Trail to Shasta (9781101622049) by J. R. Roberts Page B

“we’ll stay overnight in a hotel and you can have your baths.”
    Bridget leaned over and sniffed him audibly.
    â€œYou could use one, too, you know.”
    She and Bride both giggled.
    Clint stopped at the first hotel they came to. He went inside with them, registered them all, and arranged for their baths.
    â€œI’m going to take care of the horses,” Clint said, “and put our wagon in a safe place. Don’t leave the hotel, all right?”
    â€œWhy?” Bride asked. “Is this a dangerous town?”
    â€œI just want to know where you are,” Clint said. “You’re my responsibility.”
    â€œWe’ll stay,” Bridget said. “You go and do what you have to do.”
    He left the hotel and drove the wagon to the livery stable. He made arrangements with the man there to care for the three horses, and watch over the wagon. He promised to lock his place up at night, with the wagon inside. Clint paid him half the agreed-upon amount in advance.
    He walked back to the hotel, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone suspicious. He reached the building without seeing anyone who was paying him any special attention.
    Inside he arranged with the clerk for a bath of his own, then got his key and went to his room, which was across the hall from the sisters.
    He left his bag and rifle on the bed, then walked across to their door and knocked.
    Bride answered.
    â€œEverything okay?” he asked.
    â€œYes,” she said. “Bridget is in the bath. When she comes back, I will go.”
    â€œOkay,” he said. “I’m right across the hall, if you need anything.”
    â€œWe will, Clint. Thank you.”
    He went back to his own room, figured to wait until both girls were finished with their baths before taking one himself.
    * * * 
    Owen Brown owned and ran the livery stable, but he also had another part-time job—as a deputy. After Clint Adams left his stable, he locked up and walked to the sheriff’s office.
    Sheriff Cargill looked up as Owen entered and said, “Your not due to be on duty for another day, Owen.”
    â€œI know that, Steve,” Brown said. “I just thought I ought to tell you who was just at my stable.”
    â€œOh? Who’s that?” Cargill was still staring at something on his desk as he asked.
    â€œClint Adams.”
    Cargill’s head jerked up.
    â€œThe Gunsmith?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhat’s he doing in Saint Joe?”
    â€œHe didn’t say,” Brown answered, “but he’s got a wagon with him. Left it at my place with his horse, and team.”
    â€œWhat’s in the wagon?”
    â€œI didn’t look.”
    The sheriff stood up and grabbed his hat.
    â€œWell, let’s have a look now,” he said, “before I go and talk to him.”
    â€œHe ain’t done nothin’, Sheriff.”
    â€œHe’s in town, Owen. That can’t be good. You know that, or you wouldn’t be here.”
    â€œI’m just tryin’ to be a good deputy, Sheriff.”
    â€œYou are, Owen,” the sheriff said. “You are. Now, come on. Show me that wagon.”
    * * * 
    Clint heard the door to the girls’ room open and close, assumed Bridget had come back. Then it opened and closed again. Bride going for her bath. When it opened and closed again, that would be his cue to go down for his own bath. All he had to do until then was relax, and wait his turn.
    He took off his gun belt, hung it on the bedpost, sat on the bed, and decided not to remove his boots. He reclined on the bed with his hands locked behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.
    Sometime later he heard the floor creaking in the hall. He was reclining on the bed, waiting for his turn with the bathtub. He grabbed his gun and moved to the door. The footsteps were too heavy to belong to either one of the girls.
    He stood at the door with his left hand on the