Ben Canby was a widower whose wife had died ten years before. He lived alone in the big house, but since the place was spotless, Clint had the feeling there was a woman somewhere.
Clint picked up his saddlebags and rifle on the way into the house. Canby led him to his office, where he poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Clint and then sat behind his desk.
“I’m glad you made it,” he said.
“I sent you a telegram telling you I would.”
“Sure,” Canby said, “but I never know when you’re gonna go off on a quest.”
“A quest?” Clint asked. “I never go off on quests.”
“Well, whatever you call them, then,” Canby said, “when people ask you for help and you go running.”
“You asked me to come here and I came,” Clint reminded him.
“Yes, but I don’t need help. I just wanted you to share in my triumph.”
“Well,” Clint said, “you’re lucky I like a good horse race.”
“This will be a great horse race. Not just a good one.”
“Do you see any competition for your horse?” Clint asked. “How about these?” He reeled off the name of the horses he’d received tips on.
“No, no, none of those,” Canby said. “Those are all locals, and they’re not in the same class as Whirlwind. No, the competition is coming from out of town.”
“Like who?”
“There’s a horse coming from the East called Easy Going,” Canby said. “Supposed to be undefeated.”
“Have you seen the animal?”
“Not yet.”
“Anybody else?”
“Only one other that I know about,” Canby said. “Coming in from California, named Sunday Song. Also undefeated.”
“And your horse?”
“Undefeated in five races,” Canby said.
“So three undefeated horses,” Clint said. “That does sound like an interesting race. How many horses altogether?”
“About fifteen, I think.”
“Big field. Could be some bumping.”
“It’ll be up to my jockey to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Who’s the jockey?”
“The same boy who rode him in his first five races,” Canby said. “You’ll be meeting him.” He put his empty glass on the desk. “Let me show you to your room. You can clean up before we eat lunch.”
“Who’s making lunch?” Clint asked, following Canby into the hall.
“I have a cook, Clint,” he said. “She makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she’s good. And I’ve already told her about your coffee.”
“Warned her, you mean.”
“That’s right.”
He led Clint through the house and up to the second floor.
“Does she clean, too?” he asked. “This place is pretty clean.”
“I’ve got a girl who comes from town to do that,” Canby said.
They walked past several doors until Canby stopped and said, “This is your room.”
Clint went into the room. It was larger and more expensively furnished than most hotel rooms he’d ever been in.
“This’ll do,” he said to Canby.
The man laughed and said, “Water on the dresser. Come on down when you’ve cleaned up.”
“Okay.”
“And Clint . . . I’m glad you’re here. You’re gonna see something amazing.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Canby left Clint to freshen up, closing the door as he went.
* * *
Ed Donnelly had just finished unsaddling Eclipse when a man in black entered the barn.
“Was that him?” the man asked.
“It was him,” Donnelly said.
“You’re sure?”
“He introduced himself.”
“He gonna stay awhile?”
“Looks like.”
The man nodded, handed Donnelly some money, and then left the barn.