When Clint finally did make his way back to the bar, he was unsurprised to see hat Beth wasn't there. Either she had already left to be about the business of the day, or she just didn't really want to see him right then. He wouldn't have blamed her for ether. In the first place, he was somewhat later than he'd planned to be. And in the second, well his conduct the previous evening hadn't exactly been gentlemanly. Not that he was always a gentleman, no. He couldn't claim to be so perfect. But while being a man of his stature did have its advantages, especially in his line of work, it also carried with it something of a burden. Clint was a large man. If he wasn't conservative enough with his actions, people got hurt. He had to be careful to keep himself in check. And he'd failed to do that. 

Still, there was work to be done, until someone called him off the job. Yesterday had been something of a daunting experience, what with the hell gate and all. He shook his head, and ordered a glass of whiskey while he collected his thoughts. The breakfast of champions. The soft amber burned pleasantly as he put together an agenda. One thing they'd needed to do, they both agreed, was speak to the parish preacher here in town. The man would have dealt with the local people's suprstitions, which in this case would mean, signs and omens, or spiritual, or haunting experiences. Once again, he cursed this business of dealing with something you couldn't just kill. Finishing his 'breakfast', he set the glass down on the table, along side a few crumpled bills, and walked back out into the already warming morning light. The church was further on up the main street, next to the town hall. Only a few minutes of walking. 

He surveyed the building as he approached. It was old. Somewhat rundown looking. Like it was underused. But what of it was there, did seem well cared for. Maintained with love by whoever ran it. He had no doubt the Preacher did most of the work himself. Out of respect, he contemplated leaving the guns outside, but thought the better of it. No telling who might come round and decide to profit off of his kind ness if he did that. So he swung the door open, and took his hat off as he stepped inside. 

"Hello? Preacher?" Near the front of the building, a smaller framed Hispanic man, dressed all in black, with a white ring collar adorning his shirt, was stooped over a desk, writing something. Perhaps a letter. Huh. A real catholic priest. Not just a country preacher. Clint wasn't really surprised though, as the west really did get all kinds. He corrected himself, never the less.

"I mean, Father..." And then again, noting the man's nationality. "uh- Padre." The man smiled, somewhat amusedly at Clint's stumbling, and stood, stretching his back and arms.

"What can I do for you, my son?" He spoke in clear English, but with a heavy accent. He was quick to survey Clint, but if he was intimidated, or revolted by the large, rough looking man carrying an arsenal worth of weapons, he didn't show it. "Come. Come and sit." He motioned to a pew near the table he was working at, and Clint shrugged, and made his way over.

"Padre... I have to ask you a few questions. As a man of faith. And... uh... They might seem like strange questions." He didn't know how to go about this line of questioning, but the Padre just smiled knowingly.

"My child. We live in strange times. In a strange place. It is only natural for people to question."

((So I've basically left Clint unawares as to what's happening to Beth. Without playing him unrealistically, he'd have no way to track or follow her to be able to back her up. So if something's going to happen, it'll have to be just for her, or be big enough for him to notice it. In the mean time, I have him carrying on with the plan as they made it the day before.))