Kentucky Showdown by J. R. Roberts Page B

There were a few men in the saloon, watching the action. Then he looked at the bartender.
    â€œGive me a beer.”
    The bartender did.
    â€œYou should leave town,” Hackett said.
    â€œWho else is in on this, Sheriff?”
    â€œWhy risk your life for somebody else’s money?” the lawman asked.
    â€œI’m not leaving, Sheriff,” Clint said. “Tell Fontaine that. Tell him next time to send somebody better. Are any of those men up there Blacker?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen tell him to send his best.”
    â€œI ain’t said I work for him,” Hackett reminded Clint.
    â€œYou don’t have to,” Clint said. He finished his beer, put his mug down. “Don’t be around when they come after me again, Sheriff.”
    â€œYou’d shoot a lawman?” Hackett said.
    â€œNo,” Clint said, “but I’d shoot you.”
    * * *
    Outside, Clint tensed, waited for another attack, but apparently it wasn’t coming. Somebody had expected the three men to get the job done, and had not set up a backup plan.
    Somebody was going to be very disappointed.
    * * *
    â€œWhat’s going on, Sheriff?” the bartender asked.
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œWhat’s he talkin’ about, you workin’ for Fontaine?” the man asked.
    â€œShut up!” Hackett said. “It’s none of your business.”
    â€œOkay, then,” the bartender said, “what about the bodies upstairs?”
    â€œI’ll have them removed.”
    Hackett drained his beer, slammed the mug down, and then went out the batwings. He didn’t see Adams anywhere, and stepped into the street. He didn’t relish going back to Fontaine and telling him what had happened.

THIRTY-FIVE
    â€œThey did what?” Canby asked.
    â€œTried to kill me,” Clint said.
    â€œAre you all right?” Elena asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” Clint said.
    They were in the living room of Ben Canby’s house.
    â€œWhat happened exactly?” Canby asked.
    â€œThey sent three guns against me.”
    â€œYou killed them?” Elena asked.
    â€œI did.”
    â€œAnyone else hurt?” Canby asked.
    â€œA saloon girl,” Clint said. “She’s dead.”
    â€œThe poor girl,” Elena said.
    â€œDon’t feel too bad for her,” Clint said. “She lured me in there to get me killed.”
    â€œI’ll get some coffee,” Elena said, and left the room.
    â€œSorry to shock her,” Clint said.
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” Canby said. “Believe me, she’s not shocked. Neither am I. What’d the sheriff say about it?”
    â€œThe sheriff,” Clint said, “is in Fontaine’s pocket.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHackett?” Canby said, shocked. “I thought he was a decent man.”
    â€œBut a bad checker player. Yes, I know.”
    â€œDo you think I was lying?” Canby asked.
    â€œNo, no,” Clint said, “nothing like that.”
    â€œSo what do we do for law?” Canby asked. “Who’s gonna stop them from robbing the Derby tomorrow?”
    â€œWell,” Clint said, “I guess I am.”
    â€œYou are what?” Elena asked, coming in with a tray.
    â€œClint says the law is in Fontaine’s pocket,” Canby said, “so he’s gonna stop them from robbing Churchill Downs tomorrow.”
    â€œHow do you propose to do that?” she asked, pouring coffee for them.
    â€œHe’s bound to have a gang hitting the track,” Canby said. “How are you gonna go up against that many men? Alone?”
    â€œI may have to figure out a way to do something,” Clint said, “before the Derby.”
    * * *
    â€œAll three?” Fontaine asked.
    â€œAnd the girl,” Hackett said.
    â€œAnd you didn’t arrest him?”
    â€œI . . . wasn’t gonna go up against him with two