The Last Trail Drive by J. Roberts Page A

camp it is.”
    â€œYou gonna kill him? Without knowing if he’s part of the gang?”
    Clint looked at Ryan. “Maybe not even then. Remember, don’t come unless I call. And don’t get down. Eclipse might kick you to death.”
    â€œI already feel like I’ve been kicked to death,” Ryan said.
    â€œWell, you haven’t,” Cling said. “Not yet. And if he starts to move, don’t try to stop him. He’ll know what he’s doing.”
    He melted into the darkness.
    Â 
    Dawkins drank his coffee and cursed his luck that he was riding around out here on his own. He didn’t know why they couldn’t just ride ahead to Ogallala and wait for the herd there. They had enough men to make sure the herd never made it past there. And while they were waiting he could help himself to the best whores Ogallala had to offer.
    He was about to pour himself another cup of coffee when he heard something—a boot scraping across a rock. He put the coffeepot down carefully rather than drop it. As he started to draw his gun, a voice said, “I wouldn’t. You’re covered.”
    Dawkins froze.
    â€œWhat’s the story, friend?” he asked. “I’m just sittin’ here drinkin’ coffee.”
    â€œI can see that,” Clint said. “Why go for your gun, then?”
    â€œWell, ya never know who you’ll run across these days, do ya?” he asked. “Figure that’s probably why you had your gun out, huh?”
    â€œYes,” Clint said. “I like being real careful. What are you doing out here alone?”
    â€œI was just thinkin’ about that myself,” Dawkins said, “I’m headin’ for Dodge.”
    â€œNothing much happening in Dodge, these days,” Clint said. “What takes you there?”
    â€œA job,” Dawkins said.
    â€œDoing what?”
    â€œThis and that. Just a job, and a look around at what used to be a hot town. I ain’t never been to Dodge City before.”
    â€œHow much coffee you got there?” Clint asked.
    â€œMaybe a whole pot,” Dawkins said. “You’re welcome to some.”
    â€œI got a friend along.”
    â€œBring him in.”
    Clint whistled loud enough for Eclipse to hear. He knew the horse would come running—well, trotting—and he hoped Ryan would remember not to fight him.
    Finally, horse and rider came into the camp and Eclipse stopped.
    Dawkins looked up at the new arrival, didn’t know him.
    â€œHave you ever seen this fellow before, Ryan?” Clint asked.
    â€œNo,” Ryan said. “I don’t know him.” But then he looked over to where the man had secured his horse. “But I seen that pinto before.”
    â€œWhere?” Clint asked.
    â€œHe was with those other men I seen watchin’ the herd.”
    â€œWell, well,” Clint said to Dawkins, “you’re ridin’ with a man named Santiago Jones, riding for Larry Morgan.”
    â€œI’m—I’m what?” Dawkins asked, nervously. “Naw, naw, I don’t know them fellas.”
    â€œI’m going to ask you to drop your gun to the ground, friend. Nice and easy. Don’t get brave and don’t get clumsy. Either one will get you killed.”
    â€œI don’t know what this is abou—”
    â€œJust do it!”
    â€œSure, sure, mister,” Dawkins said. “I’m doin’ it.”
    Dawkins took his gun from his holster, briefly thought about trying to use it, and then realized that this was probably the Gunsmith. He dropped his gun into the dirt.
    â€œGood boy,” Clint said. “Now, my friend has a bad leg, so you’re going to go and help him off his horse, take him to your fire and pour him and me some coffee. You got that? I’m going to watch you real close.”
    â€œOkay, mister, okay,” Dawkins said. “I’m doin’ exactly what yer tellin’ me ta