Read Online Five Points by J. R. Roberts - Free Book Online

more?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWell, you can have some.”
    â€œSwell.”
    â€œAs soon as you tell me why you’re really here,” Clint said. “Why you were really looking for me.”
    â€œI tol’ ya,” Red said. “I was just tryin’ to make some money from ya.”
    Clint studied the boy for a few moments, still convinced that he was lying, but he waved the waiter over anyway.
    â€œBring the boy another order,” Clint said. “Same thing.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    The waiter looked at Red, made a face as if the smell was too much to bear, and then left.
    â€œWhen’s the last time you had a bath?” Clint asked.
    â€œI ain’t done nothin’,” the boy said. “Why do I need a bath.”
    â€œIt’s not a punishment.”
    â€œIt ain’t?”
    â€œBeing clean is no punishment, Red.”
    â€œI ain’t got time to be clean,” the boy said. “I got work to do. If I don’t pick pockets, I don’t eat . . . and I never eat as good as this.”
    â€œWell then, I guess you better stock up.”
    â€œThanks, mister . . . What’s yer name?”
    â€œAdams,” Clint said. “My name is Clint Adams.”
    Red stared at him.
    â€œIt is?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut . . . ain’t you the Gunsmith?”
    â€œI suppose so.”
    Red sat forward. “I read about you in Mr. Buntline’s dime novels.”
    Clint knew about those novels. They hadn’t done him any good.
    â€œYou can’t believe everything you read.”
    â€œI know how to read!”
    â€œI don’t doubt that,” Clint said. “Take it easy. I know you can read. I’m just saying don’t believe everything.”
    â€œYou mean Mr. Buntline lies?”
    â€œLet’s just say he exaggerates a bit.”
    â€œWell,” Red said, “even if half what I read is right, well . . . you’re a legend.”
    â€œDon’t be so quick to be impressed, Red,” Clint said as the waiter brought another plate and put it in front of the boy. “Why don’t you just eat up?”
    Red’s eyes widened at the new plate of food and he said, “All right!”

TWENTY
    After breakfast Clint and Red stepped outside the restaurant.
    â€œI sure do thank you for the grub, Mr. Adams,” Red said.
    â€œJust call me Clint, Red.”
    â€œOkay, Clint.”
    â€œWhere are you off to now, Red?”
    â€œI got business, Clint.” The boy pulled on a dirty cap. “I got business every day.”
    â€œPickpocket business?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAren’t you afraid of being arrested?”
    Red grinned.
    â€œThe police can’t catch me, I’m too fast.”
    â€œI caught you.”
    â€œYeah, but you’re the Gunsmith. Well, I gotta get goin’.”
    â€œHold on.”
    â€œFor what?” Red asked, squinting up at Clint.
    Clint put his hand in his pocket. “I just want to make sure I’ve still got my wallet.”
    â€œAw . . .”
    Appo frowned at the knock on his door. He had just poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it to the door with him.
    â€œRed,” Appo said. “What brings you around here this early?”
    â€œAin’t so early, George,” Red said. “I been up for hours.”
    â€œCome on in, then.”
    Red entered and Appo closed the door.
    â€œYou want some breakfast?”
    â€œHad some.”
    â€œWell, it couldn’t’ve been much—”
    â€œTwo plates of bacon, eggs, and spuds,” Red said proudly.
    â€œWow, you must’ve had a big hit.”
    â€œThe biggest.”
    Appo regarded the boy over the rim of his coffee cup, then said, “Well, okay, you’re busting to tell me.”
    â€œI had breakfast with the Gunsmith.”
    â€œThen it was him?”
    â€œYep.”>
    â€œAll I asked you to do was find out