Clint decided that a good portion of the trip to Sacramento – the first part, anyway – would be done on horseback. He wanted to check out Eclipse and make sure he was good for the trip.
He went to the livery and checked the horse’s hooves and legs, walked him around a bit. The Darley Arabian was as sound as could be during the ride to and from the Restin ranch. This was really just a way to double check his soundness. And it was something for Clint to do while he worked the problem out in his mind.
The major question on his mind was, what was going on? Nobody pays that much money just to have somebody delivered to school. Clint decided that between here and Sacramento, he and Terry were going to get as lost as they could. No one was going to be able to track them, or find them, or guess what route they were taking.
Clint had hunted down many men in his time, but had not spent much time trying not to be tracked down by others, himself.
This was going to be something new.
“Come in and close the door,” Restin said.
Dave Peterson entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“Sit.”
Peterson did. Maybe now he was going to find out when he could take care of Clint Adams.
“Is Terry in the house?” Restin asked.
“Yeah,” Peterson said. “She’s upstairs.”
“Good, good.”
“Mr. Restin,” Peterson said, “what’s goin’ on? When do we get a chance at Adams?”
“Soon,” Restin said, “very soon, Peterson. Where are your men?”
“In the bunkhouse,” Peterson said, “makin’ your men real uncomfortable.”
“I’m going to need you to do something for me, Peterson,” Restin said, “without question.”
“No questions?” Peterson asked. “That ain’t my way, Mr. Restin.”
“But if I pay you enough it can be your way, right?” Restin asked.
“Well …” Peterson rubbed his jaw. “Totally without questions?”
“Absolutely.”
“It would have to be a real good payday, boss.”
“Don’t worry,” Restin said. “It will.”
Later, Peterson entered the bunkhouse and told his men, “Outside.”
“What for?” Stan Rhodes asked, looking at the full house he was holding.
“Just do it,” Peterson said, “no questions asked.”
He went outside and waited for his three men. His heart was racing. There was a lot of money at stake here, plus a chance at killing the Gunsmith.
The three men came out one at a time, tucking in their shirts, smoothing back their hair and putting their hats on, strapping on their guns.
“What’s goin’ on, Peterson?” Rhodes asked.
“I need you all to listen up,” Peterson said.
The three men exchanged glances, but Rhodes was the spokesman.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Let’s get away from the bunkhouse,” Peterson said. “I don’t want the others to hear what I’ve got to say.”
Hank Spenser, Ted Banks and Stan Rhodes looked at each other, shrugged and followed their boss.
Peterson led them around behind the barn, then turned to face them.
“Okay, Dave,” Stan Rhodes said, “what’s goin’ on? I don’t get it.”
“The boss has just offered us a lot of money.”
“We been gettin’ a lot of money,” Banks said.
“Yeah,” Spenser said, “what’s new about that?”
“Look,” Peterson said, “I’m talkin’ about a lot of goddamned money, not the chickenfeed we’ve been getting so far.”
“Dave,” Stan Rhodes said, “I was holdin’ a full house in there—”
“Jesus Christ, don’t you guys get it?” Peterson snapped. “We stand to make a fortune here.”
“And what do we gotta do for it?” Spenser asked.
“You mean after we kill the Gunsmith?” Peterson asked.
“Simple. The boss don’t want his daughter to make it to that school in Sacramento – ever!”