The Two-Gun Kid

by J. R. Roberts

  “I can do that?”

  “Just get over here and slide that big stick up between my thighs. I’ll do the rest.”

  “Like this?”

  He slid his penis up between her thighs. She grabbed it, held on to it, and backed up onto it, taking it inside her.

  “Ah, that’s it!” she gasped.

  “Jeez,” he said as he was engulfed by her heat.

  “Come on!” she said, slamming her butt back into him. She kept moving back and forth, back and forth, until he found her rhythm and began to move with her. After that, the sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the room, with the grunting of both of them mixed in.

  “Oh jeez,” Roscoe yelled, taking hold of her hips and holding tight.

  “This as good as your first time, baby?” she asked.

  “Oh, this is better,” he said, “much better!”

  Betsy laughed and quickened their pace. Roscoe’s breathing started to get ragged.

  “Come on, my stud,” she called. “You’re a young stallion. Keep up with me.”

  “I’m . . . keepin’ . . . up with . . . you . . . ,” he said, gritting his teeth.

  She was getting so wet that her juices were running down her thighs and soaking the sheets. Abruptly, she pulled free of him, turned onto her back, and opened her thighs wide.

  “Come on, baby,” she said. “This ride ain’t over.”

  He got between her legs, pressed the head of his penis to her soaking portal, and drove it in.

  “Oh, yeah!” she shouted.

  “Yes!” he yelled. “Yeahhhhh . . .”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Clint was sitting in a wooden chair in front of the hotel when Roscoe showed up several hours later. The kid looked clean, and worn out.

  “How was it, Bookbinder?”

  “It was . . . amazing,” he said. “Is it always like that?”

  “No,” Clint said. “Even when it’s bad it’s good, but it isn’t always amazing.”

  Roscoe pulled over another chair and sat down next to Clint.

  “What did you do?”

  “Drank some beer, got some advice from a bartender, talked to the man who’s been tracking us.”

  “What? Wait, you talked to him?”

  “Yep.”

  “So you know his name?”

  “Yes, it’s Darby Heston.”

  “Wait,” Roscoe said again. “I know that name, don’t I?”

  “I think you do,” Clint said. “He’s from your neck of the woods and he has a rep with a gun.”

  “Heston, that’s right!” The kid’s eyes glittered. “I could take him, Clint.”

  “No way, Bookbinder.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not ready to face a man with a rep.”

  “B-but you been teachin’ me—”

  “You’ve hardly learned anything, kid,” Clint said. “If I let you face Heston now, you’re a dead young man.”

  Roscoe came up out of his chair.

  “Settle down, kid.”

  Roscoe folded both hands into fists and faced Clint, but his rage was impotent.

  “If I can take Darby Heston, my rep will be made, Clint.”

  “Kid, I can’t let you—”

  “This ain’t fair!” Roscoe shouted, and stormed off into the hotel.

  Maybe it wasn’t fair, but Clint wasn’t about to let the kid get killed facing Heston alone, or any other gunny with a rep.

  He decided to stay outside for a while, then check with the kid later to see if he settled down.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Roscoe wouldn’t answer his door when Clint knocked, so he went to bed without talking to the kid. In the morning he knocked again, and there still was no answer. He had started down the hall, intending to go downstairs for breakfast, when a thought struck him. He retraced his steps, knocked on the door, then pounded on it.

  “Come on, kid!” he called, but there still was no answer. He thought about kicking the door in, but didn’t think he had to. The kid just wasn’t there.

  He went down to the lobby and asked the desk clerk when Roscoe had left the hotel.

  “About half an hour ago, sir.”

  “Damn it!”

  He went out the front door. He knew what the kid was doing; he was walking the streets looking for Darby Heston. Maybe Roscoe was even checking hotels and rooming houses. If he managed to find Heston, Roscoe was a dead man for sure.

  Clint picked a direction and started walking.

