The Gunsmith 385 by J. R. Roberts

leg.”
    â€œProbably.”
    Travis held his hand over the dead fire.
    â€œCold,” he said. “They’re still half a day ahead, maybe more.”
    â€œHeading for Fort Worth.”
    Travis stood up.
    â€œWe should’ve left sooner.”
    â€œWe only took time for a meal and a telegram,” Clint said. “I needed to find out if Rick was still hanging in there.”
    And he was. The doctor had replied almost instantly to his telegram that Rick Hartman was still alive.
    â€œCome on,” Clint said. “If you’re impatient, we should probably start moving a little faster.” He mounted up. “Now we’ll find out how well your roan can keep up.”
    Â * * * 
    By midday Travis’s roan was winded from trying to keep up with Clint.
    â€œYou want to outrun me? Go ahead, but my horse needs a rest.” Travis dismounted.
    â€œNo problem,” Clint said. “We’ll take a short rest.” He also dismounted.
    Travis walked his roan to a nearby stream, and Clint followed. They allowed the horses to drink while they also drank from their canteens, and refilled them.
    â€œYou can go on ahead of me, you know,” Travis said. “I mean, if that was what you wanted to do. There’s only two of them left. The odds have gotten a lot better.”
    â€œHey,” Clint said, “you’ve come this far with me. Besides, if I did ride on ahead, you’d just keep trailing me, right? Like you’ve been doing?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œThere you go,” Clint said. “So just take a breath, and then we’ll be on our way again.”
    Clint went to work checking the cinch on Eclipse’s saddle, and keeping the horse from drinking too much water.
    Travis was checking each of his horse’s hooves for debris that might injure or hinder the animal. Clint did the same.
    â€œYou know,” Travis said, “if this takes much longer, it seems like Tom Barry will take care of all the other men for us. We’ll only have him to deal with.”
    â€œIf we catch him,” Clint said. “If he gets to Fort Worth, he could be gone.”
    â€œWould you keep searching for him?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo matter where you had to go?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe shot a friend of mine.”
    â€œSo you’re takin’ it personally?”
    â€œYou bet,” Clint said. “I don’t have that many good friends that I can let it go.”
    â€œThen we better push on to Fort Worth,” Travis said, “and stop tracking him.”
    â€œWell,” Clint said, “he’s going in that direction, but what if he’s not actually going there? If we just ride straight there, we might lose him.”
    â€œSo you believe we should just keep on his trail?” Travis asked.
    â€œYes,” Clint said, “for now. It won’t be that much farther. And if he veers off and goes someplace else, we’ll know.”
    Okay, then.” Travis mounted his roan, watched while Clint mounted Eclipse. “You know, there’s another option.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œPush the horses, try to ride him down. Instead of following him to Fort Worth, or wherever he’s going, catch up to him before he reaches his goal.”
    Clint gave the suggestion some thought.
    â€œWhat are you thinkin’?” Travis asked.
    â€œLet’s ride,” Clint said. “I’ll tell you along the way.”
    Â * * * 
    â€œI’ve been thinking,” Clint said, “about five men hitting a saloon.”
    â€œThinking what?”
    â€œWhy do it?”
    â€œFor the money.”
    â€œIf you want money, you hit a bank, not a saloon,” Clint said.
    â€œYou think there was another reason?”
    â€œMust be.”
    â€œAnd you want to find out what it is.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo you think somebody sent