Clint returned to the Canby ranch in time for supper. He entered the house, found Canby sitting alone at the table.
“Just in time,” Canby told him.
“Let me clean up,” Clint said. “I’ll be right back.”
He went into the kitchen, surprising Elena, who was standing at the stove.
“Can I wash up in here, Elena?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Go ahead.”
Clint washed and dried his hands. “That smells great,” he told her.
“It’s a roast. I’m glad you got back in time,” she said.
“So am I,” he said, and went back out to the dining room.
“Where have you been all day?” Canby asked.
“Trying to find the man who was watching us this morning.”
“And did you?”
“I think so,” Clint said. “I hired a man named John Sun Horse to track him.”
“Sun Horse? The drunken Cherokee?”
“He never drinks while he’s working.”
“What did he find?”
“He tracked the rider to Peter Fontaine’s doorstep.”
“Fontaine?”
Elena came through the kitchen door carrying the roast, stopped short, apparently when she heard the name. She came forward again, placed the roast on the table, exchanged a look with Canby, and went back to the kitchen.
“What was that about?”
“She worked for Pete Fontaine for a short time.”
“What happened?”
“She quit.”
“Why?”
“She never said, but we can assume it was nothing good.”
“What’s your relationship with Fontaine?”
“I hate the sonofabitch.”
“Why?”
“I did business with him once or twice, came out on the short end. He’s ruthless. Will do anything to make money.”
“That’s what I heard,” Clint said. “So he sent somebody to watch the horse work out.”
“He’s looking for an edge,” Canby said, taking a piece of roast.
“Just to make a bet?” Clint wondered aloud. “Or for some other reason?”
“Like what?” Canby asked.
The kitchen door opened again and Elena came out with a platter of vegetables. She set it on the table and returned to the kitchen.
“I don’t know what,” Clint said, adding vegetables to his plate. “I thought you would, since you know him.”
“I don’t know,” Canby said. “Who did he send to spy on us?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said, “but I’m told he has hired guns working for him.”
“What do hired guns have to do with the Kentucky Derby?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “Have you ever heard of a man named Blacker?”
“Just Blacker?”
“That’s all I have.”
“I’ve never heard—wait. Blacker? Maybe I have heard the name, but I don’t know him.”
“Your friend, the sheriff, told me Blacker’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous as you?”
“Hackett said nobody wants to cross Fontaine, not even me.”
“Fontaine’s not a gunman,” Canby said. “So he needs hired guns with him.”
“And Blacker is probably the best.”
“But you’ve never heard of him?”
“I haven’t heard of every fast gun alive, Ben,” Clint said. “Some of them go undiscovered, you know. Just like a bunch of fast horses go unknown.”
“Well,” Canby said, “after the Derby everyone’s gonna know the name ‘Whirlwind.’”
“You hope.”
“Clint,” Canby said, “I get the feeling you haven’t been listening to me. I know my horse is gonna win.”
“How much are you going to bet on him, Ben?” Clint asked.
“A lot,” Canby said. “Whatever I can raise.”
“Wait a minute,” Clint said. “You’re going to go all in on this?”
“All in,” Canby said. “Definitely.”
* * *
After supper Clint and Canby went out onto the porch with cigars.
“What are you gonna do tomorrow?” Canby asked.
“I’m going to see Fontaine.”
“What for?”
“Because I want to know what’s going on.”
“Don’t tell him about Whirlwind,” Canby said.
“Ben, I think he knows about Whirlwind.”
“I mean, don’t tell him what I said about Whirlwind,” Canby said. “I mean, that he’s definitely gonna win.”
“You don’t want Fontaine to make a winning bet.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’ll tell you something,” Clint said. “If Fontaine is having Whirlwind watched, I’ll bet he’s having those other horses watched, too.”
“Easy Going and Sunday Song?”
“Right, those two. Don’t you think one of those two might win?”
“They might,” Canby said, “but they ain’t.”
“How can you be so sure?” Clint asked.
“Clint,” Canby said, “I’ve been around horses all my life. Believe me when I tell you, this one just won’t lose.”