  Roscoe Bookbinder was still fuming from the night before as he walked the streets of Abilene, looking for Darby Heston. He was going to find the man and call him out, even if he had to check every hotel and every rooming house in town.

  “Nope,” a desk clerk told him, “nobody with that name stayin’ here.”

  “I’m sorry,” an older woman told him, “I ain’t rented a room to anybody by that name. In fact, all my rooms are empty. Are you interested?”

  He turned and left as she called out that she would give him a discount.

  He’d been at it for better than half an hour, but Abilene was a big place. And he was prepared to try all day.

  At breakfast in the rooming house, Zack said, “So today we take care of the Gunsmith?”

  “I got a better idea,” Heston said.

  “What?”

  “Let’s take care of the kid first,” Heston said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’ll give us an edge over Adams,” Heston said.

  “He’ll be really mad.”

  “Yep,” Heston said, “too mad to see straight.”

  Zack grinned. “I getcha. When?”

  “Finish breakfast,” Heston said. The table was covered with eggs, bacon, biscuits, and flapjacks. Nobody else was there because at the moment they were the only guests. “Our landlady was nice enough to put this spread out for us. Let’s finish it, and then go find the kid. You remember what he looks like, right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Zack said. “The kid’s a joke. Wears two guns with pearl handles.”

  “Can he use them?”

  “Naw,” Zack said. “He’s an amateur.”

  “Good,” Heston said, “then you get to kill him.”

  “Good,” Zack said. “He’s the reason Adams made fools out of me and Lee in the first place.”

  “Eat some more of them flapjacks,” Heston said. “We don’t want them to go to waste, do we?”

  Zack speared several of them with his fork and said, “No, we don’t.”

  Clint walked right by Sheriff Carter before he realized who it was. He stopped and turned to find the man looking at him.

  “You’re in a hurry, Mr. Adams,” Carter said.

  “Have you seen Roscoe Bookbinder?”

  “Bookbinder? The kid that was with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not today. Why?”

  “I talked with Darby Heston last night.”

  “Heston?” Checker asked. “I know who he is. What’s he doin’ in town?”

  “Looking for me apparently.”

  “He’s the one?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s this got to do with your missin’ young friend?” the sheriff asked.

  “I’m afraid Roscoe is out looking for him.”

  “That’s just great,” Carter said. “Okay, keep lookin’. I’ll get my deputies and we’ll scour the town for him.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Look,” Carter said as Clint started to walk away, “when I find him, I’m gonna toss his ass in a cell for his own good.”

  “With my blessing!” Clint called back over his shoulder.

  FORTY

  Walking the streets of Abilene . . .

  Roscoe Bookbinder, looking for Darby Heston . . .

  Heston and Zack, looking for Roscoe . . .

  Clint Adams, looking for Roscoe . . .

  The sheriff and his deputies, looking for Roscoe Bookbinder, or any suspicious-looking gunmen . . .
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  Clint decided to change his tactics. He stopped looking for Roscoe and started looking for Darby Heston, probably in the company of another man—a man Clint had seen in the saloon in Evolution.

  Two men with guns, searching either for him or for Roscoe. If he was Darby Heston, he’d kill Roscoe first, hoping to get into Clint’s head and thereby gain an edge over him when it came time to face him.

  And then he saw them—Heston and a second man—across the street. He recognized the man from Evolution.

  Clint looked around him. No sign of anyone with a badge, and no sign of Roscoe Bookbinder.

  If he faced Heston and the other man now, and killed them, he would probably be saving Roscoe’s life, but would he be teaching the boy anything?

  Perhaps, he thought, it was more important to keep him alive. He could worry about teaching him a lesson later.

  He stepped into the street and started across . . .

  “Adams!” Heston said.

  “What?” Zack asked. “Where?”

  “Comin’ across the street,” Heston said. “Right for us.”

  “Then you’ll kill him now? And we can take care of the kid later?”

