Read Online The Gunsmith 387 by J. R. Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

back to the man.
    He thought he knew of somebody.
    Â * * * 
    Hal Chance rode into Laguna Niguel slowly, his eyes taking in both sides of the street. None of the citizens seemed to be paying him any special attention. If this had been an American town, he’d be noticed right away. The Mexicans were so much more relaxed about who entered their towns.
    He rode until he came to a livery stable. Not knowing if there was another in town, he simply dismounted and walked his horse in.
    â€œAh, señor, welcome to Laguna Niguel,” the old hostler said.
    â€œYeah, thanks,” Chance said. “Like to put my horse up for a few days.”
    â€œSí, señor, with pleasure,” the man said. “Does your fine animal have any special needs?”
    Chance’s horse was a worn-out pony he’d taken from an Indian he’d killed. He’d be replacing it soon—whenever he saw another one he wanted to steal—so he said, “No, nothing special. Just rub him down and feed ’im.”
    â€œSí, señor,” the man said, taking the reins. “A few days, you say?”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œEnjoy yourself in our town, señor.”
    â€œIs there a cathouse?”
    â€œSeñor?”
    â€œWhorehouse,” Chance said. “Whataya call ’em here?” He held his hands in front of his chest, as if he were cupping melons.
“
Putas?
”
    â€œOh, sí, señor, a very fine house,” the man said. “It is at the end of the street.”
    Chance figured he could get directions from the hotel clerk so he said, “Yeah, fine.”
    He took his rifle and saddlebags from his horse, turned, and walked out, almost brushing shoulders with a tall man coming in. He didn’t give the man a second look . . .

TWENTY-TWO
    The man with the saddlebags brushed past Clint without a look or a word, so Clint gave him only a cursory glance. The hostler was leading a worn-out-looking pony to the back of the livery when he spotted Clint.
    â€œAh, señor, another visit!” he exclaimed.
    â€œGo ahead and take care of that man’s pony,” Clint said. “I’m going to saddle my horse and take him out for some exercise.”
    â€œAs you wish, señor.”
    Clint backed Eclipse out of his stall and saddled the big Darley, speaking to him the whole time. By the time he was done, the hostler was back.
    â€œA magnificent animal, señor,” he said, his eyes shining. “Magnificent.”
    â€œYeah, he is.” He turned to face the man. “What is your name?”
    â€œI am Pablo, señor.”
    â€œPablo, you wouldn’t by any chance be related to Sheriff Vazquez, would you?”
    â€œRelated?” Pablo laughed and shook his head. “No, señor, thankfully not.”
    â€œThankfully?”
    The older man looked stunned that he had said that word out loud.
    â€œSeñor, I am sorry if the sheriff is a friend of yours—”
    â€œHe’s not, I assure you,” Clint said. “I barely know him.”
    Pablo looked relieved.
    â€œPablo, have you lived here all your life?”
    â€œOh, sí, señor,” he said. “I was here when the town was just one adobe hut.”
    â€œWhat can you tell me about Sheriff Vazquez?”
    Pablo frowned.
    â€œHow do you mean, señor?”
    â€œI mean, what kind of man is he?” Clint asked. “What kind of lawman?”
    â€œHe is not a good man, señor,” Pablo said. “I would be very careful if I was to consider taking him as a friend.”
    â€œAnd as a lawman?”
    â€œHe frightens people,” Pablo said. “Perhaps this is a good thing for a lawman to do?”
    â€œPerhaps,” Clint said, “but not always.”
    â€œNo, señor, not always.”
    â€œThank you, Pablo,” Clint said. “Thank you for talking with me.”
    â€œSí, señor,” Pablo said,