Moreland came in that evening with another tray.
“Supper,” he said.
“From the same place?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Clint said. He accepted the tray. “Some more coffee?”
“I’ll bring it.”
Clint sat down, took the napkin off the tray. Steak, this time. He was glad. At least he was eating well.
Moreland came in with the coffee and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He walked to his cot, sat down, set the coffee cup down and picked up the tray. This time he had a knife and fork.
“Can you tell me how long this will take?” Clint asked.
“We have to wait for the circuit judge.”
“A town this size has no judge?”
“He died. We haven’t been able to replace him, yet.”
“Very convenient.”
Moreland didn’t comment.
“Can you stay while I eat and talk?” Clint asked.
“Naw,” Moreland said, “a man—”
“Yeah, I know,” Clint said, “should be left alone to eat in peace.”
“Just let me know when you’re done,” Moreland said, and left.
Harry Ballard ran into the house and said, “Clint’s been arrested.”
“What?” Beth said.
“What do you mean, arrested?” Ben asked. “For what?”
“I dunno,” the boy said. “All I know is, he’s in the jail.”
“How do you know?” Ben asked.
“I was in the café when the sheriff came in to buy a steak dinner for his prisoner,” Harry said. “He told the lady the prisoner was the Gunsmith. That’s what they call Clint, ain’t it? The Gunsmith?”
“Yes, that’s what they call him,” Ben said.
“We have to do something,” Beth said to her husband.
“What can we do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but he has no friends in town.”
“How do you know that?”
“Never mind that, Ben,” she said. “Do something.”
“There’s nothing I can do—”
“Oh God,” she said, grabbing her shawl from a hook on the wall, “you’re hopeless. Stay with Harry!”
She stormed out the door.
Moments later Beth stormed into the sheriff’s office.
“Sheriff, do you have Clint Adams in a cell?”
“Mrs. Ballard,” Moreland said, “that’s no concern of you—”
“I assume that means yes,” she said. “What have you arrested him for?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Well … let him out,” she said. “I’ll pay his bail.”
“No bail yet, ma’am,” Moreland said. “We’re waitin’ on the circuit judge.”
“How long will that take?”
Moreland shrugged.
“Who knows?”
“Then let me talk to him.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” she asked. “Are you afraid I’ll break him out of your jail?”
“Of course not.”
“Then where’s the harm in letting me talk to him?” she asked.
He stared at her for a few moments, then shrugged and said, “Well, what the hell? Okay. Come on.”
He walked her to the door of the cell block, unlocked it and said, “Five minutes.”
“Fine.”
She went in.
Clint was lying on his back on the cot, his left arm across his forehead, when she said, “Clint?”
He jerked up and looked at her.
“Beth?” He sat up. “What are you doing here?”
She came close to the bars.
“I heard you were arrested.”
“How?”
“Harry was at the café when the sheriff picked up your supper.”
He approached the bars and she took his hand.
“What did he arrest you for?”
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “He hasn’t really told me yet but … do you know a woman named Meg Nolan?”
“Of course I know Meg,” she said. “I make dresses for her.”
“Well, he dragged her in here and had her identify me as the man who shot her husband.”
“Ed was shot?”
“Who is Ed Nolan?”
“Just a merchant here in town,” she said. “Runs the Hardware Store. Why would anybody shoot him? Why would you shoot him?”
“I didn’t,” Clint said. “In fact, I don’t even know if he was really shot. Hey, maybe you could find out for me.”
“Well,” she said, “I tried to bail you out and couldn’t. I’d like to help you, somehow.”
“Great. See if you can find out if good ol’ Ed has even been shot.”
“Why would they arrest you for shootin’ him if he wasn’t shot?”
“And why would she identify me if he wasn’t shot?” Clint asked. “Those are good questions.”
“Are they … framin’ you?”
“It sure sounds like it,” Clint said, “but maybe there’s really no crime to frame me for. That’s the first thing I’d like to know.”
“I’ll try and find out.”
“But don’t try to come back here tonight,” he said. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. Come back in the morning.”
“I’ll arrange with the sheriff for me to bring you breakfast,” she suggested.
“That’s a great idea,’ Clint said, “but tell him you’ll bring him some, too.”
“Why should I feed him?”
“Because then he’ll let you in.”
“Ah, I see,” she said. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
He squeezed her hand and said, “Thanks, Beth.”
She squeezed back and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
As she left, Clint realized how good it felt to actually have somebody on his side.”