Wildfire

by J. R. Roberts

  “Can I help you?” the man asked. His face was smeared with dark grease and his hair was slicked down by it. Even so, he smirked at Clint and even showed him a friendly wave. “I’m open for business, if you’re out to place an advertisement or the like.”

  “Not exactly,” Clint said. Since he didn’t want to be rude, he shook the man’s hand and got his own smeared in the mess covering the other fellow. “I wanted to ask about some fires here recently.”

  “There’s been another one? Just a moment and I’ll get my pencil.”

  Before the man could get out from where he was entrenched behind the machines, Clint said, “I don’t know about another one here, but there has been one in Kipperway.”

  “The one at the Wilkins place?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I already printed a story about it. Actually, I was running off that very copy when my press jammed up. You wouldn’t happen to know how to fix one of these, would you?”

  Clint looked down at the press and shrugged. “I may if you could let me know about some of the other newsworthy events that have been going on around here.”

  “Don’t you read the Examiner?”

  “I’m not from around here, and I don’t have the time to catch up right now. That’s why it would be a big help if you could tell me about the fire that was started here recently.”

  The newspaperman grinned and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Ah, now I see. You want to hear about it before it’s printed, eh? To be honest, I didn’t think folks cared so much about what I print that they’d want to get a jump on it.”

  “You’d be saving me some time.”

  “Well, you mentioned you could help me out with my little situation here?”

  Clint took a few steps forward and fixed his eyes upon the newspaperman as if he was bargaining for his life. He then extended one leg and used his boot to knock out a chunk of broken wood from where it had been wedged into the machinery. Clint may not have been an expert in how a press worked, but he knew this one would work a whole lot better once that hunk of wood was removed.

  Jumping at the way the press creaked and settled back into its normal positioning, the newspaperman leaned forward to see what Clint had done. When he saw the chunk of wood on the floor, he grinned and shook his head. “I knew I’d lost a piece of that crate.”

  “Now, about those fires.”

  “I suppose it’s fair enough that I tell you. Of course, you could have just taken a look at the copies I’d printed out already.”

  When Clint looked over to where the newspaperman was pointing, he saw a short stack of papers next to the machine.

  “Not that it’s any big secret,” the man continued. “I’m going to have to apologize in advance for the disappointing nature of the news you worked so hard to hear.”

  “Try me,” Clint replied. “I didn’t really work that hard.”

  “There was a fire here recently, but it was just a barn that burned down. Actually,” the newspaperman added as he walked around the press and wiped his hands on the heavy apron he wore, “it was an abandoned old barn a little ways outside of town. The only real surprise was that it hadn’t burned down long ago. Sorry to build it up so much.”

  But Clint was far from disappointed. In fact, he was quite relieved to hear the news, as opposed to hearing that more folks had been killed before he’d gotten into town. “No problem. You’ve got to do your part to try to sell your papers.”

  “Spoken like a true kindred spirit. Have you worked among the ink and paper?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “Tell you what,” Clint said as he walked toward the door. “If I do need work while I’m in town, this is the first place I’ll visit.”

  The newspaperman seemed pleased with that and said, “My name’s Eldon Slattery. Who might you be?”

  Although Eldon seemed like a nice enough sort, Clint thought twice about letting the town’s reporter know his name. Having the Gunsmith show up in the next edition wasn’t the best way to keep his head down.

  “I’m Clint,” he replied curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”

  Clint’s short reply was enough for Eldon, who flipped one hand as if he was tipping an invisible hat. “Thanks for the hand, Clint. Or rather, the boot.”

  “No problem, Eldon. Thanks for the good news. You know where I can find the Archer Hotel?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Clint knocked on the door of the room that had been rented by the two Texas Rangers. He stood outside and calmly waited for the door to open. When it did and Bower looked outside, the expression on his face made the buildup more than worth it.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” the young Ranger asked.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Clint replied. “Mind if I come in?”

  Obviously more worried about carrying out Henry’s order to stay unnoticed, Bower checked the hallway before opening the door all the way and motioning for Clint to step through. He waited until the door was shut again before saying, “Now tell me what you’re doing here. Did Henry send you?”

  “Yeah. We had a scrap with a bunch of gunmen looking to loot what was left of that house.”

  “The house that was burned?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Bower thought that over, but still seemed just as confused. “What was left to rob?”

  “Some jewelry. Pretty nice stuff, too.”

  “Damn,” Bower muttered. “I wonder if all them other places were robbed.”

  “You see there?” Clint asked with a smirk. “You’ve already thought farther ahead than your friend Talman.”

  Bower let out a grunting breath. “He ain’t my friend. That man’s an ass.”

  “I knew I liked you, kid,” Clint said. “Did you know about the fire at that barn?”

  “Did you?”

  Clint nodded, but kept his source to himself for the moment. Once again, the startled expression on Bower’s face made it worth the effort.

  “Yeah,” Bower said. “I knew about it. From what we can tell, it was just an old barn. It doesn’t sound like anyone was hurt.”

  “Are you certain about that?”

