In the morning, after breakfast, Clint went to the barn to saddle Eclipse. He was going to ride directly to Fontaine’s and confront him.
He was tightening the cinch on the saddle when Davy Flores walked in.
“Good morning,” he said.
“What did you do to Alicia?” the little man asked.
“What? I didn’t do anything to her.”
“She won’t talk to me.”
“Well,” Clint said, “maybe that’s because of something you did.”
Flores pointed his finger at Clint.
“If you did anything to hurt her—”
“Don’t make threats, little man,” Clint said. “You’re not big enough to back them up.” He didn’t like Flores, so there was no point in going easy on him.
“This is a nice horse,” Flores said.
“Yes, he is.”
“Be a shame if something happened to him.”
Flores didn’t have a chance to move. Clint grabbed him by the front of the shirt with his left hand, bunched it up, and lifted the man off his feet, then drew his gun with his right. He put the barrel of the gun under the small man’s chin.
“If anything happens to my horse, I won’t hesitate, I’ll just blow your head off. You got that?”
Flores tried his best to nod and breathe at the same time, his eyes wide with fear. Clint released him, let him fall to the floor.
Clint took Eclipse’s bridle and walked him out of the barn. Outside he mounted up and rode off.
* * *
Clint rode through the gate of Fontaine’s place and followed the roads to the front of the house. He dismounted, dropped Eclipse’s reins to the ground, knowing the big gelding would not move unless he had to.
He climbed the steps to the porch, then turned to look around. There was not a man in sight. He turned and knocked on the front door. A tall man wearing a white shirt, gray vest, and gray pants opened it. He was about sixty, with a shock of white hair and matching eyebrows.
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see Mr. Fontaine.”
“Can I say who is calling?”
“Clint Adams.”
“And what’s this about?”
Clint hesitated, then said, “Tell him it’s about money.”
“Wait here.”
* * *
Fontaine looked up as his man, Henry Gage, entered his office.
“Well?”
“He’s here,” Gage said. “The Gunsmith.”
“Did he scare you?”
“No.”
“You look scared, Gage.”
“Well, what do you want?” Gage asked. “He’s the goddamned Gunsmith.”
“What did he say he wanted?”
“To talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
Fontaine laughed.
“That’s smart,” Fontaine said. “Okay, show him in, Gage.”