Cross Draw

by J. R. Roberts

  “They were all shot to death.”

  “Exactly. But I don’t expect it to happen anytime soon. At least, not until my arm heals. When the time comes, I want to face it as a whole man. Then I can accept whatever happens. But this way . . .” Clint shook his head.

  Jacobs poured himself some more coffee. “Well, like I said, no one’s going to find out anything from me.”

  “I appreciate that, Doc.”

  Jacobs drained a second cup of coffee while Clint finished his flapjacks.

  “Let’s go to your room so I can examine you,” Jacobs said. “Then I’m gonna get some sleep.”

  “Okay, Doc.”

  In Clint’s room, the doctor took hold of his hand and manipulated each finger in turn.

  “How’s that feel?” he asked with each one.

  “Hurts,” Clint said each time.

  The doctor lowered Clint’s arm.

  “What’s that mean, Doc?”

  “Well,” he said, “you’ve got feeling. That’s a lot better than if your arm and hand were completely numb.”

  “I guess.”

  The doctor undid Clint’s sleeve and rolled it up. He removed the bandages so he could examine the stitches on the wound, then wrapped it anew.

  Clint rolled the sleeve down and clumsily buttoned it.

  “How would you feel about staying indoors until there’s some change?” the doctor asked.

  “That would attract attention,” Clint said. “The word would go out that the Gunsmith was holed up in a hotel in Big Rock, Arizona. That would bring gunnies from all over the country, and they’d stand in line for a chance to kill me.”

  “I suppose you know your world best,” the doctor said. “What about sending for help?”

  “If I sent such a telegram, word would get out,” Clint said.

  “But you have friends who would help, I’m sure,” the doctor said.

  Clint thought about Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp, who would always have his back. Also Luke Short, Neil Brown, Heck Thomas, Jim West . . . there were a handful of men he knew could watch his back. But he was used to helping himself, even in a position like this.

  Well, actually, he’d never been in this position before. He’d always been able to count on his gun arm to get him out of any jam.

  Only this time, his gun arm was useless.

  “I’ll have to think about it,” he said. “A message like that would have to be sent in such a way that it couldn’t be intercepted.”

  “That means you’d have to send it with someone you trust.”

  “And I don’t see anyone in town who fits that description.”

  “What about one of the ladies?”

  “I just met them yesterday, Doc,” Clint said. “And they’re women, not gunmen. I’d never put them in that kind of danger.”

  “Well,” the doctor said, standing up and closing his big black bag, “it certainly sounds like you’re describing a situation where you’re entirely on your own.”

  “Sure looks that way, Doc.”

  TWELVE

  After the doctor left, Clint paced his room, replaying the doctor’s suggestion. Stay in this room until there was some change? What if that didn’t happen? What if he never got the use of his right hand back?

  Well, he could stay in the room and practice his cross draw, and venture out only when he was sure he could defend himself. But how long would that take? Word would still get out that he was holed up in a hotel room following an injury. What would gunmen assume from that? They’d correctly assume that something was wrong.

  He had to go out.

  As he made that decision, there was a knock at the door. He drew his gun with his left hand and opened the door.

  “Good morning,” Rosemary said. “Can I come in?”

  “Actually,” he said, sliding the gun back into the holster, “I was just coming out.”

  “Um, do you think that’s wise?” she asked.

  “I was already out,” he said. “I went to see my horse, and to check on your wagon.”

  “Oh? And how is the wagon?”

  He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. “Your wagon is ready to go. You can ride out of town at any time.”

  “I think I’d like to stay a while,” she said.

  “And what about the others?”

  “Oh, they’re pretty much been looking at me as the leader since we left St. Louis,” she said.

  “And where are the rest of the ladies now?”

  “Having breakfast somewhere.”

  “What about your breakfast?”

  “Well, I thought I might have that with you, but since you were up early . . .”

  “I could have some more coffee,” he said. “The dining room here has a very good breakfast.”

  “Well, since I wasn’t around to cut your meat for you, I’d guess you had something you’d be able to cut with your left hand. Flapjacks? Or something you didn’t have to cut? Oatmeal?”

  “Flapjacks.”

  “Would you mind if I had steak and eggs?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “It would be my pleasure to watch you cut your meat.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, and they went into the dining room.

  “She’s with him,” Abigail said. “I know it.”

  “What does it matter?” Morgan asked.

  “She’s supposed to be one of us,” Abigail complained.

  “She is one of us, Abigail,” Jenny said.

  Abigail, Jenny, Morgan, and Delilah were sitting in a café near their hotel, having breakfast. Only Abigail was complaining that Rosemary wasn’t there with them, but then Abigail was always complaining about something.

  “Then why isn’t she here?” she asked.

  “Abigail,” Jenny asked, “Why doesn’t anyone ever call you Abby?”

  Abigail turned her head and looked at the other woman.

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” Morgan said, “has anyone ever called you Abby?”

  “No,” Abigail said. “My name is Abigail, not Abby. I hate Abby. Don’t call me Abby.”

