Death in the Desert (7 page)

Clint stopped just down the street from the telegraph office. He checked out the street, up and down, not wanting to run into Steve at the telegraph office. Once he was sure he was clear, he made his way down to the office and went inside.

Nothing had changed since he was there last with Emily. The place was still littered with flimsy yellow slips of paper. What he didn't know was whether or not Steve had already been there to send for more men. But he made sure if it hadn't happened already, it wouldn't happen at all. He hated to use the butt of his pistol, but he did so, and smashed the key to bits. Nobody would be sending any messages from this time on.

Clint got out of the telegraph office quickly, and made his way over to the Magnolia Hotel. As he approached it, he looked up and saw someone duck back from the window quickly, allowing the curtain to swing closed.

Damn it.

Clint let himself into the honeymoon suite and found Emily sitting in a chair with her hands folded in her lap, looking very innocent.

“Don't look so innocent,” he said to her. “I saw you at the window.”

Her eyes widened and she said, “It wasn't me.”

“Emily—”

“It wasn't her,” Kathy said from across the room, “it was me.”

“You?”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I was just trying to keep an eye out, like you said.”

“You have to be more careful, Kathy,” Clint said. “If somebody sees a curtain swinging, it can give us away.”

“I know,” she said, “I'm sorry.”

“All right, never mind,” he said.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asked.

“No, I'm not hungry.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“I found out . . . a bit,” he said, hesitating and looking at Emily.

“You might as well talk in front of her,” she said. “Emily has a right to know what's going on. After all, she saw you shoot that man.”

“Ka-blam!” Emily said, making a gun of her hand.

“Shooting a man is not funny, Emily,” Clint said.

She lowered her hand and her chin.

“So, what did you find out?”

He told her about finding Ned in her house, and what he did to the telegraph key.

“But won't we need that key?” she asked.

“I don't know how to operate a telegraph key, do you?” he asked.

“Well, no . . .”

“And I don't want them using it, so . . .”

“What about that other man?” she asked. “Ned? Did you kill him and leave his body in my house?”

“No,” Clint said, “I didn't kill him, and I didn't leave him in your house. I took him to the other house—where I left the other man's body—and left him tied up.”

“Why that house?”

“Because they already found Kenny's body,” Clint said. “So it may be a while before they find Ned. Besides, I put him in a closet.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Well, I damaged the telegraph key, but I don't know if the boss, Steve, already sent a message or not. If he did, then I have to take care of these four men before six more show up.”

“And how will you do that?”

“The easiest way to do it would be one at a time.”

In the morning Clint once again left Kathy and Emily at the Magnolia after a cold breakfast together. He went downstairs and left by the back door. With Ned tied up in a closet, he had three men to deal with. If he could isolate them and take them out one at a time, that would be ideal. If he had to face all three at once . . . well, he'd hate for it to come to that, since he had no idea of how good they were with their guns.

But before he could determine any of that, he had to find them again.

“Whataya mean, he's gone?” Billy asked. “Gone where?”

“I don't know,” Steve said. “He went to check on the rooming house, and I ain't seen him since.”

“So he's dead, too?” Chris asked.

“We don't know that,” Steve said. “Maybe he's still out there lookin'. Maybe he slept somewhere else.”

“Why would he do that?” Chris asked. “We all been sleepin' in that barn.”

They were in a small saloon not far from the stockyards, sitting at a table with a bottle of whiskey in front of them, and four glasses—only three of which had the amber liquid in them. They were washing down their breakfast of beef jerky.

“So now we gotta go out and look for Ned?”

“You two do that,” Steve said. “And stay together.”

“What about you?”

“I'm gonna go send another telegram.”

“I thought you sent for help already,” Chris said.

“I did,” Steve said, “but maybe we need more. We'll meet back here in half an hour.”

“Okay,” Billy said.

They all finished their drinks, then left the bottle on the table and walked out of the saloon together. In front they split up.

Clint went back to the stockyards to try to pick up the trail again, but none of the men were there. He looked around, keeping out of sight as much as possible, and finally decided to go back to the area where the boardinghouse was. He wanted to see if Ned was still tied up in the closet. If he wasn't, that meant there were four men out there searching for him.

Steve Harwick walked into the telegraph office and immediately noticed the condition of the key. Smashed. Well, that cinched it. Somebody was in town, and was hoping to isolate them. At least he got one message out, and before long, there'd be six more men joining them in the search. He just wished he knew how many men they were dealing with.

Then he thought about the little girl. It might do them some good to have her in hand. If it came to it, they could use her as a hostage.

He left the telegraph office and went in search of the little girl.

Billy and Chris searched for Ned, and neither of them was very happy.

“I don't like this,” Chris said. “Somebody's pickin' us off one by one.”

“That's why you and me are stayin' together,” Billy said. “Ain't nobody pickin' us off.”

“You can say that again!” Chris agreed.

Billy put his hand on his gun and said, “Ain't nobody gettin' close to us!”

Chris touched his own gun and added, “Not without gettin' their heads blown off!”

Clint spotted the two men at the south end of town, where he himself had not spent much time—which was actually the reason he decided to look there. There were businesses up and down the street, but the buildings here were older, some of them in disrepair.

He decided rather than bracing the two men, he'd tail them close enough to eavesdrop on them. Maybe he could collect some information that way.

Clint heard the two men bitching about being picked off, and promising each other they'd stay together. Nothing very interesting, but then the subject changed to their boss.

“What about Steve?” Chris asked.

“Steve Harwick can take care of hisself, believe me,” Billy said. “Maybe he don't got the big reputation, but I seen him handle a gun. He's fast! I seen him outdraw three men one time.”

“Three?”

“Killed 'em all.”

