,” Axel said. “Ain't great, but it'll do. Fella couldn't pay his bill last month, so I took his saddle.”

“Let's see it,” Chance said.

Axel went and brought the saddle back with him. It was worn, but like he had said, it would do.

“Throw it in,” Clint said.

“Wha—Aw, okay,” Axel said. “What the hell, I ain't never gonna sell it, and this way I'll get it back…right?”

“Right,” Clint said.

“Is our employer a horseman?” Chance asked.

“You know, that's something I never asked him,” Clint said. “But he won't squawk either way.”

“I'm havin' the supplies delivered here early tomorrow,” Chance told Clint and Axel.

“I'll pack yer horse, if you want,” Axel offered. “No extra charge.”

“You remember which one to pack and which one to saddle, you can do both,” Clint said.

“I'll remember.”

“Good man.” He looked at Chance. “I guess we're set.”

“I hate to bring it up,” Chance said, “but does our man have a gun? A rifle?”

“I'll find out.”

“You don't know much about him, do you?”

“I've seen the color of his money.”

“Good point. How about some lunch?”

“Sounds good. I've got some money left.”

“So do I. Hopper House?”

“Why not?” Clint asked. “Been eating there since I got to town.”

“Found the best place right off, huh?” Chance said. “Me, I ain't eaten there in awhile. Be nice to get some good food into my belly.”

“Sounds good,” Axel said, eyeing them both.

“Oh, hell, Axel,” Clint said, “why don't you come along?”

“Really?” the liveryman said. “I ain't never et at Hopper House.”

“Go get cleaned up some,” Clint said. “We'll wait.”

“Cleaned up?” the man said, aghast. “You don't mean…a bath?”

“Just get some of the horse smell off of you,” Clint said. “We don't want to get kicked out before we have a chance to eat.”

“I got me some bay rum in the back,” Axel said. “You know, case I ever meet a lady?”

“Well, wash yourself off in that horse trough back there and then slap on some bay rum. We'll wait out front.”

“I'll hurry it up!” he said anxiously. “Don't leave without me.”

Clint and Chance went out in front of the livery to wait.

“You know you're bein' followed,” Chance said to Clint.

“I know,” Clint said. “Spotted them right off. Two men. Sometimes they take turns, sometimes both.”

“What's it about?”

“Don't know,” Clint said. “Might be friends of Mike Dolan.”

“Way I heard it, Dolan didn't have no friends.”

“You mean like you?”

“No,” Chance said. “I got no friends because I don't want 'em. Dolan didn't have no friends because he was a sonofabitch.”

“I got you,” Clint said. “In any case, I've just sort of been waiting on them to make some kind of move.”

“I end up gettin' shot, I'm gonna want some hazard pay,” Chance told him.

“I think I can get Markstein to go for that,” Clint said.

Axel appeared from around the side of the stable, running. The smell of bay rum preceded him.

“Thought you mighta left without me,” he said. “We ready to strap on that feed bag?”

“The question is,” Clint said, “are they ready for us?”

 

“I don't like it,” Breckens said.

“Like what? That they're eatin' and we're not?”

“Chance went and bought supplies, enough for an overnight to one of the mines,” Breckens said. “That means he's probably gonna guide the dandy to his mine.”

“And Adams?”

“He was lookin' at horses, and if you've seen his horse you know he don't need one.”

“So?”

“So all that means that the three of them are gonna be headin' up the mountain tomorrow.”

“So we need help?”

Breckens, going against everything in him, said, “Yeah, we need help.”

Hopper was appalled when Clint and Chance entered his restaurant with Axel—even more so because he had to give them a table in the middle of the room, because they would not all fit at the corner table Clint had used earlier.

Clint wasn't comfortable with the center table, so he was going to have to keep an even warier eye out while he ate.

“I'll watch your back,” Chance promised him.

“Thanks.”

As it turned out, Axel wasn't embarrassing at all. He ate slowly, and carefully, and did not use his hands. This seemed to mollify the owner somewhat.

They all had bowls of beef stew, soaked it all up with biscuits and washed it down with beer.

“I gotta thank you fellers,” Axel said. “I ain't et that good in years.” He stood up. “I'll be sure to have your horses and supplies ready in the mornin'. Six a.m.?”

“Six is fine,” Chance said.

Axel left and Clint and Chance ordered pie and coffee.

“You got a rifle to go with that handgun?” Clint asked Chance.

“Sure,” the other man said. “I got a knife and a saddle, too. And an extra shirt.”

“Okay, okay,” Clint said, in the face of the man's sarcasm, “I was just asking.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chance said. “Just figure that you hired me because I know what I'm doin', okay?”

“Okay.”

 

After lunch Chance said he had to go take care of some personal stuff so he'd be ready to leave in the morning. Clint said he'd meet him in front of the livery at six a.m.

“You need any more spending money?” Clint asked.

“No, I'm good,” Chance said. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Clint watched as Chance went up the street. The two men who thought they were so adept at trailing somebody did not bother to follow him. They stayed with Clint. He considered crossing the street and asking them point blank what was on their minds, but he knew the sheriff wouldn't take kindly to him killing anyone else while he was in town. If these two men were trying to get up the nerve to confront him, they would have done it by now. If he went and braced them, he might force them into action.

He decided to go back to the hotel and report to George Markstein on everything they had done.

 

“Sounds very impressive for a day's work,” Markstein said.

“So, you'll be ready in the morning?” Clint asked. “Before first light?”

“I am normally an early riser, Mr. Adams,” Markstein said. “I will be more than ready.”

“And how's your head?”

Markstein touched his bandage. “I have a headache, but the doctor assures me it will be gone soon,” the easterner said.

“I need to ask you a few things, George.”

“Ask away.” Markstein was sitting on his bed, in shirt-sleeves and trousers. He placed his hands on his knees and waited.

“Can you use a gun?” Clint asked.

“A handgun or a rifle?”

“Either one?”

“I am an expert marksman with a rifle,” Markstein said proudly. “My skill with a handgun is not so good.”

“Your expertise with a rifle,” Clint said. “Target shooting?”

“Yes,” the other man said. “Trap shooting, skeet shooting, some deer hunting.”

“You've never killed a man?”

“Heavens, no.”

“Never fired at a man?”

“No.”

“Do you think you could ever fire at a man?”

“Well…if it was self-defense, I suppose…”

“Don't suppose, George,” Clint said. “If you don't think you can do it, let me know now.”

The man thought about it for a moment and said, “Well, I guess…no, I know, if our lives were in danger, I would…shoot at a man.”

“Shoot to kill?”

“Yes,” Markstein said, squaring his shoulders, “shoot to kill. Do you think we may…have to do that?”

“There have been two men following us,” Clint said, “following me, actually.”

“What do they want?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “They may be harmless.”

“What if it's not you they're after?” Markstein asked. “What if it's me? And my mine?”

“It could be,” Clint said. “If it is, they'll probably follow us up there.”

“And that is where we may have to defend ourselves?” Markstein asked. “That's why you've been asking me if I'd shoot a man?”

“Yes.”

“Well then,” Markstein said, “if they are after my mine, the answer is definitely yes. I would kill to protect my mine.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “that's what I wanted to know.”