They built a fire inside the house, in the center of the floor, after Clint took the horses around back. Clint prepared coffee, bacon and beans and they sat on the floor and ate.
“How many nights are we going to spend here?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “One or two. After we eat I’m going to slip into town to see the sheriff.”
“Do you trust him?” she asked. “I’m sure he works for my father.”
“Well, if I was going to trust anyone it would be the lawman in town,” Clint said. “Do you have a better idea?”
”What do you want to do?”
“I need to talk to someone who knows something about your father,” Clint said. “Maybe they can help me lure him away from his house, and his men.”
“I wouldn’t trust the sheriff.”
“Who, then?”
“Buck.”
“The bartender at the Drinkwater?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I trust him? He works for your father, too.”
“Not because he wants to,” she said. “Buck used to own the Drinkwater. My father made him sell, then kept him on as a bartender. Buck doesn’t like my father. If you can trust anyone in town, it’s Buck.”
“All right, then,” he said. “I’ll talk to Buck.”
After they finished eating she went out back with him and watched while he mounted Eclipse.
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” she asked.
“Stay here,” he said. “Don’t leave. I’ll bring some real food when I come back.”
“And what if someone comes along?”
He reached into his saddlebag, came out with the little Colt New Line he used as a hideout gun.
“Take this, and use it if you have to,” he said.
She accepted the gun. He remembered how her hands were shaking when she held the rifle on the two gunmen. He had no idea if she would have been able to shoot them or not.
“Terry,” he asked, “have you ever shot anyone?”
She hesitated, then said, “No … but there’s always a first time, right?”
He nodded, picked up Eclipse’s reins.
“Be careful,” she said, “and don’t forget that real food.”
“I’ll be back soon,” he promised.
She watched him ride off, then went back into the little house where she had been born.
Clint knew there was little chance of riding into town on Eclipse and going unnoticed. Instead, he dismounted several hundred yards away and walked the horse into town, but stayed off the main streets. Eventually, he found his way to the back door of the Drinkwater Saloon.
“Just stay right here, fella,” he said to Eclipse, dropping the horse’s reins to the ground. “I’ll be right back.”
He tried the back door, found it locked. He tried to force it, but it was solid. He’d have to go in the front.
Using the alley alongside the building he made his way to the front. Peering out, he waited until he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be seen, then moved quickly to the batwing doors. One glance told him the place was empty, and he slipped inside.
The bartender looked up from the bar and regarded Clint quizzically as he approached.
“I thought you were gone,” the man said.
“I was,” Clint said. “I’m back now.”
“So soon? Where’d you drop Terry off?”
“I didn’t,” Clint said. “Her father sent Peterson and his three partners to kill me … and her.”
“What?”
“Can we lock the doors?”
“Sure.” Buck came around the bar, walked to the door closed them and locked them, then went back around behind the bar.
“Beer?” he asked.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Buck set a cold mug in front of him.
“Still got that shotgun under the bar?”
“Yeah,” Buck said. “You want it?”
“No,” Clint said. “Terry says if I have to trust anybody in town, it should be you.”
“That’s probably because she knows I don’t like her father,” Buck said. “What do you need? And what do you mean he tried to have her killed? His own daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus,” Buck said. “That’s sick.”
“You have any idea why he’d want to do that?”
“Me? No,” Buck said. “I don’t know the guy. I just know I don’t like him.”
“So you don’t know anything about his will, then?” Clint asked.
“No.”
“Never heard him talk about it in here?”
“Maybe,” Buck said, “but nothing specific. Why?”
“I’m thinking the only reason he’d want to kill his daughter must have something to do with his will. Or his wife’s will.”
“His wife?” Buck asked. “She died when Terry was little.”
“I know,” Clint said. “Five.”
“What do you want from me?” Buck asked.
“I might need to get him away from his ranch,” Clint said, “away from his men.”
“He always has men with him. Maybe more now that you killed Peterson and the others. Does he know that, by the way?”
“He’s probably guessed by now. How often does he come here?”
“A few times a week.”
“To see how the business is going?”
“What business?” Buck asked. “Nobody comes here, and that’s the way he likes it. This place is just for him.”
“To drink?”
“To drink and do business.”
“But you don’t know anything about his business.”
Buck shook his head. “I hear things, but I don’t understand them.”
“What if you sent him a message that you had to see him?” Clint asked. “Would he come?”
Buck shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
“Would you be willing to do it?”
“I suppose,” Buck said, “if it would help you. But … isn’t it the wills you want to see? His and his wife’s?”
“Yes, but he’d never—”
“Why don’t you go and see his lawyer?”
“I don’t know—do you know who his lawyer is?”
“I do know that much,” Buck said. “It used to be old Mr. Henderson, bur he died a few years back.”
“Did someone take over his practice?” Clint asked.
“Not really,” Buck said. “He was an old man, his practice had fallen off. Restin was one of his last clients.”
“So what did Restin do? Get a lawyer from somewhere like San Francisco?”
“No,” Buck said, “he hired a new lawyer right here in town.”
“Well, that’s good,” Clint said. “I just need to go to that lawyer and get a look at Terry’s mother’s will.”
“You think he’ll show it to you?”
“I don’t think I’ll give him a choice,” Clint said. “All I need from you is his name.”
“Sure, I understood that much,” Buck said. “The lawyer’s name is Eugene Barkley.”