The Killing Blow

by J. R. Roberts

  “His nephew?”

  Nodding, Aldo said, “That’s right. The boy ain’t much of a hunter just yet, but he’s eager to learn. He’ll be real sore when he hears his uncle got to that bear before he did.”

  Thinking back to Joseph’s eager face, Clint asked, “How old’s the boy?”

  “Eh . . . I’d say he’s damn near twenty. Maybe a little more’n that. I guess that means he ain’t exactly a boy no more.”

  “Twenty, huh? What’s he look like?”

  Aldo stopped what he was doing to give Clint a puzzled look. “What’s he look like? I dunno. Tall kid, dark hair. Clean face.”

  “Did he have a harelip?”

  “Yeah. He did. You know him?”

  Clint now thought back to the rider who’d come up to stare down Ordell while demanding rights to that bear skin. “I think I just might.”

  TWELVE

  When Clint walked down the street from the blacksmith’s, Ordell was walking along the opposite side and headed straight toward him. Ordell saw Clint almost immediately and put on a wide grin as he approached.

  Holding out both hands to pat Clint on the shoulders, Ordell said, “Getting that money was even easier than I thought. Seems the locals that put up that reward were more worried about getting rid of that bear than keeping hold of their cash. How about you buy some whiskey and we can split up the haul?”

  Clint kept quiet, since the street was fairly crowded. He bit his tongue all the way to a small shack that was one step away from being out of town. Half of the shack was facing Westerlake, while the other half stretched out into the surrounding woods.

  As soon as they got close to the shack’s front door, Clint stopped and fixed his eyes on Ordell. The only set of eyes and ears in the vicinity that didn’t belong to either man were carried around on four legs. “Who was that kid you shot?”

  “You mean the one who jumped us along with those other two? Is that the kid you mean?”

  “You know damn well who I mean,” Clint said.

  Ordell looked around as if he was being ambushed. When he looked at Clint once more, there was a mix of disbelief and humor in his eyes. “I told you before, Clint. That was just a bunch of kids out to get that reward money without having to work for it.”

  “You sure that wasn’t your nephew?” When he asked that question, Clint stared at Ordell the way he would stare at a man from the other side of a poker table. It was a way for him to get a grip on whether someone was lying and it rarely let him down.

  This was no exception.

  In fact, it worked so well that Ordell knew he wouldn’t be able to lie even before he tried to get the words out.

  Slowly, the humor on Ordell’s face melted away. He nodded slowly and said, “All right. That was my nephew. How’d you know?”

  “Your own flesh and blood? Why would you kill—”

  “You were there, Clint,” Ordell snapped. “I didn’t go after that boy. He came after us. With his gun drawn!”

  “That’s true. And it’s a downright shame to be forced to kill someone from your own family under those circumstances. What I don’t understand is how you could do that so lightly. You didn’t even flinch.”

  “That kid’s always been trouble. You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Then tell me. I’ve got time to listen.”

  Clint picked up an unmistakable shiftiness in Ordell’s posture and expression as he led the way into the small shack where they’d originally been headed. The older man walked with his shoulders hunched forward and his eyes cast toward the floor. The longer Clint followed him, the more he found himself instinctively allowing his hand to drift toward his holstered pistol.

  Inside, the shack was filled with a little bit of everything someone might need if they were on their way to or from the surrounding woods. There were supplies for sale in one corner, food being served in another and a small bar serving liquor in dirty glasses.

  Ordell went straight for the bar and ordered two drinks. Apparently, the barkeep knew Ordell well enough that he didn’t have to ask what the man wanted when he made his order. With his drinks in hand, Ordell led the way to a small table close to the small stove where food was prepared.

  Taking a glass from Ordell, Clint took a cautious sniff of the liquor before drinking it. The stuff was probably some sort of whiskey, but there was some sort of foam around the edges that didn’t seem to belong there. Despite his own misgivings about the drink, Clint saw Ordell swig it down without hesitation.

  “Don’t ask what’s in it,” Ordell said after wheezing and setting his glass down. “The owner makes it himself and it’s damn good.”

  Clint took a gamble along with a sip from the glass. Despite the fact that he couldn’t quite pin down what he was tasting, he had to admit it tasted pretty good. Even so, he set the glass down before diving in again.

  “Here’s your money,” Ordell said as he slapped a stack of bills onto the table.

  Thumbing through the stack, Clint took a quick count and looked back up to Ordell. “That’s about half the reward.”

  “You wore that bear down pretty good and had him on his last legs. I figure we should split the money.”

  Clint shook his head and took his hand off the cash. “I’m fixing up your rifle. That makes us even.”

  “For God’s sake, just take the damn money before someone in here gets it in their head to take it fer themselves.”

  Clint reached out and took half the stack, leaving the rest as if it no longer existed. Sighing loudly, Ordell snatched up the rest of the money and shoved it under the top few layers of skins he wore.

  “I’m a peaceful man, Clint. I may be a hunter, but I ain’t no killer. Surely someone like you knows the difference.”

  “Yeah. I know the difference very well.”

