by Smith, Bobbi
“Do you think it was somebody who was after Frank?”
“Clint will know. He’ll tell us—”
“If he makes it.”
They shared a sad, knowing look as Paul climbed up on the driver’s bench and took up the reins.
“Keep what happened quiet until we have a chance to talk to the sheriff. We don’t know who did this, and the killers might still be around and try to come after Clint again if they learn he’s alive.”
“All right. As soon as I get Clint over to the Circle A, I’ll ride for town and get the doc and Sheriff Nelson.”
“I’ll meet you at the ranch.”
Tony stood unmoving, watching Paul drive away until he had disappeared from sight. Then, slowly and with a heavy heart, he turned back to the task that awaited him.
Chapter Two
Three Days Later
Clint’s consciousness returned slowly, and with it came deep and vicious pain. It tore at him with savage intensity, and a primal groan escaped him.
Doc Martin had been dozing in the chair across the room. At the sound of Clint’s moan, he came awake instantly. He’d been keeping vigil at his patient’s side since coming out to the Anderson ranch, and he was relieved to find him stirring. Until this moment, he’d held little hope Clint was going to make it. His wounds were very serious, and he’d lost a lot of blood.
Clint groaned again and struggled to open his eyes.
“Easy, Clint,” Doc Martin said, trying to calm him.
At the sound of the vaguely familiar voice, Clint quieted for a moment. In his pain-wracked confusion, he tried to remember to whom the voice belonged, but he was lost. He had no concept of where he was or why he was there.
A sudden sense of panic threatened, and Clint opened his eyes in terror as visions of violence and death came to him. He fought to sit up, but found that someone was pressing him down. He struggled against the restraint, wanting to break free. He needed to escape. He had to get away—
“Lie back, Clint.” Doc Martin was surprised by his patient’s surge of strength. After what Clint had been through, he’d expected him to be too weak to move.
“No! I have to—”
“It’s over, Clint.”
“It’s over—?” Clint finally looked up and saw that it was Doc Martin holding him down. Then the images of the burning house and the unceasing gunfire returned to torture him. “No!”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
What little strength he had failed him, and Clint collapsed back on the bed. He closed his eyes again and locked his jaw against the pain and weakness that overwhelmed him. “Where am I—?”
“You’re at the Circle A. Two of your men found you and brought you here,” Doc Martin explained.
“My family—where’s my family?” Clint looked up at the doctor, frowning as the horrifying memory of watching his father and mother being gunned down played in his mind.
“Clint, I . . .” Doc Martin heard the desperation in his patient’s agonized question and wished there were some way he could ease his pain, but he knew there wasn’t.
“Tell me!” Clint ground out, frantic to know what had happened to his family. He grasped the physician’s forearm with what strength he could muster and demanded, “Tell me now!”
Their gazes met, and before Doc Martin could respond, Clint knew the answer.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” he asked, remembering even more of what had happened that hellish night.
Doc Martin was filled with sorrow as he told him, “You were the only one who made it.”
“When did it happen? How long ago?”
“This is the third day.”
“Did Sheriff Nelson go after the killers? Did he catch them?” Clint struggled to sit up, wanting to take action, needing to take action.
“Sheriff Nelson got a posse together, and they started tracking them that same day. We sent word to the Texas Rangers, too. Captain Meyers showed up here late yesterday. After checking to see how you were, he headed out after the posse. We haven’t heard back from either of them yet.”
Clint collapsed back on the bed and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. His breathing was ragged as he struggled for control. He was glad Sheriff Nelson and Captain Meyers were tracking the killers, but he wished he were the one who was leading the hunt. Savage emotional pain stabbed at him, and he knew he needed to be left alone.
“Get out,” he told the doctor in a voice completely devoid of emotion.
Doc Martin knew those two words were more powerful than any rage Clint might have expressed. He got up and quietly left the bedroom, closing the door behind him to give his patient the privacy he needed. He made his way downstairs to let the Andersons know Clint had finally regained consciousness.
Mary Anderson heard the doctor coming down the steps and hurried over to the foot of the staircase. These last few days had been tense, and she feared the worst as she saw Doc Martin’s strange expression.
“How is he?” Mary asked cautiously, fearful of what he was about to tell her. “Is he—?”
For the first time since he’d come out to the ranch to take care of Clint, Doc Martin managed to smile at her. “Clint’s regained consciousness.”
“What?” She was shocked.
“He’s awake, and he’s even talking a little.”
“Oh, thank God.” Relief flooded through her. She and her husband, Joe, were longtime friends of the Williams family, and they’d been horrified by what had taken place. “Clint’s going to make it?”
“I don’t know yet. As weak as he is, it’s too soon to tell,” the doctor answered honestly. “He did have three bullets in him, so just keep praying no fever sets in.”
“We will,” Mary promised. “Is there anything I can do to help, now that he’s awake?”
