The Gunsmith 386 by J. R. Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

storming out. He’ll be back tomorrow. Sit back and relax. I’ll make you a steak.”
    â€œOkay, thanks.”
    It took a while, but the man finally came out holding a plate with a steak and vegetables on it.
    â€œThere ya go.”
    Clint stared at it.
    â€œI hope you like your meat well done.”
    â€œI’ve had well-done steaks before,” he said.
    Glumly, the man said, “And that’s not well done, right? It’s burnt.” He sat down opposite Clint. “I’m sorry. I really can’t cook.”
    â€œI can,” Clint said. He stood and picked up the plate. “Come on.”

SIXTEEN
    Clint cooked two steak dinners, and while they weren’t perfect, they were better than the burnt steak the man had served him.
    The waiter’s name was Tom Hamilton, and with his partner, George Manning—who was also the cook—he owned the café.
    They sat together and ate their food.
    â€œWow,” Hamilton said, “this is better than anything I coulda made. Where’d you learn to cook?”
    â€œComes from living alone,” Clint said. “Plus I don’t have a partner who can cook.”
    â€œGeorge’s steaks are always perfect,” Hamilton said, then quickly added, “No offense. This is fine.”
    â€œNo offense taken,” Clint assured him.
    â€œI don’t recognize you,” Hamilton said. “New in town?”
    â€œBeen here a day or so,” Clint said, “but I’ve got to ride out in the morning.”
    â€œToo bad,” Hamilton said. “You should meet George—I mean, when he’s in a better mood.”
    â€œWhat was he so upset about?” Clint asked.
    â€œHe was ready to douse the stove and close up when you came in,” Hamilton said.
    â€œSorry I caused trouble.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Hamilton said.
    When they were done, Clint asked, “Want me to help clean up?”
    â€œNaw,” Hamilton said, picking up the plates, “that’s my specialty.”
    â€œWell, then . . . thanks. Maybe I’ll stop in again when I get back.”
    â€œComin’ back?”
    â€œYeah, I’ll be back in a day or two.”
    â€œSee ya then.”
    The two men shook hands and Clint left the café. He went back to his hotel, read for a short while, then turned in for the night so he could get an early start in the morning.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Maria did not return during the night, which was fine with him. He’d had a good night’s sleep—probably the best he’d had in some time.
    He woke up the next morning, dressed, and went down to the lobby. He found the dining room open early, so he stopped in there for breakfast before walking to the sheriff’s office.
    In front of the office was one horse, a big steeldust, already saddled. The animal looked like a sturdy five- or six-year-old. Clint wasn’t certain that this was the horse he’d be riding, but if it was, he was satisfied. Also with the saddle, which was a fine-looking McClellan.
    He opened the office door and stepped in.
    â€œSee your horse?” Sheriff Ingram asked.
    â€œThat steeldust?”
    â€œThat’s him.”
    â€œGood-looking animal.”
    â€œShould do the job for you.” Ingram was behind his desk. “Sorry you didn’t find me last night. Deputy said you were here. You find a name?”
    â€œYeah, Adam Dunn. Mean anything to you?”
    Ingram thought a moment, then said, “Naw, nothing. I’ll check and see if there’s any paper on him.”
    â€œI’ll check in with the sheriff in Orwell when I get there,” Clint said.
    â€œI can send him a telegram and tell him you’re comin,” Ingram said.
    â€œI’d appreciate that.”
    â€œOh,” Clint said, “and thanks for the saddle. I was going to put my own on the horse.”
    â€œStill can if you want,” Ingram