Read Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853) for Free Online

figuring to meet him while his mood was good.
    â€œMr. Hickok?” he said.
    â€œYeah?” Wild Bill asked without looking at him.
    â€œI just wanted to introduce myself. I’m—”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œI said, why do you want to introduce yourself?” Hickok asked. He still had not taken a good look at Clint.
    â€œWell . . . you’re a famous man,” Clint said. “I, uh, just wanted to be friendly.”
    â€œWell, friend,” Hickok said, actually throwing an arm around Clint’s shoulder without taking a good look at his face, “have a drink on me and then leave, because I ain’t lookin’ for no new friends.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Clint said, tossing Hickok’s arm off him. “I don’t need a drink that bad.”
    He turned and left. By the time Hickok finally looked at him, all he saw was his back going out the batwing doors.
    â€œWas it something I said?” Bill asked the bartender.
    * * * 
    Clint went back to the hotel, found that Kathy had gotten tired of waiting. He felt the bed. The sheets were cool. She hadn’t waited too long. They still smelled like her, though.
    He walked to the window and looked out. Springfield was quiet. He could see the public square from his window, and there wasn’t much activity there.
    Hickok had gotten under his skin. He’d ended up sounding like some awestruck kid, and that wasn’t the way he saw himself. He should have just stuck to himself, and left Wild Bill that way, too.
    Maybe it was time to leave Springfield. The war was only a couple of months behind him. Pinkerton had wanted him to go into business with him—working for him, not with him. being one of his operatives. But Clint didn’t have any desire to be a detective. His friend Talbot Roper had agreed to work for Pinkerton, even though the two of them didn’t get along. But Clint knew what Roper’s plans were—learn all he could and then go into business for himself.
    Clint didn’t have plans like that. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He still had most of his mustered-out pay in his pocket, wasn’t staying at the best hotel in town. He’d watched the money cross the poker table, thought briefly about gambling, but that wasn’t his game. If he was going to make money with something, it was going to be his ability with guns.
    Guns.
    He could shoot any gun—long or short—and hit what he was shooting at. And he could break any gun down and either put it back together, or fix it.
    Guns.
    That was what he knew.
    That was how he was going to make his money.
    For a while anyway.
    He decided to go and find Kathy and make it up to her for leaving her alone for so long.
    * * * 
    â€œThere he is,” Leo Worthy said.
    Worthy and two of his friends watched as Clint Adams came out of the hotel.
    â€œHe don’t look like much,” José Reyes said.
    â€œWell, Kathy thinks he is,” Don Murphy said.
    â€œMaybe we’ll find out,” Worthy said.
    â€œWhat are we supposed to do?” Reyes asked. “Scare ’im, hurt ’im, or kill ’im?”
    â€œIt don’t matter,” Worthy said, “We get paid the same no matter what.”
    â€œSo what do we do?” Murphy asked. “How do we start?”
    â€œLet’s start by scarin’ him,” Worthy said.
    The three of them followed Clint, caught up to him by the time he got to the public square.
    * * * 
    â€œHold on there, friend,” somebody behind Clint yelled.
    He turned, saw three men coming his way. They were all young, in their twenties, all armed. Two of them were wearing trail clothes, while the third man was sporting a Confederate jacket with three stripes on it, and matching kepi.
    â€œCan I help you?”
    â€œYeah,” one of them said, “you can leave