Read Online Message on the Wind by J. R. Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

said.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œThings he likes to eat,” Clint said, “cigars, tobacco . . . easy stuff, but things he can’t get inside.”
    â€œThings he could use as currency inside, too.”
    â€œWhatever he wants to use them for, I don’t care,” Clint said.
    â€œWhere is this Organ Pipe supposed to have been?”
    â€œTwo days’ ride south from here.”
    â€œYou goin’ alone?”
    â€œCan’t think of anybody I’d want to take with me,” Clint said.
    â€œHow about a reporter?”
    â€œYou don’t have a reporter,” Clint reminded him. “You want to come yourself?”
    â€œI can’t leave the paper,” Wynn said. “Shit!”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Clint said, “I don’t really see the benefit to me to take a writer along. He’d just slow me down. But thanks for getting me in to see Hickey.”
    â€œHey, don’t forget, you owe me before you owe Hickey,” Wynn reminded him. “When were you planning on leaving?”
    â€œIn the morning.”
    â€œThen we better go over to the office and do this interview,” Wynn said.
    â€œCan’t we do it when I get back?”
    â€œAnd if you don’t get back?” Wynn asked. “What do I do then?”
    â€œGood point.” Clint finished his beer, put the empty mug down on the bar. “I’m hungry. How about we do this thing over a steak lunch?”
    â€œSure. Why not?”
    â€œYou know a place makes a good steak?”
    Wynn grinned and nodded, and put his half-finished beer down on the bar.
    â€œI know just the place,” he said. “Let’s stop by the office so I can pick up a pencil and some paper, and then I’ll take you over.”
    Â 
    Over a delicious steak at a café the editor said had the best food in town, Clint tried his best to answer Steve Wynn’s questions, but before they started, Wynn had to ask that one question Clint had never heard before.
    â€œYou know,” Wynn said, when they sat down, “I gave this a lot of thought, came up with a few questions, but discarded them all. I’m sure they’ve been asked before.”
    Clint remained silent. He didn’t want to give the man any hints.
    â€œBut I think I finally came up with one you haven’t heard before.”
    â€œOkay, let’s hear it.”
    Wynn sat back, looked across the table, and asked, “What’s your favorite color?”
    Clint stared at the man, then laughed and shook his head.
    â€œYou know, in all the years people have been asking me questions, you’re right, nobody has ever asked me that,” he admitted. “So go ahead, conduct your interview.”
    â€œOkay,” Steve Wynn said, “then let’s start with that one. What is your favorite color?”
    â€œRed.”

TWENTY-THREE
    Steve Wynn fired questions at him for an hour, and he answered as truthfully as he could. There were times when a totally truthful answer might have incriminated him or someone else, so he had to be inventive. For the most part, though, he told the truth. And to his credit the editor came up with some other questions that had never been asked before.
    Over pie and coffee Clint told Wynn, “That wasn’t as bad as most.”
    â€œI guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” Wynn said.
    â€œThat’s how I meant it. Sure you don’t want to jump on a horse tomorrow and go looking for a town that died of the plague?”
    â€œOddly enough,” Wynn said, “it’s the jumping on a horse part of that that doesn’t agree with me.”
    â€œNot afraid of the plague?”
    â€œI still think if that was the case, a town dying like that, maybe being burned to the ground, it would’ve been big news. Burn a town to the ground—any size town—and that would have to make for a lot of smoke. Somebody would’ve had to see