Wildfire

by J. R. Roberts

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  Blow for Blow

  Red’s knuckles cracked against Clint’s jaw and sent him sidestepping away from the saloon’s front door. As he stepped forward, Red shook out the pain in his hand while grinning like he’d just won a prize.

  “Maybe you should go back to wherever you came from,” Red grunted.

  Playing on the confidence in Red’s voice, Clint kept his head down and leaned against the saloon. Once Red had strutted close enough, Clint balled up his own fist and sent it Red’s way. His punch didn’t make as much noise as Red’s, but it drove far enough into the man’s gut that he doubled over.

  Red coughed and gritted his teeth. “That’s the last mistake you’re gonna make,” he said, and he rushed toward Clint with both arms held open . . .

  DON’T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts

  Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

  LONGARM by Tabor Evans

  The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

  SLOCUM by Jake Logan

  Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

  BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan

  An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.

  DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer

  Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

  WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

  The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

  TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

  J. T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632 New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WILDFIRE

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Jove edition / January 2008

  Copyright © 2008 by Robert J. Randisi.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form

  without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in

  violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-0-515-14398-0

  JOVE®

  Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  JOVE is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “J” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  ONE

  As he watched the shed burn, a tear came to his eye. The flames licked the walls and stretched upward as the smoke billowed out and drifted along the wind.

  The longer he watched, the more his boots seemed to take root in the ground beneath him. He simply couldn’t take his eyes from the spectacle of the orange and red flickering that resembled glowing water more than anything else.

  Once the screams started, he knew he’d surely found his calling.

  His eyes darted to both sides so he could quickly take a look around. Mostly, he was concerned about someone else coming along and trying to put out the fire or get to the folks that were trapped inside the burning shed.

  But nobody was coming.

  Once that became clear, the man crossed his arms and watched the shed burn.

  The screams were getting louder now.

  He guessed the flames had spread more inside the shed rather than just burning the outside of the walls. Closing his eyes to take in the voices instead of the flames, he listened to the cries and picked out the different ones the way some children might skip through a field and pick out just the flowers they wanted.

  First, the cries had been frantic pleas. These had annoyed the man almost enough to put an end to them right then and there. Those two folks inside the shed had begged and whined to be set free. Once the man took the time to walk back inside, the pleas had turned to questions and more begging.

  “Why me?”

  “Why me?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Selfish little bastards. Why not them?

  Thinking back to that, the man decided he would
n’t bother going back to check on the next ones he caught. Those first bunch of whines had been like an old rake being dragged against a sheet of rusty tin. The next time he got ahold of someone, he vowed not to go back when they begged. Otherwise, he might not get to hear the next set of screams before he put an end to their whining himself.

  The next bunch of screams were better.

  Those sounds had been full of hopelessness and fear. There wasn’t any more begging. It was all sobbing and wailing. The man liked the sound of that quite a lot.

  But now that the flames were just starting to lose some of their brightness and the smoke was really pouring out of the shack, the screams had reached a whole other plateau. They were filled with stark panic and raw terror.

  The fire must really be getting to them now. It might have caught onto the bit of kerosene that the man had dripped on the backs of their chairs as a lark. Whatever the cause, the screams were piercing and went on for so long that the folks inside no longer seemed to need to draw a breath.

  More than anything, the man wanted to take a peek inside the shed and get a look at what was happening there. In fact, the more he thought about it, the harder it was to keep himself from rushing through the crooked remains of the door frame.

  Cocking his head a bit to one side, the man studied the door and saw that there was more smoke than flame in the opening. Perhaps the wood had burned up enough for him to step through without getting hurt too badly. He knew he could stand some pain. If it meant getting a look at those faces as they screamed, he could stand a whole lot of pain.

  The screams were fading now, so there probably wasn’t much time left before they were gone.

  He took one step forward.

  Then another.

  Even though the heat was getting under his skin and the smoke was scratching down the back of his throat, he kept stepping toward the shed. Finally, the man reached out to push open a door that had already cracked and fallen down. When some of the flames reached out to blacken the tips of his fingers, he smiled.

  “What are you doing? Get away from there!”

  The man didn’t always listen to the voice, but this time was different. This time, the voice shook him awake just in time to feel the heat that was about to swallow him up. When he tried to pull in a breath, it snagged and got him coughing in fits.

  The screaming was almost gone now, so the man took a few steps back and listened to it.

  When there was no more screaming, he listened to the flames eat up the rest of the shed.

  TWO

  The fire was long dead.

  A few wisps of smoke drifted up from the depths of the wooden pile, but most of the smoke hung in a cloud over the spot where the fire had been. It put a grayness into the air and was stirred up by the morning breeze, like soup being pushed around by a spoon.

  Clint lay on the ground next to the remains of his campfire and took a deep breath. The previous night’s dinner hadn’t been the best, but it had stuck to his bones well enough to give him a good night’s sleep. Now that he was just starting to wake up, he decided to stretch out for a bit longer and savor the smells of early morning.

  With his ear against the ground, he was able to hear the approaching horses well before he could have seen them. The rumbling was faint, but followed a distinctive rhythm. He knew of some Indians who claimed to be able to know the breed and size of a horse by hearing its steps. All Clint could tell was that there were a few horses out there and they were headed his way.

  Unfortunately, that was enough to put an end to his hours of sleep.

