THIRTY-SEVEN
Sheriff Hack Yarborough didn’t know much more than had been in the newspaper. “All I know is I got a telegram warning me that they may be coming this way,” he told Clint.
“Not likely,” Clint said.
“Why not?”
“Because we’ve been tracking them since Mexico,” Clint said. “The one direction I don’t think they’d go is back south.”
“Well, that’s good news to me,” the sheriff said. “Can’t say I want to deal with some murderin’ bank robbers.”
“Have you got deputies?”
The man ran a hand through his steel gray hair. His eyes looked weary.
“I’ve got two inexperienced men,” he said. “Good help’s hard to come by these days. Seems young men ain’t in a hurry to become a badge toter. Not like when we were young.”
“It was a different job then.”
“That’s right,” the sheriff said. “I heard you wore a badge for a while.”
“That was years ago,” Clint said.
“Yeah, well, I’m thinkin’ of takin’ it off myself,” the man said. “What’s your interest anyway?”
“I’m tracking them with a couple of colleagues,” Clint said.
“You huntin’ bounty now?”
“Not exactly,” Clint said. “One of the men I’m riding with is a lawman from Ireland. He’s tracked Dolan all the way across the ocean.”
“Well, I wish you luck then,” the sheriff said. “Just see if you can herd them away from here.”
“Like I said, I don’t think they’re headed this way, but I’ll see what we can do to make sure. Much obliged for your time.”
“No trouble,” the man said, “which is what I’m ex-pectin’ from you while you’re here.”
“You won’t get any trouble from me, Sheriff,” Clint said. “We’ll be out of here early tomorrow morning. All we want tonight is a meal and a bed.”
“Enjoy ’em both,” the sheriff said.
 
“We only got two rooms, so I bunked in with McBeth,” Weaver said, meeting Clint in the lobby. “That’s how I know he’s sound asleep.”
“Let’s leave him then,” Clint said. “He needs the sleep. We’ll bring something back for him to eat.”
“Suits me,” Weaver said.
They stepped back outside, looked both ways, and actually followed their noses to a nearby restaurant called The Harvest. It was dinner time and many of the tables were taken. Clint and Weaver got stuck with a table in the center of the room, which made Clint uncomfortable for more than one reason, not the least of which was it made them—as strangers—the center of attention.
They each ordered a steak dinner and a cold beer with it. Weaver had been enjoying the cold brew wherever they stopped.
“Was the sheriff able to tell you anythin’?” Weaver asked.
“Only that he hoped the Dolan Gang wasn’t headed this way.”
“And you think they ain’t?”
“No,” Clint said, “that’d be coming back the way they came. They’re going to keep going.”
“And what’re we gonna do?”
“Keep tracking them,” Clint said. “Or at least keep following. This is the closest we’ve been. Maybe we’ll find out something in Fort Hampton that will actually allow us to track them.”
“And when we catch up to them?”
“Then McBeth does what he came to this country to do,” Clint said. “We’ll turn the others over to the law.”
“You’re gonna let him kill this man Dolan?”
“That’s his business, Ben,” Clint said. “I’m just here to help him, and you’re here to help me.”
“But what’s he gonna do, just kill ’im? That’s against the law, Clint—”
“And you’re not wearing a badge anymore, Weaver,” Clint said, “so upholding the law is not your job.”
“Well,” Weaver said, chewing on his steak, “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to stand by and watch him kill a man in cold blood.”
“I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Ben.”
“So you ain’t gonna let him kill ’im?”
“No,” Clint said, “but I think they’ll pretty much be trying to kill each other, so we’re not going to have to worry about cold blood.”