When Clint got back to Festus he put Eclipse back in the livery, in the capable hands of the old hostler.
“That didn’t take long,” the old man said.
“How long does it take to say no?”
“You said no to Vance Restin?”
“I did.”
The old man cackled and shook his head.
“He ain’t gonna take kindly to that.”
“What can he do about it?”
The old man shrugged.
“He can put pressure on you in a lot of ways.”
“How?” Clint said. “I don’t have any family or friends in this town. There’s just me.”
“Well,” the man said, “he’ll figure somethin’ out. Just wait and see.”
“I won’t hold my breath, old man,” Clint said. “See to my horse.”
“I’ll take good care of ’im.”
Clint left the livery and went to the saloon.
Moments behind Clint, Vance Restin rode into town on a majestic Palomino. He reined in the horse in front of the sheriff’s office and went inside.
“Moreland!” he snapped. “We need to talk.”
The sheriff had been talking with his young deputy. When he saw Vance Restin in his office he said, “Go do your rounds, Billy.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Billy headed for the door he said, “Hello, Mr. Restin,” but the rancher ignored him.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Restin?” Moreland asked, seating himself behind his desk.
“Clint Adams.”
“What about him?” the sheriff asked. “I understand he’s gonna leave town soon, so you won’t have any problems with him, anymore. I hope you’re not plannin’ on sending your gunnies after him. You just might end up having to hire more.”
“No, no,” Restin said, weaving the sheriff’s words away. “I don’t want Adams dead. I want him working for me.”
“Did you make him an offer?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He turned me down flat.”
“Ooh,” Moreland said, “that must’ve made you mad.”
“You have no idea.”
“And you don’t want to kill him?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
Restin looked around, his eyes stopping at the coffee pot on the pot-bellied stove.
“Give me a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you.”
Just minutes behind Vance Restin, Peterson and his three gunnies rode into town.
“There’s his Palomino,” he said. “In front of the sheriff’s office.”
“What the hell,” Rhodes said. “What’s he doin’ talkin’ to the law?”
“That’s his business,” Peterson said. “I just want to keep him alive so he can keep payin’ us.”
“So whatta we do?” Bank asked.
“Hide the horses,” Peterson said. “We don’t want him to know we’re here. Then we’ll all find a place to hide ourselves, and watch his back.”
They all dismounted and gave Banks their reins.
“Hide ’em where?” Banks asked.
“Use your imagination,” Peterson said.