Trail to Shasta (9781101622049) by J. R. Roberts Page A

story had long since fallen in on itself.
    â€œYou sure this place will stand up?” Ahern asked.
    â€œIt’ll stand,” Zack said. “We come here all the time. Come on.”
    Ahern, Phil Kemper, and the three other men they had hired followed the Lane brothers into the saloon, which had no name on it.
    Inside there were several tables, one of which had a leg missing and was jammed against the wall, and some rickety chairs. The handful of customers didn’t look up as the seven men entered.
    The bartender watched the Lane boys lead the other five men to the bar and asked, “Who’re yer new friends, Zack?”
    â€œSet us up with some drinks, Andy,” Zack said, “and maybe we’ll all find out.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    â€œBeer for us,” Ahern said.
    â€œWell then,” Zack said, “beer for everybody, on my new friend.”
    * * * 
    As they walked through the lobby of the hotel, Clint sniffed the air carefully.
    â€œDid you smell that?” he asked the girls when they got to his room.
    â€œSmell what?” Bride asked.
    â€œDown in the lobby.”
    â€œIt did smell rather rank,” Bridget said.
    â€œThat’s what those two men smelled like,” he said. “They were in the hotel.”
    â€œMaybe,” she said, “it’s like what happened in Saint Joe. They looked at the register to see who you are. And now that they do, they’ll go away.”
    â€œI doubt it,” he said. “That’s not how men react when they find out who I am.”
    â€œI don’t understand,” Bridget said. “Do they want to die?”
    â€œThey all think they’ll be the one,” Clint said.
    â€œThe one?” Bride asked.
    â€œThe one who kills me,” Clint said.
    â€œI don’t understand why Western men think killing is so important,” Bride said.
    â€œIt’s like that everywhere, Bride,” Bridget said, “not only here in America.”
    â€œOkay,” Clint said, “let’s talk about getting to Shasta County . . .”
    * * * 
    â€œSo let me get this straight,” Zack said. “You wanna pay us to not only kill the Gunsmith, but those two women with him?”
    â€œNo,” Ahern said. “We want you to kill the women. We don’t care what you do with Clint Adams.”
    â€œAnd what will you be doin’?” Ben asked.
    â€œMy friend Kemper there and me will be payin’ you,” Ahern said.
    â€œAnd these other fellers?” Zack asked.
    â€œThey’re yours, if you want them,” Ahern said. “We’re payin’ them, too.”
    Zack looked at his brother, who always left the business decisions up to his brother.
    â€œWell?” Ahern asked.
    â€œI guess,” Zack said, “this is all gonna depend on how much you’re payin’ us.”
    â€œThen let’s get some more drinks and talk about that,” Ahern said.
    * * * 
    After Clint explained to the girls the route from Council Bluffs to Shasta County, he went back down to the lobby. He could still smell the two men there. He walked to the door and looked out, then turned and looked at the desk clerk.
    â€œYou smell that?” Clint asked.
    â€œSmell what, sir?” the clerk asked.
    Clint crossed the lobby to stand right in front of the desk.
    â€œSmells like wet bear,” Clint said. “Dirty wet bear. You don’t smell it?”
    The clerk made a show of sniffing the air, then said, “Sir, I don’t—”
    â€œDon’t bother lying,” Clint said. “I can smell those two from here.”
    The clerk fell silent.
    â€œWhat did they want?” Clint asked.
    â€œUm, they just wanted to know who you are.”
    â€œDid you tell them?”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI figured if they knew, they’d leave you alone, and you wouldn’t have to kill