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office.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    As Clint and Sonnet entered the sheriff’s office, the man with the badge turned to face them.
    â€œI was wonderin’ when you two would show up,” the man said. He had a coffeepot in his hand, finished pouring himself a cup, then walked to his desk without offering them any.
    â€œGood morning, Sheriff,” Clint said.
    â€œMr. Adams,” Koster said. “What’s the Gunsmith doin’ in Monroe City?”
    â€œYou remember my friend, don’t you?”
    â€œMr. Sonnet?” Koster said. “Sure I do. Jack, isn’t it?”
    Sonnet didn’t answer.
    â€œI guess I’m gonna be doin’ my talkin’ to you, Mr. Adams,” Koster said. “My name’s Jubal Koster.”
    â€œObviously you know who I am,” Clint said.
    â€œWell, a man with your reputation can’t ride into a town without being recognized.”
    â€œProbably not.”
    â€œWhat can I do for you?” Koster asked. “If you’re here with young Mr. Sonnet, I guess this is about the murder of his brother.”
    â€œYou want to tell me about it?”
    â€œWhat’s to tell?” Koster asked. “Somebody gunned down his brother. Nobody knows who.”
    â€œSomebody knows.”
    â€œIf they do, they didn’t tell me.”
    â€œHow many shooters were there?”
    â€œFive.”
    â€œNow see,” Clint said, “if there were no witnesses, how do you know there were five shooters?”
    â€œWell . . . yeah, somebody saw that there were five men, but nobody actually saw who they were.”
    â€œOkay, then,” Clint said. “There you go. There’s a witness. We’d like to talk to the witness.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause Mr. Sonnet here is interested in who killed his brother.”
    â€œI thought he knew,” Koster said. “I thought he had the names and was trackin’ them down.”
    â€œWell, somebody gave him some names,” Clint said, “but we decided to try and find out for ourselves before killing anybody.”
    â€œI can’t help you,” Koster said.
    â€œCan’t? Or won’t?”
    â€œI’d like to,” Koster said. “Really I would. But I can’t.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThe fella who saw the five shooters was a stranger,” Koster said. “He’s gone.”
    â€œWhat was his name?”
    â€œSmith,” Koster said, “John Smith.”
    â€œThat’s the name he gave you?” Clint asked. “Or the name you’re giving me?”
    â€œThat’s the name he gave me.”
    â€œAnd you believed him?”
    â€œIt didn’t matter,” Koster said. “He couldn’t identify any of the men.”
    â€œSomebody was able to identify them,” Clint said. “Somebody started sending Jack here one name at a time in telegrams.”
    â€œThen it sounds to me like he had all the help he needed.”
    â€œNot quite,” Clint said, “because now there’s some question about whether or not he was being given the right names.”
    â€œOh, I see,” Koster said. “Somebody gave him the names and he started killin’. Now he’s wonderin’ if he killed the right men.”
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œWell, I can’t help you,” Koster said.
    â€œThat may be true,” Clint said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, may?” Koster asked. “Are you callin’ me a liar?”
    â€œNo,” Clint said, “not yet anyway. When I do, you’ll know. We’ll talk again soon.”
    Clint turned and headed for the door.
    â€œSo, you don’t talk anymore?” Koster asked Sonnet.
    â€œI’ll talk,” Sonnet said, “when I have something to say.”
    Sonnet followed Clint out the door.
    Outside, the young man asked Clint, “What did we accomplish there?”
    â€œKoster now knows