  “I don’t know,” Heston said, turning to face Clint Adams. “I guess that’ll be up to him.”

  “Darb—”

  “Shut up, Zack,” Heston said, waving at his cousin. “Shut up and let me do the talkin’. Just stand there and listen. Got me?”

  “Yeah, Darb,” Zack said, “yeah, I got you.”

  As Clint reached them, the two men turned to face him, but it was clear that the second man was simply going to stand by and watch. He was standing just a few steps back—but not behind Darby Heston

  “Heston,” Clint said.

  “Adams.”

  “You look familiar,” Clint said to the other man.

  “My cousin Zack.”

  Zack remained silent.

  “Ah,” Clint said, “it’s a family thing.”

  “So?”

  “You out looking for Bookbinder?” Clint asked.

  “Who?”

  “He knows,” Clint said, indicating Zack.

  “Oh, your young friend?” Heston said. “Why? Is he out lookin’ for us?”

  “He is,” Clint said, “but I’m not going to let him face you.”

  “And how are you gonna do that?” Heston asked. “By facing me yourself?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “That’s what it’ll take,” Heston said. “And I’ll kill him anyway, after I kill you.”

  “So I guess I don’t have much choice,” Clint said.

  “Not much, I guess.”

  “In the street?”

  “Why not?” Heston asked. “That’s where this stuff usually takes place.”

  “Darb—” Zack started, but Heston cut him off with a wave.

  “Don’t get in the way, Zack.”

  That actually suited Zack. He’d been saying all along he wanted to be part of the action when Heston took on the Gunsmith, but now, in the face of it actually happening, he was happy to step back.

  Clint and Heston stepped into the street. The people of Abilene had seen many face-offs of this kind, and they instinctively knew something was happening. They cleared the street and lined up along the boardwalk on either side. Some of them closed their doors to avoid flying lead, but still went to their windows to stare.

  They were on Main Street, so the crowd along the sides grew pretty large in a short time. But there still was no sign of any badges.

  The street was pitted with holes and wheel ruts, but dry, since there had been no rain for a while. A bit of wind made some of the dust swirl around their feet.

  Clint and Heston took positions in the center of the street. Clint actually hoped they’d be able to get this done before either Roscoe or the sheriff came along. Once a killing looked inevitable, he liked to get it over with.

  “Anytime, Adams,” Heston said. “You’re older than me, so you go first.”

  “You’re a fool, Darby,” Clint said. “Don’t ever give a man the first move—especially a better man.”

  “I’ll show you who the better man is,” Heston said.

  His hand streaked for his gun. Clint was impressed by the man’s speed, even as he outdrew him and shot him dead center in the chest. Heston stepped back, coughed, frowned, dropped his gun, and fell to the ground.

  “No!”

  Clint turned and saw Roscoe running toward him. “He was mine!”

  Roscoe stopped and looked down at Darby Heston, who was dead.

  “You want to kill somebody, Bookbinder?” Clint asked, replacing his spent shell with a live one. “Kill him.” He pointed to Zack. “He’s Heston’s cousin.”

  Roscoe turned and looked over at Zack.

  “Is your name Heston?” Roscoe asked.

  “N-no,” Zack said. “I don’t—didn’t—have the same last name as him. My name’s Foley.”

  “Foley,” Roscoe said, as if the name tasted bad in his mouth.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Clint said. “He’s still Heston’s cousin. Go ahead. Face him.”

  Roscoe took a few steps toward Zack. The people near him on the boardwalk scattered, leaving Zack standing alone.

  “Step in the street,” Roscoe said. “Come on.”

  Zack noticed that Roscoe’s clothes were not as silly-looking as they had been, and he saw that the pearl handles were gone.

  “Uh, n-no, no,” Zack said, “I ain’t got any beef with you, kid.”

  “Well, I got a beef with you!”

  “No, no—” Zack said, holding his hands out.

  “Hold on there!”