“We can try to get some broth in him.”
“I’ll heat some up right away. You’re going to stay on for a while longer, aren’t you?”
“I’ll stay for at least another day,” he answered. As grievous as Clint’s wounds were, he knew it wasn’t safe to leave him just yet. If any kind of medical emergency came up in town, his wife knew where to find him.
“Good. I’m worried about him.”
“We all are. I just hope Sheriff Nelson and the posse can track down the killers who did this. These were all good people—the Williams family and their hired hands. They didn’t deserve to be slaughtered this way.”
“Do you think we did the right thing, telling everybody that Clint had been killed, too?” she asked, worried about the deception they’d created.
“Yes. Other than the two hands from the Lazy W and your people, only Sheriff Nelson and Captain Meyers know the truth about Clint. They both agreed that letting everybody else think he was dead was the best way to keep him safe for now.”
“And we’re going to make sure Clint stays safe while he recovers.”
“It’s not going to be easy for him.”
“No. It’s not. Things will never be the same again.”
They both looked up the staircase at the closed bedroom door and understood the torment Clint was facing.
Clint lay unmoving in the bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts dark and troubled.
Guilt filled him.
Why had his entire family been killed along with the ranch hands, yet he alone had survived?
Who had done this to them—and why?
Had his father had enemies who hated him so much that they would kill anyone and everyone at the Lazy W just to get even with him?
Clint remembered the conversation he’d had with his father about the outlaws he’d been tracking. His father had said Glen Tucker and Ax Hansen were involved, and possibly an unknown leader. He’d told him they were the most cold-blooded killers he’d ever seen, and Clint wondered if they were the ones who’d done this.
As he thought of the killers, he had a vague memory of hearing two men talking after he’d been shot. He’d been slipp
ing in and out of consciousness, so he couldn’t be sure if he’d dreamed it or not, but he thought he’d heard them use the names “Ax” and “Tuck.”
Bitterness and hatred grew within Clint.
Could it have been the Tucker Gang?
And then Clint recalled hearing one of them say, “The boss is gonna be real proud”—and he knew his memories were real.
The murderous Tucker Gang had been the ones who’d attacked the ranch.
Had they known his father was about to come after them, so they’d decided to strike first?
A fierce and undying determination grew within him. He didn’t have all the answers right then, but as soon as he was able, he was going to find out. If Captain Meyers and the posse from town didn’t find the killers, he would.
There would be no place for them to hide once he was on their trail.
Whoever had done this was going to pay.
A week passed. Clint slowly regained some strength. Being incapacitated frustrated him. He was used to being in control and active, and it was difficult for him to deal with his weakness. The wound in his right shoulder seemed to be healing, but he worried the injury might have affected his ability to use his gun. As soon as he was able, he was going to get outside and start practicing his draw. As a Ranger, he had to be accurate with his gun.
Late one afternoon, Clint finally managed to move from the bed to sit in a chair in the bedroom. The effort had been exhausting, but he’d been determined to prove to himself that he could do it. He was just settling in when he heard the sound of horses riding up to the house.
“Who is it?” he asked Mary.
She looked out the window and recognized Captain Meyers and Sheriff Nelson leading the group.
“It’s the posse,” she told him excitedly.
“Are they bringing anybody in?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, for she had no idea how many men had ridden out with the sheriff in the first place. “I’ll go down and get them, so you can find out.”
Clint waited tensely as she left the room. A few moments later he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He looked up as Captain Meyers walked in.
“Clint—” Captain Meyers was relieved to find him sitting up. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to learn about Clint’s condition when they returned from the futile search for the killers. “You’re better.”
“Yeah, if you can call it that,” Clint answered coldly. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He was interested in only one thing. “What happened? Did you get them?”
“No,” the captain answered in disgust. He’d badly wanted to find the outlaws. Frank had been his friend, and so was Clint. “They split up after they rode out. We went after both gangs, but they headed over rocky terrain, and we lost their trails.”
Clint was furious. “Where were they headed?”
“The three I tracked headed north. Sheriff Nelson and his men followed the other two toward Rim Rock.”
“As soon as I’m able, I’m going after them,” Clint told him angrily.
“I know.” The captain recognized the power of Clint’s resolve.
The two men shared a look of understanding.
“Do you have any idea how long you’ll be laid up here?” Captain Meyers could tell Clint was still weak despite his fierce determination.
“The doc said it was going to take weeks for me to recover fully,” he answered.
“Let me know when you’re up and about.”
“Don’t worry. I will.”
“What are you going to do about your ranch?”
“The Andersons are going to take care of things for me.”
“Good. If I learn anything about the killers, I’ll let you know. Do you have any idea who they were?”
“I’m pretty sure it was the Tucker Gang. The night of the attack, my father told me he was closing in on them. If he was that close, they would have wanted him out of the way.”
“Yes, they would have. The Tucker Gang is as deadly as they come.”