  “I just bet you do. You took out them other two gun hands without much trouble. That, put together with the fancy gun you carry, tells me what sort of things you must do fer a living. And don’t tell me you smith guns to put food in yer belly. I know better’n that.”

  “I’ve done plenty that I regret,” Clint said. “And I’m not here to pass judgment on anyone else. I just didn’t have you figured for someone who would do something like that.”

  “Things happen and most the time we don’t have much of a say about it. You want to know what makes them pass a lot easier?”

  “Sure.”

  Ordell held up his glass, smiled and took a sip. “That boy threatened to kill me more’n once over the years. He decided to try and get rich with this hunt no matter what. I told him before I set out on that bear’s trail that if he faced me down one more time, I wouldn’t think about the blood flowing through our veins before I spilled his. He pushed it. I did what I had to do. Story’s over.”

  Perhaps it was the convincing way that Ordell spoke, or perhaps it was the strange concoction he was drinking, but Clint felt his blood cool and his anger dwindle. Just thinking about a few of the corners he’d been forced into made Clint much more sympathetic to Ordell’s situation. Even so, there was plenty more that even the liquor couldn’t wash away.

  “All right, then,” Clint said. “I wanted an explanation and I got it. Why’d you start off trying to lie? We may not be old friends, but we’ve saved each other’s lives twice in one trip. That usually carries a bit more weight.”

  “I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Ordell declared. “Yer a good man and one hell of a fine shooter. Just riding with you and them other two for that short amount of time was enough to give me a notion of how you’d react if you knew that boy was my own kin.”

  Clint couldn’t help but wince at that one. “I can’t really fault you for that.”

  “At least you had the decency to accuse me over a drink.”

  Raising his glass, Clint said, “Here’s to not making the same mistake twice.”

  “Too late for me on that account,” Ordell grumbled. “Way too damn late.”

  THIRTE
EN

  Clint was still feeling some of the bite from the drink he’d had when he was walking farther into town a half hour later. Westerlake was filled with as many folks in suits as it was with those who followed Mark Ordell’s train of thought where clothing was concerned. The streets were crowded with gamblers, ranchers, mountain men and trappers.

  It didn’t take much to see why so many would be drawn to the place. As he toured the streets, Clint found traders of all kinds and more than enough shops to tickle anyone’s fancy. Even though he felt his own spirits rise due to the crisp breeze coming in from the river, Clint caught more than a few locals turning the other way when he tipped his hat to them.

  At first, he figured it was because he was a new face in town. After seeing how many others there were that couldn’t be locals, Clint guessed it was something else. Before he could get too suspicious, Clint felt the wind change directions and push a pungent smell right into his face.

  Unfortunately, that smell was his own.

  Clint walked into the first barbershop he could find and tossed his hat onto one of the hooks on the wall. “I need a shave and a bath,” he said.

  The barber was a tall man with dark skin and angular features. His clothes appeared to be fresh from the laundry and he spoke with a friendly tone in his voice. “If you get a trim to go with it, you can have the whole thing for two dollars.” Looking up from the broom he was pushing, he added, “I’d recommend you take the bath first.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Clint said. “Point me in the right direction.”

  The barber pointed him out the back door and to an area behind the building that was sectioned off by a series of walls. There were three stalls sectioned off, each of which had its own metal tub, stool and clothes rack. While Clint hung his clothes on the rack, a few pitchers of hot water were brought out to him to take the edge off the buckets of cold water that were already there.

  The cold water felt good enough as Clint eased himself into it. As the hot water was poured in, however, Clint found himself sinking in the tub as deep as he could go. As he washed up, the stench that had caught his attention earlier disappeared amid the fragrance of lavender the barber tossed in for free.

  “There now,” the barber said as Clint walked into the shop while drying behind his ears. “That’s a whole lot better.”

  “It sure is.”

  “Now, are you ready for that shave and trim I offered?”

  “Why not?” Considering how good it felt to get out from under all that dirt, Clint was in anything but a disagreeable mood.

  The barber smiled and showed the way to one of two large chairs facing the front door. After Clint eased himself into that chair, he was covered by a starched white sheet and then cranked back into a reclining position.

  “Looks like you’ve been out hunting,” the barber said.

  Clint chuckled as his hair was snipped by the barber’s scissors. “That’s a polite way of saying I smelled like a wild animal.”

  “I always try to be polite.”

  “Well, you’re right. Although I didn’t intend on doing much of any hunting.”

  “Really?” the barber asked. “How’s that happen?”

  “I saw pieces of freshly busted wood on the trail I was riding and then saw a spot where something big had crashed through the bushes. There was a busted wagon not far off the trail, which also caught the eye of a black bear.”

  The barber now had a comb in one hand and scissors in the other as he tended to the part on top of Clint’s head. “Oh, we’ve had some troubles with a bear around here recently. There’s a reward posted for it.”

  “I know. Another trapper was closing in on it when the bear came at us. Between the two of us, we managed to take it down.”

  “Is that so? That’s a fine bit of hunting. Who was the other man?”

  “Mark Ordell. You know him?”

