The Gunsmith 386 Read Online Free PDF Page B

credentials, the right to call yourself a vet.”
    â€œYou’re right,” she said. “I’m his assistant, and I can do some of the things he does because I’ve watched and learned. I’m still watching and learning.”
    â€œWell, you’re smart,” Clint said. “You’ll get what you want.”
    â€œWhere are you off to now?” she asked. “Checking on your horse?”
    â€œNo, I did that already,” he said. “I need to go and get some information.”
    â€œIs that what the money is for?”
    â€œSome of it.”
    â€œWell,” she said, “I hope you get what you want.”
    â€œSo do I,” he said. “I’ll probably come over to your office tomorrow, though.”
    â€œThis time I won’t avoid you,” she said.
    â€œPromise?”
    â€œI swear.”
    He smiled and she turned and walked away, toward her dad’s office. Clint headed back to the saloon to buy his information.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    When he entered the saloon, the bartender was there alone, wiping the bar with a rag. He looked up when he heard Clint come in.
    â€œBack already?”
    Clint walked to the bar and set some money on it. The bartender looked down at it.
    â€œCount it,” Clint said. “That’s how much the information is worth to me.”
    â€œI don’t have to count it,” the bartender said. He swept the money off the bar, tucked it away underneath somewhere. “There was a fella in here last night who was quiet, until he had a few drinks. Then he began to talk.”
    â€œAnd who heard him talking?”
    â€œJust me,” the man said. “As you can see, we don’t do a booming business here.”
    â€œSo what did he have to say?”
    â€œHe was upset that some friend of his had got killed,” the bartender said.
    â€œDid he say when? Where?”
    â€œWhen was real recent,” the man said. “Where was somewhere outside of town.”
    â€œDid he say by who?”
    The bartender shook his head.
    â€œDidn’t say, and didn’t really say what the circumstances were,” the bartender said. “But I got the impression that his friend had been shot.”
    This was all close enough.
    â€œDid he say his name?”
    The man thought a moment, then said, “I don’t think so.”
    â€œWould more money jog your memory?”
    â€œNo, no,” the man said, smiling, “I ain’t tryin’ to jack up the price on ya. I just don’t think he said his name.”
    â€œWas he staying in town?”
    â€œHe said he was staying at the rooming house.”
    â€œThere’s a rooming house in town?”
    â€œYep,” the bartender said. “North end of town, Mrs. Nunally runs it.”
    â€œI knew about the two hotels . . .”
    â€œWell, nobody mentions the rooming house because of them, but he musta found out about it somehow.”
    â€œNot from you?”
    â€œNo, but any bartender in town coulda told him about it,” the bartender explained.
    â€œI see,” Clint said. “Anything else you can tell me about him?”
    â€œNaw,” the bartender said. “That’s about all I got, mister. Honest.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said, “thanks.”
    He started to leave, then turned back. Sometimes it was the questions you didn’t ask that got you killed.
    â€œYou got any idea who else is staying at the rooming house?” he asked. “Or how many guests she’s got?”
    The man thought a moment, then shook his head and said, “Naw, I dunno. I do know she’s got about eight rooms, though.”
    â€œEight, huh?” Clint said. “Okay, thanks, friend.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Clint left the saloon, wondering why Sheriff Ingram had not told him about the boardinghouse. Did he keep it to himself deliberately,