  Clint reached under his bedroll for the modified Colt that had been kept there within his reach while he slept. The pistol was in his hand before his feet were under him. Before he’d worked the kinks out of his neck, Clint had also found his gun belt and buckled it around his waist.

  Possibly sensing Clint’s uneasiness, the black Darley Arabian stallion tied off nearby shifted on its feet.

  As he walked toward the sound of the approaching horses, Clint patted the stallion’s nose and whispered, “It’s all right, boy. Just keep quiet, now.”

  Although Eclipse had been with him for a good long while, Clint didn’t seriously think the stallion could understand every word that was said to him. Then again, when Eclipse stopped shifting and fell silent, Clint wondered if he might have to rethink that assumption.

  “Do you hear those horses coming?” Clint asked.

  Eclipse stared straight ahead, eyeing a particularly thick patch of tall grass nearby.

  Chuckling to himself, Clint pulled on his boots and buttoned his shirt. If the horses were coming closer, he figured it couldn’t hurt to look a bit more presentable.

  A minute or so later, he could hear the rumble of hooves without needing to put his ear to the ground. Now that he had a definite direction picked out, Clint dug out his spyglass and pointed it that way.

  The sun was already bright and seemed even more so when reflected off the sands of New Mexico. Clint wasn’t foolish enough to ride straight into the desert without good cause, but he was close enough to feel the ground favoring more rock than soil beneath him. There was also enough sand to be kicked up by anything bigger than a coyote.

  Clint had no trouble spotting the dust cloud left behind by the horses. Thanks to the early morning sun, it was just as easy to pick out the horses and riders responsible for that cloud.

  Nearby, Eclipse let out a few snuffling grunts and shifted some more.

  “Hold on, boy,” Clint muttered. “I’ll untie you in a second.”

  “Don’t bother with that,” the stranger behind Clint replied. “You won’t be going anywhere.”

  Clint’s first reflex was to straighten up and turn around. He got the first part of that accomplished and was stopped when the back of his head knocked against the barrel of a drawn pistol. Right about then, Clint found himself wishing he could have understood what Eclipse was trying to say a few seconds earlier.

  “If you’re looking to rob me,” Clint said, “you’ll be disappointed. I’m not carrying much of anything.”

  There was no reply.

  “No?” Clint asked. “Then maybe you’d like some coffee. I was just about to brew some up.”

  Still nothing.

  Clint took a cautious half step forward. The moment he moved, he could feel the man tensing behind him. Even so, Clint managed to get an inch or so of space between his head and the man’s gun.

  “If you’re out to steal my horse,” Clint said before turning completely around and dropping to one knee, “you’re in for a fight.”

  The man who’d snuck up on Clint was a big fellow with broad shoulders and a mustache that drooped down past his chin. His eyes were squinting even though the sun was more or less at his back. Although his chest and stomach were thick, it was plain to see that it wasn’t from too many meals.

  Despite the natural harshness in the man’s features, he blinked in surprise at how quickly Clint had turned around. Not only was Clint’s head out of the man’s immediate line of fire, but his hand had made it down to his holster and back up again before the bigger man could do a damn thing about it.

  “All right,” Clint said as he held his Colt at hip level and aimed up at the bigger man, “now we can talk. Who are you?”

  “The name’s Henry Arnold,” the bigger man replied. “Care to tell me yours?”

  Now it was Clint’s turn to be surprised. Despite the reversal of fortune, the bigger man spoke without the slightest waver in his voice. Even more surprising was the fact that he looked as if he truly expected an answer.

  “You want to lower that gun?” Clint asked.

  After a moment’s consideration, the man replied, “Depends on how you answer my question.”

  Since the horses he’d spotted before were still drawing closer, they took precedence in Clint’s mind. “What about them?” he asked while hooking a thumb over his shoulder, toward the horses. “I don’t suppose you know who they are?”<
br />
  “Sure I do,” Henry replied. “They’re my reinforcements.”

  THREE

  Clint stood his ground without moving a muscle. By the time the horses arrived, his gun arm was starting to ache and his knees were feeling the strain of keeping his stance beneath Henry’s aim. Clint’s only real comfort was that Henry seemed to be feeling more than a little strain of his own.

  Well, it was also no small relief that Clint was fairly certain the bigger man wasn’t going to pull his trigger. At least . . . not right away.

  If Henry had meant to fire, he would have done so already. Even if he had intended on putting Clint to a test of speed and accuracy, Henry would have at least made a move to try to take a shot at Clint. All he would have needed to do was bend his elbow a little bit downward. Of course, if he did that, Clint would have just needed to tense his finger to burn a hole through Henry’s midsection.

  “Seems like we’ve got a situation here, Henry,” Clint pointed out. “You think we can resolve it on our own, or do you need to wait for your cavalry to arrive?”

  Henry smirked a bit and replied, “If you truly are the Gunsmith himself, I might need a cavalry.”

  “Not if we don’t have any quarrel.”

  “We’re both looking at each other over the barrel of a skinned gun. You don’t count that as a quarrel?”

  “Not yet.”

  Slowly, Henry nodded. He chewed on what he’d heard for a few more seconds, which was just enough time for the other horses to arrive. They thundered up to Clint’s campsite as if they intended on trampling it into the ground. Amid a flurry of stomping hooves and loud whinnies, the horses were reined in and brought to a stop. By the time the whole group had gathered around the sputtering campfire, even Eclipse was getting nervous.