“That’s what my father said, and I do think I remember hearing the killers say the names Ax and Tuck.”
The captain’s expression grew even more grim. “It was them all right. I’ll stay on it, and I’ll send word to you here if I make any progress. Did your father have any other known enemies you can think of?”
“None that he’d mentioned lately.”
The captain was thoughtful, wanting to consider every possible angle. “What about you? Is there anyone in your past who might have wanted you dead?”
“A few, but I think they’re still locked up.” Clint told him the names of several gunmen who’d vowed revenge when he’d brought them in.
“I’ll check to make sure they’re still in prison. Do you remember anything else that happened that might give us a lead?”
“No. It was the middle of the night, and we were just running for our lives, trying to escape the fire. Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing. We didn’t have a chance. They wanted us all dead.”
“Yes, they did”—the captain paused as his gaze met Clint’s—“but you’re alive.”
Clint nodded. “Yes. I am.”
They understood each other.
“I’m sorry about your family, Clint.” His words were heartfelt. “Your father was a good man and a fine Ranger.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“I want to ride out with you,” Clint ground out in frustration.
“I wish you could, but right now the most important thing is for you to heal. I’ll keep you informed of what’s happening.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Six Weeks Later
Clint was tense as he stood ready to shoot. In an instant, he drew his gun and fired. He hit the target dead on. His long hours of practice these past two weeks had paid off.
Satisfied that he had his accuracy and fast draw back, Clint turned to face Captain Meyers. He’d arranged to meet with the Ranger captain at the ruins of the Lazy W so he could tell him what he planned to do.
“You were a fast draw before, but I think you may be even quicker now.”
“Good. I need to be.”
“What’s your plan?”
Clint was grim as he explained. “Except for a few people here in the area, everyone believes I was killed during the attack on the ranch. I want it to stay that way. Clint Williams is dead. From now on, I’m Kane McCullough.”
“You want to take on a new identity?” Meyers was surprised.
“Yes, and this is where I need your help—because Kane McCullough is a gunfighter, and he needs a reputation. I want you to get the word out.”
Captain Meyers realized Clint was right. Clint’s going undercover this way just might work. No one would suspect who he really was, since everyone believed he was dead. As a deadly gunman, he could move in the same circles as the killers, and either attempt to join up with them or just bring them down by some trick. One way or the other, the gang’s reign of terror was going to end.
“I can do that,” Meyers said.
“Thanks.”
Captain Meyers reached in his pocket and took out two sheets of folded paper. He handed them over to Clint. “Here are the wanted posters.”
Clint unfolded them and stared down at the rough sketches of Glen Tucker and Ax Hansen.
“Are there any new leads?”
“They’ve been laying low, but I just got word from one of my men that he caught up with one of the gang members in San Miguel, a fellow named Rick. He was ready to bring him in. He wanted to get information out of him, but Rick drew on him and was killed.”
“Did he find out anything about where Tuck or Ax were hiding out?”
“In his saddlebags he found a telegram from John Sanders, another member of the gang, telling him he was holing up in Black Canyon waiting to hear from Tuck.”
“I’m riding to Black Canyon.” Clint’s mood was grim.
“Go
od luck.” Captain Meyers knew if anyone could bring down this gang, it would be Clint. He was his father’s son.
The two men shook hands.
“Captain—” Clint paused. He’d thought long and hard about this, but he knew what he had to do. He took his Ranger badge out of his pocket and handed it to Meyers. “I’m on my own on this one.”
“There’s no need for you to—” Meyers protested.
“Yes.” Clint looked him straight in the eye. “There is.”
The captain saw the fierceness in his expression and realized there was no point in arguing. “Keep in touch.”
“I will.”
Captain Meyers mounted up. He started to ride away, then reined in and looked back. “Clint—”
Clint looked up at him.
“I’ll be keeping this for you,” Meyers told him as he put the badge in his saddlebag.
Clint only nodded.
The captain rode away, leaving him alone.
There was only one more thing Clint had to do before he headed out.
He made his way to the place where Tony had buried his family. He stood over their graves, staring down at the markers that bore their names.
And then his gaze fell on the marker over the grave that had been dug for him.
Clint Williams
Born February 16, 1852
Died March 23, 1877
Clint realized as he stared at his own marker that he really was dead.
He was dead inside. The man he had once been no longer existed.
Clint turned away and went back to mount up.
He was ready. It was time to start hunting for the killers.
Clint Williams was dead.
Kane McCullough was riding out.
Chapter Three
Black Canyon
“Missy—who’s that?” Clint heard a dance hall girl ask her friend as he strode into the saloon.
“I don’t know, Lily, but I intend to find out,” Missy said brazenly, giving him a sensuous smile. She started toward him.
“Oh, no. I saw him first. He’s mine.”
With that, the one named Lily pushed past her friend, her eyes never leaving him.