Clint sat next to Cates at every meal. The others at the table changed, but it was always Clint and Cates. He had learned to eat the gruel they served the prisoners, but he still gave Cates half of it at each meal. And he ate his bread, minus the moldy bits.
“What’s the word, Cates?”
“What word is that, Clint?”
“About when they’re going to come for me.”
Cates didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know what Clint was talking about.
“They’re still watchin’ you,” he said. “They want to see who you become friends with. Who you’ll have on your side.”
“Why not come for me before that?” Clint asked. “While I’m alone?”
“They’re afraid of you.”
“Even without my gun?”
“Even without your gun.”
“Do you know who’ll come for me?”
“No.”
Clint looked at him skeptically. “Come on, Cates . . .”
Up to this point Cates had been staring at his food. Now he raised his head and looked at Clint.
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“I might.”
“Will you?”
Cates looked at Clint’s plate.
“You gonna eat that bread?”
Clint had already picked off the moldy parts, but he hadn’t started to eat it yet.
“Be my guest.”
* * *
Angus Fowler nervously entered the warden’s office. He smelled the meat before he entered. The warden was seated at a table, working on a steak with a knife and fork. The plate was filled by the meat, which was accompanied by potatoes, carrots, and onions. Angus’s mouth began to water immediately. He saw the other plate across from the warden.
“Hello, Angus.”
“Warden.”
“Had a bath lately?”
“Two days ago.”
“The stench shouldn’t be too bad, then,” the warden said. “Have a seat, Angus. Eat.”
“Eat?”
The warden nodded.
“T-That’s for me?”
“Of course,” the warden said. “Come on, sit. It’s getting cold.”
Angus rushed to the table, sat, and picked up the knife and fork. He hastily cut off a hunk of steak and stuffed it into his mouth before the man could change his mind.
“Take your time, Angus,” the warden said. “Enjoy the meal. Would you like a glass of wine with it?”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
The warden poured Angus a glass of red wine. The prisoner took a gulp, choked for a few seconds, then went back to his meal, this time eating more slowly, but with gusto.
The warden ate his own meal slowly, watching Angus the whole time. Angus was a small man, in his forties, a born victim, usually pretty smelly, usually bruised or battered because one prisoner or another had taken their frustrations out on him. But there was one good thing about him. He’d been in Yuma for fifteen years, and he knew everything that went on in the place. More than any other prisoner, more than the guards . . . and more than the warden.
When the meal was done, Angus sat back and rubbed his belly happily.
“How about a piece of pie, Angus?”
“That’d be great, Warden.”
“What kind?”
“Cherry?”
“Okay,” Warden Gordon said. “Cherry pie. I’ll have it brought in right after . . .”
“After what, Warden?”
“After you answer a couple of questions, Angus.”
“Qu-Questions?” Angus suddenly looked worried.
“Just one, actually.”
“One question?”
“One won’t hurt, will it, Angus?”
“N-No, sir.”
“Good,” the warden said.
Angus waited, and when the question didn’t come, he asked, “W-What’s the question?”
“There’s a new prisoner,” the warden said, “been here about a week. Nobody wants me to know who he is.”
“I—”
“But you know, don’t you, Angus?”
“Sir, I—”
“I’ll have your pie brought in,” the warden said, “and coffee. You just answer the question. You know, don’t you?”
“Y-Yessir.”
“Who is it?”
Angus ducked his head and hunched his shoulders, as if he expected to be hit when he gave the answer.
“Clint Adams.”
Surprising himself, Warden Gordon suddenly became incensed.
“The Gunsmith is in my prison?”
“Yessir.”
And he didn’t know about it? That was unacceptable.
“Exactly when did he get here?” the warden asked.
“You was right about that,” Angus said. “A week ago.”
“Jesus,” the warden said, “they’ll kill him in here.”
“Yessir.”
“Are they plannin’ that?”
“Yessir.”
“When are they going to try?”
“Geez, I dunno,” Angus said. “They’s watchin’ him to see who’s with him.”
The warden knew there were other prisoners in his prison that he didn’t know about, but this one . . . this one was too big. He should have known about this one!
“Warden, c-can I have my pie?” Angus asked meekly.
“Comin’ up, Angus,” the warden said. “Your pie is comin’ right up.”