The Bisbee Massacre by J. Roberts Page A

Barney?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Barney said, “but Pa usually knows what to do.”
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    Bob Hatch was very happy when they rode into Tombstone with Barney Riggs. No matter who caught the man, Hatch’s office would take the credit for bringing Barney Riggs in for murder.
    A few people followed their progress on foot to the jailhouse, but no one made a move on them as they walked Riggs into the jail.
    One man took one look at them, turned and ran.
    â€œWho was that?” Clint asked.
    â€œOne of the Hudson hands,” Dodge said. “I’m sure he’s ridin’ back to the ranch to tell ’em we got Barney.”
    â€œWhat will they do?”
    Dodge shrugged.
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    â€œCharley, you sonofabitch,” Hatch said, after Charley returned from the cell block. “How’d you know where he’d be?”
    â€œI just played a hunch, Sheriff.”
    â€œAnd you had to sneak out of town to do it?” Hatch asked. “You couldn’t take me along?”
    â€œYou play a hunch alone, Sheriff,” Charley said. “You know that.”
    â€œYou took Dodge and Adams along,” Hatch said, looking at the other two men, who were both sitting across from him.
    â€œWell, sometimes ya need a friend or two along to back yer hunch.”
    Charley was making it very clear that he didn’t consider Hatch a friend.
    â€œWell,” Hatch said, “I guess it doesn’t matter. We got him.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Charley Smith said, “we got ’im.”

    Dodge took Clint and Charley to his house for some whiskey.
    â€œI wanna go and change my clothes,” he said.
    Charley didn’t care to change, and Clint figured he’d do it later, at his hotel. Dodge seemed to want some company at his house.
    He had a small place at the north end of town, just a shack, really. Clint noticed, as they entered, it was real clean.
    Dodge got the bottle and three glasses and they sat at what looked like a home-made kitchen table, big enough for four people.
    He poured three glasses, and they drank.
    â€œWhat’s botherin’ ya, Fred?” Charley asked.
    â€œI don’t think this is gonna end with Barney’s arrest,” he said.
    â€œ ’Course it ain’t,” Charley said. “We got to get him to trial.”
    â€œHudson hands should be ridin’ in soon,” Dodge said. “And ol’ man Bannock may ride in with some of his outfit.”
    â€œThink we got us a war brewin’?” Charley asked.
    â€œTrouble, yeah,” Dodge said. “A war? Maybe.”
    â€œWhat about Hatch?” Clint asked. “Does he realize what could happen?”
    â€œI don’t know about Hatch,” Dodge said. “He sure didn’t seem to be in a hurry to bring Barney in.”
    â€œMaybe he was thinking about just this,” Clint said. “A possible clash of the outfits.”
    â€œWell, he’s got it now,” Dodge said. “Mark Smith is our district attorney. He better work on gettin’ this trial put together quick.”
    Clint finished his whiskey and rejected the offer of a second.
    â€œI’m going back to my hotel to change my clothes, too,” he said. “See you later at the Bird Cage?”
    â€œI’ll be there,” Dodge said.
    Clint left, with Charley Smith in tow.

THIRTY-ONE
    Wearing clean clothes and fresh from a pitcher-and-bowl bath, Clint was standing at the bar in the Bird Cage, drinking beer and eating free hardboiled eggs. He knew the eggs were salted, to make you drink more beer, but he didn’t care.
    He had just bitten one in half when Dodge entered and joined him at the bar.
    â€œThose are salted, ya know,” Dodge said.
    â€œI don’t care,” Clint said.
    â€œYeah, me neither.” Dodge signaled the bartender for a cold beer.
    â€œWhere’s Charley?” Clint asked.
    â€œI think he turned in early,” Dodge said.