The Lincoln Ransom
Page 13
“Don’t you worry about our guns,” the older man said. “They work, all right.”
“Well, yours might,” Clint said. “You strike me as the kind of man who takes care of his weapon, but what about the rest of these men. That kid, there. I don’t think he knows the first thing about caring for a weapon.”
Roper shifted uncomfortably. He was willing to let Clint do all the talking, but he knew eventually they were going to have to go into action.
“Look,” the older man said, “drop the saddlebags, show us where the rest of the money is, and you can go. If not, then you’re gonna find out if our guns work.”
“I don’t think so,” Clint said,
“Whataya mean?” the man asked.
“I don’t think I’ll drop the saddlebags. Or show you where the rest of the money is,” Clint said. “What do you think, Tal?”
“I think,” Roper said, “that we should all find out together whether their guns work or not.”
“There you go,” Clint said. “Your call, gents.”
The older man studied Clint for a few moments. The other men obviously looked to him for guidance, and he knew it.
“Come on, now,” he said. “There are only two of you.”
“Two’s plenty,” Clint said, “when you know what you’re doing.”
“You guys are crazy,” the man said.
“What’s your name?” Clint asked.
“George Parish.”
“George,” Roper said, “do you know who he is?” He pointed at Clint.
“Yeah, yeah,” George said, “he’s the Gunsmith, we wuz all told that.”
“So you better be sure your guns are in proper working order,” Roper said, “because it’s the only chance you’ve got.”
The other men looked toward Parish. Clint and Roper knew it was up to one man what happened in the next few moments.
“And money’s money,” Parish said, and went for his gun.
Damn! Clint thought.
Chapter Forty-Five
Since they looked to Parish for direction, Clint had to take him first. He outdrew the man cleanly and shot him in the chest.
Roper drew, shot the man directly behind Parish.
Two of the would-be soldiers brought their rifles to bear, but as Clint had suspect, the weapons misfired.
Two other men drew their pistols, but before they could employ them Clint shot one and Roper shot the other.
In seconds, four men were on the ground, and four others were struggling with their weapons.
“Just drop ’em, gents,” Clint said. “They’re not going to work.”
The four men—all young—looked at Clint and Roper and dropped their useless guns to the ground.
“D-don’t shoot,” one of them said, and they all raised their hands.
“You boys all have to find new lives,” Clint said. “The people inside the house don’t have your best interests at heart.”
“It’s up to you if you want to untie them, after we leave,” Roper said.
“Or whatever you want to do with them,” Clint said, “just don’t let them talk you into coming after us.”
“W-we won’t,” one of them said.
“Good,” Roper said, “now move aside.”
Clint and Roper hurried to their horses, relieved to find them—and the saddlebags with the other fifty thousand dollars—still there. As they rode away they saw three men in grey jackets running toward them. They came up short when they saw the two men on horses, hands grabbing for their guns.
“Hold it!” Clint said, drawing his gun and pointing it, something he rarely did. Usually when he drew, he fired, but these were also young men.
“W-what’s happenin’?” one of them asked.
“It’s all over,” Clint said.
“What is?”
“The South has fallen …” Clint said.
“… again,” Roper added.
The three men looked past them at the Wentworth house.
“Some of your comrades are still alive,” Clint said. “They’ll explain everything to you. Drop your guns to the ground and go and find out.”
They obeyed and moved past the two mounted men warily. Clint and Roper turned and watched the three men run toward the house.
“What do you think?” Roper asked.
“I think we were right,” Clint said. “The South has fallen …”
“ … again!” Roper said.
Chapter Forty-Six
When the train pulled in Springfield, Mo, Jeremy Pike was waiting. Clint stepped off and shook hands with the men.
“Did you find Wentworth?” Pike asked.
“You know about Wentworth?”
“I talked with Detective Kingman,” Pike said. “He told me a lot, I told him very little.”
“Dead,” Clint said. “What about Wyatt?”
“Dead,” Pike said. “Wentworth must have killed him before he left town.”
Clint didn’t tell the man it was probably Gemma Wentworth who had killed the man—maybe after showing him some intense pleasure, first. That seemed to be her way.
“I assume you have transportation?” Clint asked.
“Yes,” Pike said. “There’s a hearse waiting outside.”
“A hearse. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Nobody will know it’s Lincoln inside,” Pike said. “Just some poor soul on his way to his final resting place.”
“Won’t they wonder about the guards?”
“No guards,” Pike said. “Just me.”
“And me?”
“Not necessary,” Pike said. “Your job is done, Clint. You can get back on this train and continue on, or take the next one going the other way. Or you can mount up and ride out. That’s up to you. Washington thanks you for your service.”
The two men shook hands again.
“I’m also authorized to pay you—”
“That reminds me,” Clint said. “I redeposited the hundred thousand into the bank.” To do that they had avoided Trinidad, not wanting to deal with would-be thieves there, and waited until they had reached Colorado Springs.
“We know, we saw that. They didn’t really expect you to get the body back and keep the money. It was a nice surprise. I’m authorized to offer you ten per cent.”
“As much as I’d like to take it,” Clint said, “I can’t. Not for bringing the President back.”
“I understand,” Pike said. “You knew him.”
“I did,” Clint said, “so it was important for me to bring him back.”
“I’m sure if the family—and the country—knew what you did, they’d be grateful.”
“On the other hand,” Clint said, “I couldn’t have done it without Talbot Roper’s help, so …”
“I’ll see that the ten per cent is sent to him,” Pike said.
“Thank you.”
“And now I must see to offloading the casket,” Pike said. “Until we meet again, my friend.”
They shook hands. Pike went to see to the casket, while Clint went to get Eclipse from the stock car. He intended to mount up and ride out, but first he needed to make amends with a certain hotel owner’s daughter.
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