“Damn. That's the kinda thing that does build a rep. Why ain't he got one?”

“'Cause he don't care about that stuff,” Billy said. “He cares about makin' money, though, which is why he come up with this plan.”

“This part of town ain't so good,” Chris said. “We ain't gonna work this end, are we?”

“That's up to Steve, but I doubt it,” Billy said. “It would take too much time, and it sure don't look like it'd be worth it.”

“Then what would Ned be doin' here?” Chris argued. “Why we lookin' here?”

“Because we gotta look everywhere, that's why,” Billy said. “Ain't no point in not findin' him just 'cause we decided not to look here. Come on, it ain't gonna take that long.”

“Yeah, okay . . .”

Clint fell back, satisfied with what he had heard. Steve Harwick sounded like a smart man, and a smart man who was also good with a gun was dangerous. Maybe he ought to take these two out while he could, leaving Harwick alone—unless he had already called for help.

Clint worked to catch up to the two men again, to see if they'd reveal anything else.

“I can hit what I shoot at, but I ain't no fast gun,” Billy was telling Chris. “What about you?”

“I ain't never shot at another man,” Chris said. He appeared to be about ten years younger than the other men.

“Well, you will someday,” Billy said. “Might as well be now.”

“Yeah, but there's only three of us—”

“Right now,” Billy said, cutting him off. “But you heard Steve. He's already sent a message to get us six more men to help load and transport. So they might as well help us hunt, too.”

“Well,” Chris said, “with that many men and guns, maybe I won't have to kill anybody.”

“Maybe not, if there's only one man in town pickin' us off,” Billy said, “but if there's more, you better do your part, boy.”

“Don't worry, Billy,” Chris said. “I'll do my part.”

“You better, if you want to get a full share,” Billy explained.

“I will,” Chris said, “I swear.”

“Okay,” Billy said. “Okay, look, you cross the street and we'll cover both sides at once.”

“B-But . . . Steve told us to stay together.”

“Yeah, well, we'll just be across the street from each other. We'll be able to see each other.”

“I don't know—”

“Come on, kid,” Billy said. “We'll finish up faster that way.”

“Yeah, okay,” Chris said. “But you keep your eye on me.”

“And you keep your eye on me.”

“Agreed.”

Chris nodded, and started across the street . . .

Very quickly, Clint made up his mind. He fell back, crossed the street, and took up a position in one of the empty businesses. All he had to do was wait for young Chris to come along and stick his head inside. Once he took him out, the other fellow—Billy—might just come running to see what happened to his partner.

This was Clint's opportunity to cut the odds down from three-to-one to even money.

Billy Cabot walked from doorway to doorway, sticking his head in, looking the place over, then stepping out and looking across the street to check on Chris, who was doing the same on his side of the street.

Chris Hunter was more tentative each time he stuck his head in a door, as if he was expecting to get it chopped off. Then he'd withdraw and look across the street for Billy, to make sure he was still there.

Clint watched silently as Billy moved along, figuring Chris was right with him on his side of the street. Then he heard the sound of Chris's boots on the boardwalk as he approached the store he was hidden in. He moved away from the window to the door.

Chris's footsteps came right up to the door. When the young man stuck his head in, Clint reached out and grabbed him, yanked him into the store. As the boy went by him, he snatched his gun from his holster so fast that Chris didn't realize it was gone. He turned and reached for it. Only then did he realize it was missing.

“What the—”

“Quiet, boy,” Clint said, pointing Chris's own gun at him.

Chris looked at the barrel of the gun and swallowed hard.

“Keep your voice down,” Clint said.

“W-Who are you?”

“My name's Clint Adams.”

The boy's eyes went wide.

“The Gunsmith?”

“That's right.”

“What're you doin' here?”

“Right now I'm trying to keep from killing you,” Clint said. “You want to help me with that?”

“What?”

Clint spoke more slowly.

“Do you want to help me not kill you?”

“Well . . . sure,” Chris said. “I don't wanna get killed.”

“Good,” Clint said. “You and me are going to wait until your friend across the street notices you're gone.”

“Then what?”

“Then he'll come looking for you, and I'll take his gun, too.”

“You won't get Billy's gun as easy as you got mine.”

“We'll see. Let's watch.”

Clint moved Chris over to the window and they both looked out.

Billy checked the last building on his side, then turned to look across the street. He didn't see Chris, so he assumed the boy had gone into one of the buildings. He waited for him to come out, and waited, and waited . . .

When Chris didn't reappear, Billy froze. Something was wrong. Whoever was picking them off one by one had done it again. Chris was gone.

Billy went into the street, the first step toward crossing over to look for the boy, but he abruptly changed his mind. He backed up onto the boardwalk, turned, and hurried away.

“What's he doin'?” Chris demanded.

“What's it look like he's doing, boy?” Clint asked.

“He's . . . he's leavin',” Chris said. “He ain't comin' lookin' for me.”

“No, he's not.”

Clint turned away from the window, kept his eyes on the boy so he wouldn't try anything. But Chris was beyond that. He was devastated by the fact that his colleague, his partner Billy, was walking away without trying to find him.

“Where's he goin'?” Chris asked, aloud.

“He's going to find your boss,” Clint said. “Steve.”

“What—what are you gonna do with me?”

“The same thing I did to your friend Ned,” Clint said.

“Did you kill him?”

“No,” Clint said. “You see where we are?”

Chris looked around.

“A hardware store.”

“Right,” Clint said. “Come on, we're going to find some rope.”

A little while later, Chris was gagged and securely tied, hands and feet, and placed in the back room of the hardware store. Clint even piled some crates around him, to hide him from sight. Then Clint left the store.

He had successfully cut the odds down to two-to-one.

Or so he thought.