  “We will be before too long. Mark rode out there to get a look for himself to see if there are any . . . bodies.”

  Considering how many deaths the group of Texas Rangers had seen lately, it seemed a bit odd to hear one of them sound squeamish at the mention of another one. Then again, being callous to such matters wasn’t exactly a good thing.

  “Sounds like you’ve got things well in hand,” Clint pointed out.

  Bower nodded and asked, “What about things in Kipperway? I heard there was some trouble there, but I didn’t know you traded shots with anyone.”

  Clint looked at the younger man’s face and saw hopeful expectation in his eyes. As much as he didn’t want to chip away at Henry’s authority, Clint also thought the kid should know what kind of man he was riding with where Talman was concerned. Finally, once Clint realized he was about to speak from his own aggravation, he told the Texas Ranger the truth.

  “All things considered, things over there are going pretty well,” Clint stated.

  “Good. I’m just surprised Talman hasn’t bagged those assholes yet.”

  Clint thought he deserved a medal for keeping his mouth shut after that one.

  “Now that there’s two of us here, maybe we should go after Mark,” Bower said. “I was thinking that I shouldn’t go anywhere before he came back, but he’s been gone awhile.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Clint said.

  “From what I hear, that barn’s been deserted for a good long time.”

  “How’d you come by that information?”

  “I’ve got my sources,” Clint said cryptically. “When was Mark supposed to meet you?”

  “Over an hour ago.”

  “And how far away is that barn?”

  “
A mile or so.”

  Although Clint had been feeling confident before, those words brought him right back down to Bower’s level. “And how long’s he been gone so far?”

  “A few hours,” Bower replied.

  “Do you know the route he was taking to get to that barn?” Clint asked.

  The younger man nodded.

  “Good,” Clint said. “Tell it to me and I’ll follow it to see if I can find him. You wait here in case he gets past me and comes back.”

  “Maybe I should be the one to go to that barn.”

  “Nah,” Clint said as confidently as he could manage. “I’ll go.” Since that was the best he could manage on such short notice, Clint headed for the door and walked out before Bower had much of a chance to say anything about it.

  “Which way do I go from here?” Clint asked as he started shutting the door behind him.

  Bower hesitated for a moment, but the next words he spoke were the directions Clint was after. “There’s an alley across the street from this hotel. Cut through it and cut through the next few alleys until you’re headed out of town. But I still think I might—”

  Just to put the younger man’s second thoughts to rest, Clint added, “All right. You check those alleys to see if Mark’s there, but I’ll head to the barn. That way, we can keep out of sight just the way Henry wanted. If I’m not back before too long, make sure your guns are loaded and come after me.”

  If Bower had any other misgivings, Clint didn’t stay around long enough to hear them. If those killers were nearby, Clint wasn’t about to put anyone else in jeopardy by waiting one more second before going after them.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Clint followed the directions he’d been given and wound up with a quick tour of Solace. The shortcut through the alleys would have led him straight through the heart of the town and pointed him in the right direction once he was out of it. Following that same basic path but using the normal streets, Clint rode out of town and down the narrow trail leading to the properties surrounding it.

  Thankfully, the land was fairly flat and the only growth was a few scrub bushes and the occasional rock. Clint wasn’t much of a farmer, but he was getting a real good idea of why a barn might be abandoned in such a place. And with so many cattle barons in the surrounding areas, a small ranch would have even more trouble prospering.

  Before he could think too long about who’d built the barn in the first place, Clint could see the old structure ahead. There was a broken fence surrounding a small patch of ground, leading Clint to believe the previous owners may have raised pigs or even a few horses. By the looks of it now, the spread was only good for collecting dust.

  The barn was a blackened hulk, reminding Clint of the shack that he’d been shown in the next town over. While this place was bigger, it was still a charred shadow of what it had been before. It truly looked like a collection of walls and floorboards had been killed to leave behind an empty husk.

  Plenty of places burned down. Some places caught fire more than once, but this single place in the middle of nowhere struck a chord in Clint’s mind. The similarities could have been in his head, but his first guess was that the flames hadn’t just shown up by accident.

  “Mark?” Clint shouted as he reined Eclipse to a stop. “Are you here?”

  Not only was there no reply, but there were no sounds whatsoever drifting through the air. For a place stuck in the middle of critter-infested land, that was no small feat.

  As Clint climbed down from his saddle and walked toward the barn, he could smell something else that struck a chord in him. It was a bitter taint to the expected scents of burned wood and smoke that told him something had died in those flames.

  Clint’s hand came to a rest on his holstered Colt and the muscles in his arm reflexively prepared to draw.

  “Mark? It’s Clint Adams. Can you hear me?”

  Although he didn’t get a proper response, Clint did hear something inside the barn move. The noise caught his ear, but that wasn’t anything too extraordinary considering the condition of the place. The rustling that he’d heard could have been anything inside the blackened corpse of a building falling down or giving way. Even so, Clint steeled himself and walked toward the barn.