  They all turned and saw Sheriff Carter running toward them with his deputies. They all had their guns out. Clint holstered his.

  “That Heston?” Carter asked Clint.

  “That’s him.”

  “Dick,” Carter said to one of his deputies. The man walked over and checked Heston’s body.

  “He’s dead, Sheriff.”

  “Then it’s all over,” the sheriff said.

  “What about him?” Roscoe demanded, pointing at Zack.

  The sheriff turned and looked at the other man.

  “I got no beef with these fellas, Sheriff,” Zack said.

  “Then I suggest you get out of Abilene, son,” Carter said. “Now!”

  “Yessir!”

  Zack turned and ran.

  Carter looked at Roscoe.

  “You ain’t gonna get to kill anybody today, boy,” he said.

  Roscoe turned, threw a murderous look at Clint, then stalked off.

  “Don’t think that young fella is very happy with you, Adams.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Can’t say as I am either,” the lawman added. “Time for you to leave town, too.”

  “I guess so,” Clint said.

  “Take the boy with you, if he’ll go.”

  Clint nodded and said, “If he’ll go.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Clint found Roscoe in his room. When he knocked, the boy didn’t answer, but the door was unlocked, so Clint walked in.

  “You didn’t have no right to do that!” Roscoe shouted as Clint entered.

  “I had every right to keep you alive.”

  “You ain’t my pa,” Roscoe said. “You ain’t nothin’ to me.”

  “That’s fine,” Clint said. “I’m leaving anyway. The sheriff asked me to take you with me, but—”

  “I ain’t done nothin’,” Roscoe said. “I don’t gotta leave.”

  “That’s fine, too,” Clint said. “I just . . . wanted to say good-bye. I just hope you’ve learned something, Bookbinder.”

  “Yeah,” Roscoe said, “I learned not to trust you anymore.”

  Clint stared at Roscoe, who turned away and stared out the window. Clint left.

  In the hall he figured he was going to have to be satisfied with saving the boy’s life, but he was afraid that the rest of the t
ime he’d spent with him had been wasted, for both of them.

  Zack was riding out of Abilene when he ran into Eric Stride, Ken Randle, and the other two.

  “What the hell—” Stride said. “We been lookin’ for you for days.”

  “Where’s your cousin?” Randle asked.

  “Darby’s dead,” Zack said. “The Gunsmith killed him.”

  “Outdrew him?”

  “Clean,” Zack said. “Fastest thing I ever saw.”

  “Jesus,” Stride said. “Look, Zack, we ain’t about to face the Gunsmith—”

  “I don’t want you to,” Zack said, “but I do wanna kill the kid that’s with him.”

  “How do we do that?” Randle asked.

  “Easy,” Zack said. “We ride into Abilene and do it, and then we ride out.”

  “That easy?” Stride asked.

  “That easy.”

  “And Adams?”

  “He’ll be gone,” Zack said. “Sheriff ran both him and me outta town.”

  “Are we gonna have to deal with the law?” Stride asked.

  “Not if we do it like I said,” Zack told him. “In and out.”

  “And what do we get out of it?” Randle asked.

  “A reason for ridin’ all this way,” Zack said. “Otherwise you wasted a helluva lot of time.”

  “He’s right,” Stride said. “Killin’ that kid will at least make it worth it.”

  He looked at the others, who shrugged their approval.

  “Why not?” one of them said.

  “There’s five of us,” Zack said, turning his horse to face town again. “I ain’t gonna be run off again.”

  Zack, Stride, Randle, and the others were north of town. When Clint rode out, he rode south.

  Without knowing that Roscoe Bookbinder was going to face five men all by himself.

  FORTY-TWO

  HARD ACE SALOON, ELLSWORTH, KANSAS

  When Clint entered the Hard Ace Saloon, he had already been to both Evolution and Abilene.

  He went to Abilene after he heard about the lone gunman who was shot down by five others in the street. He got the story from Sheriff Carter . . .