THIRTY-FOUR
Clint decided to go to the sheriff for protection for the two women.
“How are things goin’ with you and Mr. Powell?” Sheriff Doby asked as Clint walked in.
“Just fine,” Clint said.
“You solve that problem of his?”
“Not yet,” Clint said, “but I could use some help.”
“With what?”
“Mrs. Powell and her cook, Chelsea Piper, are across the street at the hotel. I’d like someone to keep an eye on them.”
“It’s my job to keep an eye on everybody in this town,” the lawman said.
“Well, I need somebody to keep a special eye on them,” Clint said. “Can you recommend anyone in town I could pay to do that?”
“Pay?”
“That’s right.”
“Well,” Doby said, rubbing his jaw, “maybe I could take the time—”
“I’d rather have someone who doesn’t also have to keep an eye on the town, thanks all the same. Just a suggestion would be good.”
The sheriff hesitated, then said, “Maybe I have someone for you . . .”
Doby told Clint there was a small saloon at the north end of town, just an old door across some barrels used as a bar and a few tables.
As he entered, he saw it was even smaller than he’d been told. The bartender looked up at him without removing his elbow from the bar, or his chin from the hand. There were two men seated at a table, each with a beer in front of them.
“Help ya?”
“Beer any good?”
“It’s cold,” the barkeep said. “Best beer in town.”
“I’ll take one.”
The first thing Clint noticed was that the glasses were clean. When he tasted the beer, it was, indeed, cold.
“Pretty good, huh?”
“Real good,” Clint said. “I’m looking for a man named Dan O’Day—if that’s a real name.”
Clint had the feeling the sheriff may have been having a laugh at his expense.
“O’Day? Right there.”
Clint turned, looked at the two seated men.
“Which one?”
“The back one.”
The man in question was leaning over the table, staring into half a mug of beer.
“How long has he been sitting there?” Clint asked.
“Years,” the bartender said. “Oh, do you mean—okay, he’s been there a few hours.”
“With that same beer?”
The barkeep nodded.
“Okay, give me another one, then.”
“Comin’ up.”
Clint carried his beer and the extra one to the table. The man didn’t move.
“Dan O’Day?”
There was a long moment and then the man slowly lifted his eyes from the mug. He was younger than Clint had expected, judging from the way he’d looked sitting at the table with his head bowed and shoulders hunched. He appeared to be about thirty-five.
“O’Day?” Clint asked, again. “Cold beer?”
The man looked at the mug and said, “For me?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“I want to hire you.”
“For what?”
“Can I sit?”
“Gimme the beer.”
Clint handed it over and O’Day took a sip.
“Okay,” he said, “sit. Whataya need?”
“I need a man to stand guard over a couple of ladies,” Clint said. “The sheriff suggested you.”
“The beer’s mine no matter what?” O’Day asked.
“That’s right.”
“Okay, well,” he said, pausing to sip again, “I think the sheriff is playing a joke on you.”
“Why? Why would you think that?”
“Well, for one thing, he don’t like me,” O’Day said. “And if he suggested me to you for a job, he probably don’t like you either.”
“What’s he got against you?”
O’Day hesitated, then said, “I used to be his deputy.”
“What happened?”
“I quit.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a bad lawman, and I told him so.”
“But if you were a deputy, it means you know how to use a gun.”
“That’s the problem,” O’Day said. “I used to be good with a gun, but since I quit, I’ve had a beer in my hand more often than a gun.”
Clint studied the man for a few moments. He didn’t really have time to start looking for somebody else.
“Hold out your hand,” he said.
“What?”
“Your gun hand. Hold it out.”
O’Day extended his right hand, palm down.
“That’s pretty steady.”
“That’s because I’ve been drinkin’,” O’Day said. “Once I dry out, my hand starts to shake.”
“Okay, so don’t dry out.”
“What?”
“Look,” Clint said, “I’ll pay you good money to do this job.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe a few days.”
“And you don’t want me to dry out?”
“Not completely,” Clint said. “Not if it keeps your hand steady.”
“What are you payin’?”
Clint told him.
“Well . . . what’s the job?”
“I’ll do it,” O’Day said when Clint was finished, “although I don’t know why the Gunsmith would trust a stranger with these two ladies.”
“Remember, you have the sheriff’s recommendation,” Clint said.
“I explained that to you.”
“Well,” Clint said, “I think our arrangement will work for us and be a thumb in the sheriff’s eye.”
“That suits me,” O’Day said.
“Finish your drink and I’ll introduce you to the two women.”
“I don’t think I need to meet them,” O’Day said, “but you can point them out to me. Do you know where they are now?”
“You want to start now?”
“Might as well.”
“Let me give you some money—”
“No,” O’Day said, “don’t give me any money. I might just drink it away. You can pay me after.”
Right then Clint thought he’d made the right decision.