Message on the Wind by J. R. Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

Wheel, where he’d been able to drink them in peace, at his own leisure. If he spent another night in Yuma, maybe he’d look for a poker game, or drink somewhere more lively, like the Dusty Trail, but at the moment he wanted to go to bed.
    He reached for the dirty shirt he’d been wearing when he arrived. It was lying on top of the bed. He’d have to get it washed. As he picked it up, he felt something crumpled in the pocket. When he took it out, he saw that it was the note he’d collected from the wind before getting to Miller’s Crossing. He’d forgotten about the note, and about Organ Pipe.
    He smoothed it out and read it again. Then he read the stories on both sides. Nothing exciting there. The only thing of interest on either side was the childish scrawl that said, “Please help us.”
    He smoothed out the paper some more and put it on the table next to the bed. Surely, in a town the size of Yuma, someone would have heard of a town called Organ Pipe.
    He’d ask some questions in the morning.

SEVENTEEN
    Clint had breakfast in the hotel dining room the next morning. While he was eating his bacon and eggs, an idea occurred to him. When he’d finished his breakfast, he paid his check, left the hotel, and walked to the office of the Yuma Daily Sun.
    As he entered the newspaper office, he could hear the press operating. It was a deafening sound, and the man operating the press hadn’t heard him come in. Clint looked around, and saw some more men behind a glass partition in an office. They were in a heated conversation. He looked for the door to the office, found it, and opened it.
    â€œ. . . once I’ve told you a thousand times, check your sources, Lou,” one man was saying. “If I had run that story without checking, it would have embarrassed me and the newspaper. I can’t have that kind of carelessness.”
    â€œGimme another chance, Mr. Wynn,” the other man said. “One more.”
    â€œI’ve given you enough chances, Lou,” Wynn said. “I’m done. We’re done.”
    â€œYa can’t fire me!”
    â€œI just did, Lou.”
    The man Clint assumed was the newspaper’s editor—after all, he was firing someone—was tall and white-haired, with remarkably unlined skin. When Clint got a better look, he realized that the man’s hair wasn’t white because he was old. He was closer to forty than sixty.
    The other fellow was in his fifties, a small, slovenly man who was sweating heavily.
    â€œYou’re too experienced to be making these mistakes, Lou,” Wynn said. “I’ve got to assume that you’re losing it.”
    â€œMr. Wynn, please—”
    â€œWe’re done here, Lou.” The editor turned to Clint. “Can I help you, friend?”
    The fired man stood there for a moment, then turned and skulked out the door.
    â€œI assume you’re the editor?” Clint said.
    â€œThat’s right. My name’s Steve Wynn. You’re not a reporter looking for a job, are you?”
    â€œSorry, no.”
    â€œToo bad. Who are you?”
    â€œMy name’s Clint Adams.”
    â€œClint Adams?” Wynn said. “The Gunsmith? Jesus Christ, how the hell did you get into town without me knowi—Wait a minute. Are you really Clint Adams?”
    â€œDoesn’t really matter if you believe me or not, Mr. Wynn,” Clint said. “I’m not going to try to prove it to you. I just have a question.”
    â€œWait, wait,” Wynn said, excitedly. “You are the Gunsmith, right?”
    â€œYes, I am.”
    â€œWell, this is great!” Wynn said. “You just come walking into my paper? This is great.”
    â€œMr. Wynn—”
    â€œWe can do an interview right now,” Wynn said, apparently looking around for a pad of paper. “Course, I just fired my only reporter, but it hasn’t been so long since I—”
    â€œA