  After a few moments, the barber muttered, “Can’t say as I do. I know a Lisa Ordell, though. She’s lived here in town for a good while.”

  “Does she have any children?”

  “Actually, yes. Two boys and a daughter.”

  “Do you know her very well?” Clint asked.

  “Oh, just a little. She comes in here for bath salts and such. I am the finest barber in Westerlake.”

  “I can tell.”

  “She was awfully worried about her boy, Josh, the last time we talked, though. She was so upset the last time she was in that I meant to check up on her to see how things turned out. I try to keep up on things like that with my customers.”

  Clint had no doubt about that, since almost as much gossip was tossed around barbershops as it was around saloons. Rather than point out that fact, however, he kept his eyes closed, his hands folded across his belly and his voice casual. “What was she so upset about?” he asked.

  “Seems her boy fancies himself as a hunter, much like plenty other young men around here. You ask me, I’d tell you that hunting is a whole lot better than the other sorts of trouble a man can get himself into with a gun. Actually, I believe I did tell her that much.”

  “Makes sense.”

  The more the barber talked, the more he seemed to fall into a flow where his hands and mouth worked at an equal pace. All Clint had to do from there was sit back, give the occasional push in the right direction and listen to everything the other man had to say.

  “That boy was always into something or other,” the barber said. “It wasn’t until lately that I heard he’d started running with another couple of boys that were never up to anything good. I think that’s when Miss Ordell started worrying he might get himself killed.”

  “Killed?”

  “Oh, yes. The way she talked, she felt like she had something to do with the boy’s troubles.”

  “Mothers are like that.”

  “Yes, but she mentioned someone else came along that made things awfully hard. Not long after that, I heard Josh put his nose where it wasn’t wanted and that he was practically out running for his life.”

  “Was it trouble with the law?” Clint asked.

  Grumbling a bit, the barber brushed some stray pieces of clipped hair from Clint’s sheet and shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said while stirring up some lather from a mug and then brushing it onto Clint’s face. “The sheriff comes here to get his hair cut every other week and he didn’t mention it.”

  “Maybe he just didn’t feel like mentioning it.”

  “No, I asked. He didn’t know. Miss Ordell looked awfully troubled and I had to know for sure. Whatever trouble that boy was in, it wasn’t with the law. Besides, Miss Ordell was usually so friendly when she came in here. Once Josh got into trouble, she walked under a dark cloud that seemed like more trouble than her boy spending a night or two in jail.”

  “I’ll bet you’d know if he did.”

  “I probably would,” the barber admitted. After putting his mug down and picking up his razor, he added, “And he didn’t. Near as I can figure, Josh got caught up in something that was more than he could handle. Lord knows that happens to plenty of young men his age.”

  Clint had to keep from chuckling as the barber shaved him. “You ever think about becoming a detective?”

  “No, sir,” the barber replied. “I do just fine with my shop.”

  “The best in town.”

  FOURTEEN

  After cleaning up, Clint found a place where Eclipse could get brushed and fed before scouting out a good hotel for himself. Clint settled on a place that was closer to the river end of town and was lucky enough to rent the last room overlooking the water. He also got a real good view of the docks used for traders, but wasn’t about to complain.

  After all that walking around, Clint felt a hunger in his belly that quickly became a rumble in his ears. He changed into some clothes that better suited his freshly cleaned face and then walked down to the little stretch of houses where Allison had told him to be for supper.

  As he approached the sec
ond house in the row, Clint could smell everything from pies baking to biscuits burning and every last bit of it only made him hungrier. By the time he knocked on the door, he considered begging for scraps in the event he’d gone to the wrong house.

  Fortunately, Joseph was the one who pulled open the door.

  “Mr. Adams! You came!”

  “Of course I came,” Clint said. “I’m hungry.”

  Without missing a beat, the boy turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Momma, Clint’s hungry!”

  Wincing at how bad that sounded, Clint started explaining himself the moment someone else came to the door. “I was just kidding around with Joseph,” he said to a stern-looking old woman with her hair tied up in a bun. “I came to visit, not just eat.”

  “You don’t want any of our food?” the old lady asked.

  “No. I meant . . .”

  She broke into a smile that was warmer than the heat coming from her own kitchen. “Come on in, Mr. Adams. We were expecting you.”

  Clint took off his hat and walked into the house. It was fairly small and full of chairs, cases and several bookshelves, but had the comforting feel that only organized clutter could bring. His eyes were immediately drawn to the kitchen, which was actually just the rear section of the three-room home. Allison was there, busily tending to several bubbling pots.

  “There you are, Clint! I was wondering if you were ever going to show.”

  “I didn’t want to get here too early,” he said.

  “That’s partially my fault. I was so anxious after all that happened, I had to keep my hands busy. I’ve been cooking all day.”

  The old woman made her way to where Joseph was tearing a hunk from a loaf of bread and swatted the boy’s hand. “And Joey’s been eating all day.”

  “Have not,” the boy grumbled as he tore off his bread and skulked away.

  The old woman smiled even wider as she watched the boy leave. Turning to Clint, she said, “My name is Sophia, by the way. I’ve heard a lot about you.”