  One of the front barn doors had completely fallen in, and the other had splintered diagonally in half, making the front of the building look like it was wearing a gap-toothed smile. The closer Clint got to the place, the stronger the smells became. He also felt somewhat foolish for being suspicious of the fact he could smell that something other than wood had been burned.

  The structure was a barn, after all. Barns held a lot of animals. Even the empty ones tended to be filled by mice, birds, dogs or anything else looking for shelter.

  When the large figure exploded from within the barn, Clint had just taken his hand away from his gun. He hadn’t heard anything coming, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected something so big to fly at him so fast. Before he had any notion of what was happening, Clint felt something slam into his midsection and knock all the wind from his lungs.

  “You’ve been following me,” the large man growled.

  Now that Clint could get a better look at the figure, the term “large” just didn’t quite seem to do him justice. The man’s legs looked more like thick roots extending from an even thicker trunk of a torso. The man’s face was clean-shaven and composed of deep lines that seemed to have been carved into his head. What caught Clint’s attention more than anything, however, was the man’s eyes. They were dark and just as lifeless as the scorched building from which he’d come.

  “You’re dead,” the man grunted.

  After glancing at the man for less than two seconds, Clint already knew well enough that he meant those two words he’d just uttered.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Clint was knocked down with ease. By the time his backside hit the ground, his Colt had cleared leather. But no matter how fast his draw was, Clint felt his hand get slapped aside before he could take proper aim.

  It wasn’t as though Voorhees was faster than Clint. The bigger man was simply fearless and didn’t waste one moment in considering what might happen if that gun went off in his face. The Colt did fire a shot, but it sent its round through the blackened wall to Clint’s left.

  “You’re the lawman,” Voorhees said in a deep, calm voice. “One of the lawmen that’s been chasing me.” As he spoke, he grabbed Clint’s shoulder and lifted him an inch or so off the ground before slamming him back down again. “I don’t run from nobody, you hear? I don’t run from nobody.”

  Clint tried to speak in his own defense, but he could barely pull in enough air to make more than a strained wheezing sound.

  Clint tried to take aim with the Colt, but soon regretted that decision when Voorhees balled up his fist, cocked his arm back and punched Clint’s elbow. The blow was not only unexpected, but powerful enough to make Clint release his grip on the pistol.

  While Clint’s left arm wasn’t quite as strong as his right, it was the only one he could move quickly enough to do something before Voorhees hit him again. Fueled more by desperation than anything else, Clint took a wild swing that connected with Voorhees’s leg.

  The bigger man winced and grunted, but immediately prepared to hit Clint again. Seeing that reaction was all Clint needed to adjust his aim and swing his arm again.

  This time, the side of Clint’s fist hit Voorhees’s knee like a hammer knocking into a post. Nothing snapped or gave way, but Voorhees lowered the fist he was about to throw so he could grab hold of his knee. As much as Clint wanted to do more, he used the precious second or two he’d just earned to roll out of the bigger man’s reach.

  Clint’s eyes immediately spotted his pistol, which was lying a yard or two away. He then shifted his focus back to the big man in front of him. “This is some kind of mistake,” Clint said. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Then why are you here?” Voorhees asked in a voice that didn’t show the sli
ghtest hint of exertion. “Why did you come after me?”

  “There was a fire,” Clint explained. “That’s all. What are you doing here?”

  Voorhees stared down at him as if he was staring straight through Clint and staring at something two miles behind him. Slowly, his head cocked to one side as his eyes made a downward trek. When he got to the holster at Clint’s side, Voorhees asked, “Why bring a gun if you’re just checking on a fire?”

  “Because there’s snakes out here. Not to mention big fellows who knock the stuffing out of me.”

  For a moment, it seemed that Clint’s lighthearted tone might have actually rubbed off on Voorhees. Before the bigger man lowered his guard, however, his eyes narrowed and he stooped down toward Clint. “What’s that in your pocket?”

  Clint reached for his shirt pocket, but already knew what the big man might have seen. Sure enough, when he touched that spot on his shirt, he felt where the badge Henry had given him was snagged. It must have gotten jostled when he was knocked over, but Clint knew that might be enough to do him in.

  “You are a lawman,” Voorhees snarled. “I knew it.”

  All this time, Clint had moved slowly to get his feet under him without provoking the bigger man. Now that he could stand up again, he did so and took a few cautious steps back. “You could already be in a lot of trouble for attacking me that way,” Clint said sternly. “But I’m willing to let it pass if you tell me why you’re hiding out here.”

  “You’re just looking for that other one,” Voorhees said.

  Clint did his best to keep his voice level when he asked, “Where is he? What did you do to him?”

  But Voorhees wasn’t about to be cowed by a stern voice. On the contrary, he grinned and stalked forward while balling his fists into tight knots of muscle and bone. A low growl started in the back of his throat and turned into a roar as Voorhees lashed out with a powerful swing.

  If Clint had stayed where he was, his head might very well have been knocked clean off his shoulders. But Clint knew better than to stand in front of a steam engine, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in front of Voorhees. Ducking down low, Clint narrowly avoided that punch while also drawing the knife he kept in his boot.