The third saloon Clint entered was called the Buckshot. It was midday, and the place was not even half full. He stood just inside the batwing doors and looked around. At a back table sat an Indian wearing a top hat, staring into a mug of beer that had about an inch or two left in it.
Clint walked to the bar and asked the bartender, “Is that John Sun Horse back there?”
“That’s him.”
“Is he drunk?”
“Is he awake?” the bartender asked. “If he’s awake, he’s drunk.”
“Is he always drunk?”
“Only when he’s not workin’.”
“How often does he work?”
“Hardly ever.”
Clint turned and looked at the Indian.
“You gonna try to talk to him?” the bartender asked.
“I am.”
“Wait.”
The bartender drew two beers and put them on the bar in front of Clint.
“You better take this to him,” he said. “He won’t even talk to you otherwise.”
“Two?”
“One’s for you.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Thank me by putting four bits on the bar.”
Clint took out the money and set it down, then picked up the two mugs and walked to the back table.
“You look like you can use a fresh one,” he said, putting one beer down in front of the Indian.
The man looked up, brown eyes studying Clint from beneath the brim of his worn top hat. He had a thick nose and fleshy mouth, looked to be about thirty-five.
He pushed his empty mug away and wrapped his hand around the full one.
“Mind if I sit?” Clint asked.
Sun Horse shrugged.
Clint sat.
“I have a job for you, Mr. Sun Horse.”
“I am John Sun Horse,” the man said. “Or just Sun Horse. No ‘Mr.’”
“All right, John Sun Horse. I have a job for you.”
“Doing what?”
“What I hear you’re good at.”
Without smiling, Sun Horse said, “Drinking?”
“Tracking.”
“Oh, that.”
“You are an expert tracker, aren’t you?”
“I am.” He took two big swallows of the fresh, cold beer. Clint sipped his.
“I need you to pick up a trail that somebody is trying to hide.”
“Not an easy thing,” Sun Horse said, “especially if your quarry knows what he is doing.”
“Apparently he does.”
“How do you know?”
Because I can’t find the trail.”
Sun Horse looked Clint in the eyes.
“Who are you?”
“Clint Adams.”
“This is true?” Sun Horse asked without the slightest look of surprise on his face.
“Yes.”
“And you want to hire me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I need to find out who was watching me this morning.”
“Where?”
“I was out at the Canby place.”
“He has a horse entered in the Derby.”
“Yes.”
Sun Horse leaned forward then, the first look of interest in his eyes.
“Can you tell me if the horse is going to win?” the Cherokee asked.
“No.”
Sun Horse leaned back, sipped his beer again.
“But I can tell you the horse is in fine shape,” Clint said.
“So are the others,” Sun Horse said. “That doesn’t help me make a bet.”
“Well,” Clint said, “maybe if you take the job, you’ll be able to find something out that will help you.”
Sun Horse leaned forward again.
“Are you sure your quarry was watching you?” he asked. “Or the horse?”
“That is what I want to find out.”
Sun Horse sat back again. Despite what the bartender had said, John Sun Horse did not appear to be drunk.
“Will you take the job?”
“You will pay me?”
“I will.”
“How much?”
“Enough to make a healthy bet on the Kentucky Derby.”
Very deliberately John Sun Horse pushed the remainder of the beer away.
“You’re not going to finish that?” Clint asked.
Sun Horse looked at him and said, “I never drink when I am working.”