said. âHe wasâ¦brutal. Did you see the marks on the woman?â
âOn the whore?â Clint asked.
âWhore or not, he neednât have marked her that way,â Markstein said. âAny man who would treat a woman that way deserves to be shot.â
âWell, I just wish I hadnât had to do it,â Clint said. âI only came out of my room because the noise woke me up.â
âAnd lucky for me that you did,â Markstein said. He had a bandage on his head, and there was a little blood seeping through. âI hope youâll let me repay you in some way.â
âI think youâd better just concentrate on healing up, sir,â Clint said. âI just dropped by to see how you were doing.â
âIâm doing quite well, thanks to you.â
âAnd the doctor.â
âYes, of course,â Markstein said. âWill you dine with me, sir? Perhaps tomorrow evening? My treat, of course.â
âYou donât have toââ
âIâd like to talk with you about a business proposition.â
âBusiness? What business are you in, Mr. Markstein?â
âStone,â the man said, âprecious stones.â
The doctor was closing his bag and said, âYou must be here about the mines, then.â
âDoctor, how much do I owe you?â Markstein asked.
âYou two settle up,â Clint said. âI just got to town last night and I havenât eaten a thing yet. Iâm going to go out and find a restaurant.â
âFind a good one and we can go there tomorrow,â Markstein said. âI believe I can make it worth your while.â
âSure,â Clint said, âwhy not? Iâll see you tomorrow evening, Mr. Markstein.â
âNow, Doctor,â the man was saying as Clint left, âabout your feeâ¦â
SIX
Clint found a place for a decent steak and a good cup of coffee, then found a saloon with cold beer and poker. He was definitely unhappy about having had to kill Mike Dolan, but everywhere he went he heard people talking about it, saying that âfinallyâ somebody had killed Dolan, who âneededâ it.
The saloon he settled in was called the Nighthawk Saloon. Kingman, which just several years earlier had been a one-tent, one-saloon, one-horse town, was growing, but the Nighthawk had been one of the first saloons and was not only still around, but was prospering.
He could still smell the new wood scent as he entered. While the long bar was scarred in places, they obviously were not years worth of scars. With a cold beer in hand he turned to examine the room. It had everything it was supposed to haveâgames, girls, music. And in one corner, eyeing Clint Adams, it had Carl Breckens and Aaron Edwardsâ¦
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âItâs a damn good thing we didnât go into that hotel today,â Edwards said. âWho knew the goddamned Gunsmith would be in there. Weâd both be dead by now.â
âAnd why didnât we go in?â Breckens asked.
âI know, I know,â Edwards said, âit was because you wouldnât let us. You was right, we got to go slow and think first.â
âYou can go slow,â Breckens said, âbut the thinking is gonna be up to me. Right?â
âYeah, right.â
âSo why donât you go slowly up to the bar and get us two more beers,â Breckens said. âAnd try not to get killed while youâre doinâ it.â
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At the far end of the bar to his left Clint saw somebody he recognized, but he couldnât quite place him. It took him a few moments, but then he realized heâd seen the man in the hallway near his room in the hotel during all the ruckus.
He called the bartender over and asked, âWhoâs that fella down there? At the end of the bar, by the window?â
âHim?â the bartender said. âThatâs Wooster, Charlie Wooster. Heâs the town