Message on the Wind by J. R. Roberts

merchant.”
    â€œHow’d you get to be sheriff?”
    â€œSomebody had to take the job once we rebuilt,” Patterson said. “I came forward and the town council hired me.”
    â€œWhy didn’t the people just rebuild the town right here?”
    â€œThey took a vote, decided to move west,” Patterson said. “Too many bad memories here.”
    Clint scanned the site with his eyes. The buildings had almost all been burned to the ground. The remnants were black, and so was the ground around them.
    â€œLooks like a pretty intense fire.”
    â€œIt was,” Patterson said. “It was a dry season, the town went up like a tinderbox.”
    â€œAny fatalities?”
    â€œSome.”
    â€œSo Hickey and his men committed murder.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œDid Sheriff Bockwinkle go after them?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œHe said he had no proof they did it.”
    â€œSo he didn’t share your theory?”
    â€œMy knowledge,” Patterson said, “and no, he didn’t share it.”
    â€œSo let me get this straight, Sheriff,” Clint said. “You’re telling me that the burning of Organ Pipe had nothing do with a disease of any kind?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m tellin’ you.”
    â€œSo why was that message written?”
    Patterson shrugged.
    â€œYou’ll have to find the person who wrote it, and ask them yourself.”

THIRTY-TWO
    They rode back to Organ Pipe, got there just before dusk.
    â€œYou gonna stay awhile?” Sheriff Patterson asked at the livery.
    â€œOvernight, for sure,” Clint said, “maybe a day or two after that.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œLike you said,” Clint answered, “to find out for myself.”
    They put their horses up at the livery, and the sheriff walked Clint back to his office.
    â€œHotel down the street is nice,” he said. “Quiet. In fact, the whole town is quiet, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
    â€œWhy do you think Joe Hickey told me that Organ Pipe had been burned because of a disease?”
    Patterson shrugged.
    â€œI’m sure he wouldn’t want to admit that he burned it down just to see it burn.”
    â€œAnd you don’t know who any of his other men were?” Clint asked.
    â€œI know a couple he used to hang around with,” the sheriff said, “but I can’t say they were with him when he burned the town down.”
    â€œWhat were their names?” Clint asked. “The ones you know about.”
    â€œCharlie Cross and Dick Lawford.”
    â€œWhere are they now?”
    â€œFar as I know,” Patterson said, “they’re dead.”
    â€œHow’d they die?”
    â€œThey were killed in separate robbery attempts last year,” the lawman said. “At least, that’s what I heard.”
    Clint was carrying his saddlebags and rifle.
    â€œI’m going to go get a room and leave my gear. Where’s a good place to eat?”
    â€œRight across the street from the hotel,” Patterson said. “Best restaurant in town.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œDo me a favor, will you?” Patterson asked.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œLet me know when you decide to leave town.”
    â€œI’ll do that, Sheriff,” Clint said.
    Â 
    The hotel was small and clean, with no dining room, but that was okay. Clint left his things in the room and went across the street to the restaurant recommended by the sheriff. Not only was the food good, but it was served to him by a lovely waitress in her thirties who had a sunny personality. He wondered if she was new to Organ Pipe, or if she was one of the citizens who had stayed to rebuild the town.
    He was thinking steak as he entered, but the waitress’s suggestion and the smell changed his mind and he went with the special of the day, beef stew.
    He drank coffee with his food, and afterward had