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Gunsmith?”
    “I’ve got an offer for you,” Clint said.
    “Well, let me have it, then.”
    Clint told his story for the second time in twenty minutes. Commons drank while he listened.
    “So that’s it,” Clint said. “I’ve got a town to save and I need help doing it.”
    “Not enough men in your town to do it?” Commons asked.
    “Not enough men who can handle a gun,” Clint said, “and are willing to risk it.”
    “So you want me to risk my life when the people who live there won’t?”
    “That’s about the size of it.”
    “And you asked Wilkes the same thing?”
    “Yes.”
    “And what did he say?”
    “He said he’ll do it if you do it.”
    “He said that?”
    “Yeah,” Minnesota said, “he did.”
    Commons looked annoyed.
    “That sonofabitch,” he muttered. “Can’t never make a decision for himself.”
    “I think he made a decision,” Clint said.
    “How’s that?” Commons asked.
    “He made a decision to go with your decision,” Clint said. “I guess he must trust you.”
    Commons stared up at Clint, then poured another drink and downed it.
    “Yeah, okay,” he said.
    “You’ll do it?”
    Commons nodded.
    “We’ll both do it,” Commons said. “Hell, we got nothin’ else to do but sit around this lousy little saloon in this lousy little town.”
    “Okay,” Clint said. “Minnesota and I are heading back tonight.”
    “We’ll be along,” Commons said.
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow. Don’t worry, Sheriff, we’ll be along.”
    “Okay.”
    Clint and Minnesota stood up.
    “One thing,” Commons said.
    “What’s that?”
    “We ain’t wearin’ no badges.”
    “That’s okay,” Clint said. “I don’t have any more badges anyway.”

TWENTY-THREE
    Clint and Minnesota took their horses to the livery in Guardian, where they rubbed and bedded them down.
    “I’m turnin’ in,” Minnesota said.
    “I’ll be at the office,” Clint said. “Probably catch some sleep in one of the cells.”
    “You gonna check with Buck?” Minnesota asked. “See if he got anybody?”
    “Yup.”
    Minnesota yawned.
    “Well, let me know what he says.”
    They left the livery, walked together to the center of town, then split up. Minnesota went to the hotel, where Clint had gotten him a room. Clint walked over to the sheriff’s office. When he walked in, Buck sat straight up in his chair, his feet falling off the sheriff’s desk.
    “Oh, Sheriff,” Buck said.
    “What are you doing here so late, Buck?”
    “I’m in charge,” Buck said. “Thought I’d stay in the office.”
    “Well, go get some sleep.”
    Buck stood up, rubbing his face with his hands.
    “You just get back?”
    “Yep.”
    “Get those men?”
    “Yeah, names are Wilkes and Commons,” Clint said. “They’ll be here sometime after sunup”
    “Any good?”
    “Minnesota says they are,” Clint said, “and you recommended him.”
    Buck headed for the door.
    “What about you?” Clint asked.
    Buck turned.
    “You sign anybody up?”
    “Two men,” Buck said. “They’re brothers, which is why I think they took the job.”
    “What are their names?”
    “Harley and James Prescott,” Buck said.
    “Any good?”
    “They’ve ridden on some posses with me and Sheriff Harper,” Buck said. “They do what they’re told, know how to use their guns.”
    “What do they do normally?”
    “Odd jobs,” Buck said. “Just odd jobs.”
    “Well,” Clint said, “this is an odd job.”
    Buck stood there, nodding.
    “Okay, Buck,” Clint said. “Go get some sleep. When you wake up, bring the Prescott boys over here for me to meet.”
    “Okay, Sheriff.”
     
    Wilkes and Commons spoke very little until they rode into Guardian.
    “At least it’s a real town,” Wilkes said. “More than one saloon, probably more than one whorehouse.”
    “More important,” Commons said, “more than one place to eat.”
    “You got that right.”
    They rode to the livery, where they turned their horses over to the