While John Sun Horse did his work, Clint tried to engage him in conversation, but the Cherokee did not seem to be the talkative type. Clint finally fell silent and remained that way.
Eventually, they came to the place where Clint had lost the trail.
“Here,” Sun Horse said. “This is where he tried to cover his trail.”
“This is where I lost him, all right.”
Sun Horse nodded and slipped from his horse’s back. He walked the area, looking at the ground intensely, careful of where he set his moccasin-covered feet.
Finally, he knelt for a long time, swiping lightly at the ground with one hand, then stood and walked back to Clint.
“Your man knows what he is doing,” Sun Horse said.
“But you found the trail?”
“Of course,” Sun Horse said, mounting up. “That is what you are paying me to do, is it not?”
“It is.”
Clint wished the Cherokee would exhibit more expression when he spoke. Part of the time—almost half the time, in fact—he felt the man was pulling his leg.
* * *
By late afternoon they were sitting outside the gate of a ranch. There was no fence, just an arch built as an entry to the property. There was no name anywhere.
“Here,” John Sun Horse said. “This is where your man went.”
“Do you know whose place this is?” Clint asked.
“Yes I do,” the Cherokee said.
Clint waited, but when he realized nothing further was forthcoming, he said, “Who?”
“Peter Fontaine.”
“And who is Peter Fontaine?”
“A rich man.”
“What does he do?”
“He gambles.”
“Bets on the horses?”
“Bets on anything,” Sun Horse said.
Well, it made sense that such a man would be looking for an edge when it came to betting on the Derby.
“What do you do now?” Sun Horse asked.
“Do you know this Fontaine?”
“I know of him,” Sun Horse said. “I do not know him.”
So, no introduction there.
“Let’s go back to Louisville,” Clint said. “I want to talk to the sheriff again.”
Sun Horse nodded and turned his horse around.
* * *
As they rode into Louisville, Sun Horse asked, “You pay me now?”
“You did your job,” Clint said. “I’ll pay you now.”
Sun Horse reined his horse in. Clint went a few more feet before he realized the man had stopped. He turned and looked at him.
“You mean right here, in the middle of the street?” he asked.
“I do not like the law,” Sun Horse said. “I don’t want to go to the sheriff’s office.”
Clint rode back to Sun Horse, reached into his pocket, and pulled out some money. He counted out the amount they had agreed upon into Sun Horse’s hand. The Cherokee then nodded and tucked the money away in his war bag.
“If you need Sun Horse again,” he said, “I will be in the saloon.”
“Which one?” Clint asked.
The Cherokee shrugged and said, “All of them.”
Clint watched as the man rode away, then shrugged himself and continued on to the sheriff’s office.
* * *
Sheriff Ted Hackett looked at Clint as he came in the door.
“Find Sun Horse?”
“I did, thanks.”
“He get the job done for you?”
“Yes, he did.”
Hackett had been standing at the gun rack when Clint entered. Now he turned and seated himself behind his desk.
“What else can I do for you?”
“Tell me about a man named Fontaine.”
“Pete Fontaine?”
“That’s the one.”
“Pete Fontaine is a man nobody wants to cross,” Sheriff Hackett said, “not even the Gunsmith.”
“Well,” Clint said, “maybe you can elaborate on that for me?”
Hackett opened his bottom drawer and came out with a bottle of whiskey.
“This’ll take a drink,” he announced.