Clint left the sheriff’s office, still not convinced that Coyle would stand by and do nothing if Clint was in trouble. But as the man had suggested, he certainly wasn’t going to bet his life on it.
He had two options while waiting for his meeting at the Tin Pot. He could go to his room and wait there, accomplishing nothing. Or he could go to Hannah’s Café and . . . do what? Have more pie? A steak? Or maybe he had more options. Like a saloon and a few beers.
Then a thought occurred to him. He could go to the livery stable, check on Eclipse, and talk to Handy. Even if he was related to the sheriff, maybe he’d have something to tell him about Harlan Banks.
* * *
He found Handy mucking out some stalls at the livery.
“Not takin’ him out of here already, are you?” Handy asked, leaning on his pitchfork.
“No, not yet,” Clint said. “Just wanted to check in with him.”
“That animal eats more than any other two horses,” Handy said.
“Yes, he has a good appetite.”
Clint walked to Eclipse’s stall, stroked the big horse’s neck, spoke to him briefly while Handy continued his work.
“Hey, Handy,” he said, coming out of Eclipse’s stall.
“Yep?”
“I found out something interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“You and the sheriff are apparently cousins?”
Handy stopped mucking, sniffed, and said, “Yeah, our mothers was sisters.”
“You’re not happy about that?”
“We might be related,” Handy said, “but we ain’t exactly friends.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
Handy leaned on his pitchfork and stared at Clint.
“You got somethin’ on your mind, my friend,” he said. “I ain’t the smartest guy in the world—like my cousin keeps tellin’ me—but I know that. Is there somethin’ you wanna know about the sheriff?”
“No,” Clint said, “there’s something I want to know about Harlan Banks.”
Handy lifted the pitchfork up and drove it down into the ground two or three times.
“What’d my cousin say?”
“He never heard of him.”
The pitchfork went up and back down.
“You talk to anybody else in town?”
“Lots of people,” Clint said. “They’re all lying to me. I know Banks was here, he sent a telegram from here, and then he disappeared.”
“You talk to the chief of police?”
“The chief, and the mayor,” Clint said. “They lied to me, too.”
“Lots of people lyin’ to ya.”
“That’s the way it looks.”
“So why ya askin’ me?”
“I was thinking maybe you were different,” Clint said. “I thought maybe I’d get the truth out of you.”
The pitchfork went up then down again.
“I tell you what,” Handy said. “This here’s the truth. If I was you, I’d just forget all about this Banks fella and get out of town.”