  “Okay,” Delilah said, “we won’t call you Abby.”

  “In fact,” Morgan said, “we won’t ever say the word Abby. Right girls?”

  “Right,” Jenny said. “No Abby.”

  “I see what you’re doing,” Abigail said. “You’re trying to get me off the subject. None of you care that Rosemary has set her cap for this man?”

  “ ‘Set her cap’?” Jenny asked. “Isn’t that kind of old-fashioned?”

  “Only to someone as young as you, Jenny,” Abigail said. “The fact is, we’re not in this town to look for husbands.”

  “Come on, Abigail,” Delilah said. “We all left St. Louis to come west to look for husbands.”

  The other girls all laughed.

  “Well, I did not!” Abigail said. “If that’s truly the reason you all have made this trip, then I was recruited under false pretenses.”

  “Oh, come off it, Abigail,” Morgan said. “We all came on this trek for our own reasons. And there’s no reason we need to reveal them.”

  “You mean . . . you aren’t all looking for husbands?” Abigail asked.

  “No,” Morgan said, looking at the other girls. “Well, I’m not.”

  “I want more biscuits,” Jenny said.

  Rosemary finished the last chunk of steak on her plate and put her fork down.

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “It was wonderful,” she said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have offered you at least a bite.”

  “No, no,” he said. “I enjoyed watching you enjoy it.”

  “I just seem to have such a big appetite since we came west,” she said. “Is it the air?”

  “It probably is,” he said. “Fresh air does increase the appetite. When I’m on the trail, everything I eat tastes so good.”

  “Even beans?”

  “Yes,” he said, “even beans.”

  She
sat back, put both hands over her belly, and said, “I hope I don’t get fat.”

  “I can’t imagine you fat,” he said, “but even if you were, you’d be beautiful.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Thank you, Clint.”

  “Now,” he said, “if we take a walk, you’ll work some of that breakfast off.”

  THIRTEEN

  They walked around Big Rock, which didn’t take very long. It was a town that seemed to have found its size. There was no sign of any sort of expansion.

  “This looks like a nice, quiet place to live,” Rosemary said. “I’ve seen a church, a playhouse, several shops for women, like a hat shop, dress shop—”

  “—saloons,” he said, “don’t forget the saloons. And where there are saloons, there are men who drink too much. And I’m sure there’s a whorehouse around here, someplace.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Really?”

  “That’s every town in the West, Rosemary,” he said. “They can all be nice places to live, but you also have to be aware of everything.”

  “I see.”

  “I just don’t want you to think you’ve found any kind of paradise,” he said.

  “But I understood that the West had become somewhat . . . civilized?”

  “Civilized, yes,” Clint said. “Tame, no.”

  “I understand.”

  “Why did you decide to come out West, Rosemary?” he asked. “Do you mind if I ask?”

  “We all had our own reasons,” she said. “We haven’t really shared them all.”

  “Well then,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me, either.”

  “Maybe,” she said, “maybe later.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Maybe later.”

  “I think I should go and find the others now,” she said. “They were going to a café near the hotel.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” he said. “I’d like to say hello to them, and thank them for their help in getting me to the doctor.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  None of the women noticed the two men who entered the café as they were finishing up their breakfast.

  Zack Moody and Dan Rhodes had just come off the trail the day before. They’d had whiskey and steaks the night before, and then fallen into their beds in their hotel room.

  Today they were looking for women. They thought they’d have breakfast first and then find some whores, but when they walked in and saw a tableful of women, they jumped to a conclusion.

  “Hey Zack,” Moody said. “Look. A tableful of whores, just waitin’ for us.”

  “Well, lookee there,” Zack said. “Let’s go set with the gals, Moody.”

  The two men walked over to the girls, grabbed chairs from a nearby table, and sat down . . .

  When Clint and Rosemary entered the café, Clint could sense the tension and fear in the air. There were several other diners in the place, but most of the apprehension was coming from a table with two men and five women seated at it.

  “Come on in, friends,” one of the men said. “We’re havin’ a party. Me and my buddy are tryin’ to decide which whore we want.”

  “But he’s got his own, Zack,” Moody said. “He brought his own in—and she’s tasty.”

  “Yeah,” Zack said, “but I want this one.” He put his hand on Jenny’s arm and she shrank away.

  “Get your hand off of her!” Abigail shouted and swatted his hand away.

  “That one’s got spirit, Zack,” Moody said. “Too bad she’s so old and ugly.”

  “You know,” Zack said, “sometimes the old, ugly ones are the best in bed.”

  “Yeah, well you try her. I want this one,” Moody said, pointing to Rosemary. He stood up. “You done with her, friend?”

  “You’ve made a mistake, friend,” Clint said. “None of these women are prostitutes.”

  “That right?” Moody asked. “Well, my friend Zack here, who’s a few years older than me, tells me all women are whores. Is that right, Zack?”

  “That’s right, Moody,” Zack said. “Every fuckin’ one of them.”

  “Rosemary,” Clint said, “take the ladies and go outside.”

