Enough! I’m drowning in coffee.” “You ain’t never drowned in whiskey, Mike, so I doubt yer gonna drown in coffee,” Teddy Bennett said, but he put the pot down without pouring yet another cup. “Ooh,” Callum said, holding his head, “now I got a headache I ain’t even enjoyed gettin’.” “Never mind your headache,” Bennett said. “You’ll forget about it when I tell ya what I got ta tell ya.” “And what is that?” Callum asked. “What’s so all-fired important that you had to interrupt a perfectly good drunk?” “Clint Adams?” Callum released his head and looked across the table at Bennett. “What?” “Clint Adams?” Bennett said. “The Gunsmith?” “What about him?” “He’s here.” Callum looked around. “I mean here in town,” Bennett said, “not here in this saloon.” “What’s he doin’ in town?” Callum asked. “I don’t know,” Bennett said. “He stopped by to see the sheriff, and the senior deputy ran us off before we could hear what he wanted.”
