Read Gunsmith #361 : The Letter of the Law (9781101553657) for Free Online

away.
    â€œJust wanted to make sure it was still there.”
    â€œCome on,” Garver said, “two beers, before my new friend gets here.”
    â€œComin’ up.”

THIRTEEN
    Clint walked into the saloon, which had a small, almost invisible sign on it that said, LITTLE JIM’S SALOON. The sheriff was standing at the bar, and there were only a few other men in the place, seated at tables. Little Jim’s was a bit smaller than the Big Tap, but the ambience was along the same lines.
    The sheriff kept his back to the door, but he knew Clint was there. He was leaning over a beer mug. The bartender—a small man with a mean look on his face—watched as Clint approached the bar. When he got there, he saw the second beer.
    â€œSheriff.”
    â€œYour beer’s gettin’ warm.”
    Clint picked it up and drank from it.
    â€œHow’d you know I’d come in?” he asked.
    â€œWhy would you stand outside once you knew I saw you?” Garver asked.
    â€œThanks for the beer,” Clint said, drinking from it again.
    â€œSure,” Garver said. “What’s on your mind?”
    â€œWhat makes you think something’s on my mind?”
    â€œWell, you followed me and the bank manager to the telegraph office, and then you followed me here.”
    â€œWould you believe curiosity?”
    Garver half turned toward Clint and leaned an elbow on the bar.
    â€œYou know, I would believe that,” he said. “You know why?”
    â€œNo, why?”
    â€œBecause I can’t think of any other reason you’d follow me.”
    â€œBoredom?”
    â€œThat, too,” Garver said, “but boredom can get you into trouble, Adams. You know that better than anybody.”
    â€œYou’re right, I do,” Clint said. “So I’ll apologize. I was out walking, saw you and the bank manager, and for want of something else to do, I followed you.”
    â€œAnd you ended up gettin’ a free beer out of the deal.”
    â€œNot bad,” Clint said.
    â€œNot bad at all,” Garver said. He turned to the bar again, finished his beer, and set the empty mug down.
    â€œI’ve got work to do,” he said to Clint. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t follow me anymore.”
    â€œI’ll try to find some other way of relieving my boredom,” Clint promised.
    â€œGood.”
    Garver left Clint with a half a glass of beer.
    â€œYou mind topping that off and making it colder?” he asked the bartender.
    â€œI’ll just get you a fresh one,” the man said.
    â€œThanks.”
    Jim brought him a full mug of beer.
    â€œAre you Jim?”
    â€œLittle Jim,” the man said. “That’s me.”
    â€œYou don’t mind being called ‘Little Jim’?”
    â€œWhy would I?”
    All the short men Clint had encountered in the past hated being referred to as “Little.”
    â€œI’m five foot one,” Jim went on. “What else would you call me?”
    â€œBig Jim?” Clint asked.
    Jim laughed.
    â€œThat would be funny,” he said. “I never thought of that.”
    â€œHave you been in town long?” Clint asked.
    â€œA couple of years,” Jim said, “since I opened this place.”
    â€œHave you known the sheriff all that time?”
    â€œI’ve known Garver all that time, but he’s only been sheriff the last few months. Why?”
    â€œNo reason,” Clint said. “Like I told the sheriff, I’m just curious.”
    Clint drank down half his beer and then said, “Thanks for the beer, Jim.”
    â€œBig Jim,” Jim said again, chuckling as Clint went out the batwing doors.
    Â 
    Sheriff Garver took up position inside one of the buildings across from Little Jim’s, rather than standing out in the open the way Clint Adams had. He waited for Adams to leave, then watched as the man walked away in the direction of his hotel.