  “Come on, girls.”

  They started to stand, but Zack reached out and grabbed Jenny’s arm.

  “Uh-uh,” he said. “Not this one. I want her.”

  Jenny looked at Clint imploringly.

  “Rosemary,” he said, “take the others out.”

  “She ain’t leavin’, either,” Moody said, pointing to Rosemary. “I want her!”

  Rosemary said, “Abigail, take Delilah and Morgan and go outside. Now!”

  The three women stood warily, as if they weren’t sure the two men would let them leave.

  “The rest of you people,” Clint said to the other diners, “you better also get out.”

  They didn’t waste any time. Three men and two women ran from the place. Including the waiter.

  “Well,” Zack said, “that just leaves us two, our whores . . . and you. You’re extra weight, friend. You better leave.”

  “These women are leaving now,” Clint said, “or you two aren’t leaving at all. Your choice.”

  “Oh wait,” Zack said. “I get it, Moody. He’s their pimp.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Moody said. “Well, pimp, don’t worry. When we’re done, we’ll pay ’em, and you’ll get your cut.”

  “He’s not a pimp,” Rosemary said, “and we are not whores.”

  “Really?” Zack asked. “Who is he, then?”

  “His name is Clint Adams!” Jenny blurted, and then she put her free hand to her mouth.

  The two men exchanged a glance.

  FOURTEEN

  Clint could see that the two men recognized the name. In fact, the one named Zack, who had been seated until that point, released Jenny’s arm and stood up.

  “Rosemary,” he said, “take Jenny out.”

  “Come on, Jenny,” Rosemary said, extending her hand to the younger woman, who grabbed for it anxiously. Rosemary pulled Jenny away from the table and pushed her out the door. However, instead of leaving, Rosemary remained standing in the doorway, half in and half out, so she could watch.

  “What the hell is the Gunsmith doin’ on this one-horse town?” Moody asked.

  “What does that matter?” Clint asked. “The fact is, I am here, and I don’t like seeing ladies treated as whores. Especially when the ladies are friends of mine.”

  He was going to leave the play up to the two men. He preferred not to cross draw on them if he didn’t have to. He was also hoping they didn’t notice that he was wearing his gun butt forward. This was one time he was hoping his reputation would work for him, and keep them from doing something stupid.

  “How you want to play this, Zack?” Moody asked. “You want a shot at the Gunsmith?”

  “What? Me, alone? No way.”

  “I mean the two of us,” Moody said, keeping his eyes on Clint. “We can take ’im.”

  “That’s the Gunsmith, Moody,” Zack said. “Ain’t none of them whores worth dyin’ for.”

  “Listen to your friend, Moody,” Clint said. “He’s talking sense.”

  “I ain’t gonna back down,” Moody said.

  “Zack?” Clint asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “You want out?”

  Zack licked his lips, looked at his friend, then nodded jerkily and said, “Hell, yeah. I didn’t mean—”

  “Just get out,” Clint said. “Don’t talk.”

  Zack moved so fast he knocked over some chairs along the way. Rosemary moved out of his way before he could trample her.

  “You damn coward!” Moody shouted.

  “He’s not a coward, Moody,” Clint said. “He just wants to stay alive. Do you?”

  Moody wet his lips and stared at Clint.

  “Go ahead,” Clint said. “Do it, or walk out, but let’s get it over with.”

  Moody flexed the fingers of his gun hand,
then slowly pulled it away from his holster.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m leavin’.”

  Clint kept a wary eye on the man as he made his way to the door. He exchanged a glare with Rosemary as he left. Clint moved to the door and stood next to her.

  Outside, Moody had to walk past the other women, all of whom glared at him. Even from the back, Clint could see something in the man’s demeanor change. Having to walk past the women with his tail between his legs didn’t set right with him.

  He turned and looked at Clint.

  “I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t walk away.”

  “Rosemary,” Clint said, “move away.”

  “No,” she muttered. “He’ll kill you.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Just do it.”

  She put some distance between herself and Clint.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Moody,” Clint said.

  The women scattered, but watched. From across the street, Zach was also observing.

  Clint didn’t know what the man was thinking. He was so slow when he went for his gun that Clint easily outdrew him, even left-handed. Clint fired once, the bullet punching Moody right in the chest. The man went down on his back in the street.

  Clint returned his gun to its holster. Normally, he would have ejected the spent round and replaced it with a live one, but he would have had to do it one-handed, and that would have made his injury obvious.

  No one had been watching except for the women, and Zack. But after the shot many more people appeared, anxious to be present if there was any more shooting.

  Clint walked to the dead man, kicked the gun away, and bent over to check and make sure he was dead. He looked up as Zack approached.

  “You, too?” he asked.

  Zack raised his hands and said, “No, no, not me.”

  “He’s your partner,” Clint said. “You take care of him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Clint turned as Rosemary came up next to him.

  “You did it!”

  “Not now,” he said, as he saw the sheriff pushing through the crowd. He went to meet him.