The Man with the Iron Badge by J. R. Roberts Page B

said, “tell that to your friend Herbert.”
    He pushed him out the door.
    Â 
    Later, Clint was still sitting at the sheriff’s desk when he heard the cot in one of the cells squeak and Starkweather came out.
    â€œCan’t sleep?” Clint asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMe neither.”
    â€œAre we doing the right thing, letting Eddie go off scot-free?”
    â€œI don’t think he’s scot-free, Dan,” Clint said. “I think this is going to eat at him for a long time.”
    â€œBut . . . he practically let them in, helped them kill—”
    â€œLet’s not forget who pulled the trigger here, okay?” Clint said.
    â€œOkay,” Starkweather said. “So how do we find this Hole-in-the-Wall hideout?”
    â€œThe trail is old, but we’ll have to try to pick it up,” Clint said. “Even if we end up following a trail of cold campfires.”
    â€œAnd how do we do that?”
    â€œWell,” Clint said, “we start by getting some sleep. Come on, let’s give it another try.”
    They both went into the cell block, and each into a separate cell.

NINETEEN
    â€œThis is hopeless,” Starkweather said. “We’re almost two weeks behind them.”
    Clint looked up at Starkweather, who was still mounted.
    â€œHave you been closer to them than two weeks before?” he asked.
    â€œWell, no . . .”
    â€œThen you’re better off than you ever were,” Clint said.
    It was mid-afternoon the next day. They had left town very early. Clint tried to figure out the gang’s initial direction. They would have ridden hard, just to put some space between them and town.
    â€œThen they probably would have stopped and split up,” Clint said to Starkweather.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œTo make themselves harder to track,” Clint said. “Eddie said that your father and Santino were tight. I bet your father—”
    â€œCould you stop calling him that?”
    â€œOh, sorry,” Clint said. “I’ll be . . . Nate and Santino went one way, and the rest of the gang went in another direction.”
    â€œAnd later they’d meet at their hideout?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œWhat about the money?”
    â€œI’ll bet Nate took most of it.”
    â€œSo what was to stop him from forgetting all about the meeting and keeping the money to split between him and Santino?”
    â€œHe might have done that,” Clint said, “but then he’d have to find himself another gang, and the men he cheated would be looking for him. No, as long as he wants to have a gang he’ll meet up with them. It won’t be an even split, but they’ll get more money staying with Nate than going off on their own. They know that.”
    â€œThey might not even be in New Mexico anymore,” Starkweather said.
    â€œThat’s true, too.”
    Clint mounted up.
    â€œWhat do we do?”
    â€œPick a direction,” Clint said, “and keep riding.”
    â€œUntil when?”
    â€œUntil we find out it’s the wrong direction.”
    â€œHow do we just . . . pick one?”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said, “they wouldn’t go south. That leads back to town. And I don’t think they’d go east.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThat’s the way to the closest town, and leads back to Texas,” Clint explained. “So, two of them—Nate and Santino—went one way, and the other four another.”
    â€œNorth and west.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œAnd then they’d have to circle around to join up again.”
    â€œIn their canyon.”
    They sat their horses and looked north, and then west.
    â€œNorth,” Starkweather said, just as Clint said, “West.”
    â€œHow do we decide?” Starkweather asked.
    â€œWell, we don’t want to sit here all day jawing about it, so . . .”
    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He