Death in the Desert by J. R. Roberts

them said.
    â€œDon’t worry about Benson,” another man said. “He’ll be back later. He’s checking out another part of town to see if it’s worth looting.”
    â€œYeah,” a third man said, “meanwhile he gets out of the grunt work of loading and unloading a wagon.”
    â€œWe all do our share,” a man said. He seemed to be the leader. At least, he was standing aside and watching the other men unload the wagon, while he was supervising at that moment.
    â€œHow much longer we gonna be doin’ this?” one man asked.
    â€œUntil we’re done,” the supervisor said. “There are a lot of us involved in this, Jakes. We need to have enough to make each of our shares worth it.”
    â€œYou sure we ain’t gonna catch anythin’ from this stuff?” another man asked.
    â€œOr just from bein’ in this town?”
    â€œDon’t worry,” the supervisor said. “The doc says we’re all safe.”
    â€œI don’t know,” one of the others said. “I ain’t been feelin’ that good lately.”
    â€œYou’re imaginin’ it,” the supervisor said. “Just don’t worry about it. Keep workin’.”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” the other man said, “we’ll keep workin’.”
    â€œI’ll be right back,” the supervisor said.
    The supervisor was coming out, and Clint didn’t know what door he was using, so he closed the door and backed away.
    He retreated to some outside stalls, where he could take cover. He was lucky. The door he had been listening at opened and a man stepped out. He was tall, fit, in his forties. He took out some makings, rolled himself a cigarette, and lit it. Then he started to walk . . . stroll, really.
    Clint had a choice to make. Stay in hiding, or make a move. Come up behind the man, get the drop on him, and question him. But then what? Let him go, so he could tell the others? Or kill him? Clint wished someone had said the man’s name, so he had something to go on. Maybe it would be a name that Kathy knew from town.
    The man continued to smoke and walk, then stomped the cigarette out and headed back to the building. Clint had missed the window. He decided to just hang around and see if any other men showed up. Five he might be able to handle—only it was down to four now.
    Hopefully.
•   •   •
    Clint stayed until it was dusk. The four men did not come out, and no one else went in. He moved closer to see if he could eavesdrop again. He cracked the door and listened.
    â€œWhere we gonna eat tonight?” someone asked.
    Clint recognized the voice of the supervisor.
    â€œHere,” he said. “Make a fire and we’ll cook somethin’ up.”
    â€œCan’t we go to one of the cafés, cook somethin’ up there?” another man asked.
    â€œNo,” the boss said, “I wanna wait here for Benson to come back.”
    â€œWhere is he anyway?”
    â€œI don’t know,” the boss said. “We might have to go out and look for him.”
    â€œIf we’re gonna do that,” somebody said, “maybe we should do it before it gets dark.”
    â€œYeah, you’re right,” the boss said. “We can eat later. You boys get out there and find him. Maybe he found somebody else in town.”
    â€œWe ain’t found nobody else in town yet,” one of the other men said. “What do we do if we do?”
    â€œAnybody left in town who’s still alive,” the boss said, “has an accident. We don’t need any witnesses. This place isn’t officially a ghost town yet.”
    Clint closed the door, turned, and ran back to the boardinghouse.

SIXTEEN
    â€œChange of plans,” Clint said as he entered the house.
    â€œJesus, Clint!” Kathy said. “I almost shot you. What’s going on?”
    â€œThe dead man’s friends