“What the hell, Adams?” the sheriff asked, sitting behind his desk. “When you got here and came to me, you promised you wouldn’t look for trouble. Now I find you takin’ on the biggest man in the county.”
“He was taking me on,” Clint said. “He sent his four hired guns after me.”
“How the hell did you avoid gunplay?”
“One of them recognized me.”
“Ah. And what’s this about you and the Ballard family? What’s that about?”
“Nothing,” Clint said. “We just met in front of the General Store. Who are they?”
“A family,” Sheriff Moreland said, “just a family. Ben works in town. Beth makes dresses and sells them in the General Store.”
“And what’s the story with this fellow Restin?”
“The same story as anybody with money,” the lawman said. “His success went to his head. Now he treats people like shit, and keeps hired guns around to make sure he stays alive.”
“How involved is he with the town?”
“Whataya mean, like politics?”
“Like anything,” Clint said. “Somebody said he thinks he owns the town.”
“Well, he owns a few businesses, and he sits on the town council. But he ain’t runnin’ for Mayor that I know of.”
“I see.”
“You gotta stay out of his way, Adams,” Moreland said. “I don’t want you to end up killin’ any of his men or, God forbid, him. Get it?”
“I get it, sheriff.”
“Now, you were tellin’ me the truth, right?” the lawman asked. “You were just passin’ through?”
“On my way from nowhere to nowhere,” Clint said. “Your town just looked sort of interesting.”
“Well, do us all a favor,” Moreland said. “Satisfy your interest and move on, huh?”
“Don’t worry, sheriff,” Clint said. “I won’t be staying much longer.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Can I go now?”
“Yeah,” Moreland said, with a wave, “go.”
Clint stepped outside, found the boy, Harry, waiting for him there.
“What are you doing here, son?”
“I – I’m supposed to show you the way to our house,” the boy said. “Ma said you was comin’ ta supper.”
“She did, huh?”
The boy nodded.
“Well, lead the way – Harry.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
As they walked through town Clint said, “Harry, I hope your Mom is a good cook.”
“She’s a great cook, sir.”
“That’s good,” Clint said. “What about you?”
“Sir?”
“You can stop calling me sir, Harry,” Clint said. “Just call me Clint.”
“All right, Clint.”
“What do you do?”
“Me, si – Clint? I’m just a kid.”
“Do you go to school?”
“Sure, I do.”
“That’s good. And what’s your dad do?”
“He works around town.”
“Doing what?”
“Anything he can, si – Clint. My dad knows how to do a lot of things.”
“So he’s good with his hands, huh?”
“He’s real good. He can fix anything, or build anything,” the boy said.
“You sound real proud of him.”
“I am.”
Clint had a feeling the man’s wife didn’t feel the same way the boy did.
They walked through town until they came to an area peppered with small houses. Harry led Clint to one of them, which, unlike the others, was not in a state of disrepair. If Ben Ballard was good at fixing things, it showed in the condition of his small home. The fence was perfect, and the house looked freshly painted.
“This is it,” Harry said, waving his hand. “This is our house.”
“It looks good, Harry,” Clint said. “It looks real good.” Clint took a deep breath. “And something else smells mighty good.”
“That’s my mom’s pot roast,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “And it smells ready!