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
Teaser chapter
Seeing Red
“And tell me again why you seem to be on their side after they tried to steal your horse?” asked the redhead.
“I’m not,” Clint said. “Now why don’t you tell me why you and your men decided to drag me off the street when I signed on to help you.”
The redhead leaned in close. “We don’t want the help of some chickenshit tenderfoot with a loud mouth.”
“You’ve got one second to take that back,” Clint warned.
“Or what?” the redhead scoffed. “You’ll—”
Clint drove his knee into the redhead’s stomach with enough force to double him over. But the redhead was a tough fellow and straightened up. However, he was knocked aside by the second deputy. Then Clint twisted his entire body around so his hip was against Frank’s midsection. Once he had a good pivot point, Clint swung Frank into the redhead.
Allowing the men to catch their breath, Clint told them, “You had that coming for flapping your gums. Since we’re working together, we can call it even.”
Upon a quick nod from the redhead, Frank snapped a fist at Clint. Clint sent a jab, hitting Frank in the mouth.
When Clint faced the redhead again, he saw the deputy reach for the gun holstered at his side. In a flicker of motion, Clint drew his modified Colt and aimed it at the deputy.
“Last chance to call it even,” Clint said. “What do you say?”
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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.
RED WATER
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / January 2009
Copyright © 2009 by Robert J. Randisi.
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eISBN : 978-1-440-65977-5
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ONE
Clint Adams was never the sort of man who took life easily. Some fellows were perfectly content to lie back and let themselves be carried along by whatever current was strong enough to move them. Some men didn’t care if they ever moved at all. Others didn’t have enough gumption to do anything about it if they weren’t pleased with the way things were going.
Although Clint rarely got a chance to kick his feet up and let out a few relaxed breaths, the truth was he simply couldn’t sit still for very long. Most times, he felt an itch that carried him from one spot to another, poking his nose in where it didn’t belong and seeing things through when most men would have gladly turned their back on them.
There were always deeds to be done, but not when a man was too content to sit on his backside. Every so often, however, Clint was more than happy to indulge.
Plenty of deeds came to mind when Clint thought of indulgence. Most such things could be thought of as wreaking havoc on a man’s body or even smudging his soul. For a man like Clint Adams, indulgences were a little simpler.
Clint was savoring one such indulgence as he sat with his back against a perfectly sloped rock. His legs were stretched out in front of him and his hat was situated so it covered the upper portion of his face. One arm rested across his belly and he lifted the other to place a cigar between his lips.
The tobacco was fresh and expensive. What made
the cigar even sweeter was the fact that it had been free. Clint had had a fairly good stretch at the card tables in Wichita, and his winnings had nearly doubled thanks to a drunken knife-throwing contest. Having been the only man to stick his blade anywhere close to the mark on the saloon’s wall was enough to win him several dollars, plenty of drinks, and a few very expensive cigars. Actually, considering the state of the other men tossing those knives, Clint could have won the contest by being the only man to keep from drawing anyone’s blood on a bad throw.
He left Wichita with a smile on his face and hadn’t had a need to draw his pistol once. For a man widely known as the Gunsmith, that was no easy feat.
Clint had ridden northwest with his sights set on Wyoming for no other reason than a whim to get a look at some mountains. There was enough money in his pockets to keep him going for a while and there was no reason for him to be anywhere else. All in all, it wasn’t a bad spot to be. While Clint normally wasn’t much of a vagrant, drifting had its charms. As he drew in a puff of his cigar, he smiled and stretched out a bit more.
Closing his eyes, Clint could hear Eclipse’s hooves scraping against the ground. The Darley Arabian stallion grazed in a patch of grass a few yards away. Much like his owner, Eclipse had been restless at first but quickly adjusted to the slower pace of the last few days. The black horse didn’t even need to wear his saddle or bridle. He moseyed from one spot to another and wasn’t in much of a hurry to do anything else.
Clint lifted his chin and expelled a smoky breath. The fragrant smoke curled through the air and was carried away by a slow breeze that was cool enough to announce the approaching dusk. Even after the smoke was out of him, Clint pushed the rest of the air from his lungs just because it felt good to do so.
Sometimes, a man just needed to enjoy the simple things.
As Clint’s breath faded away, his ears caught nothing but the sound of rustling grass and Eclipse’s contented sniffing. Savoring the moment, Clint relished the absolute silence that followed.
The silence lasted for all of three seconds.
If Clint hadn’t been so relaxed, he could have very easily overlooked the sound completely. Voices were drifting through the air. Clint pulled his hat down a bit lower and tried to ignore them. When Clint heard the voices struggle to hush each other as they drew closer, he knew someone was trying to creep up on him.
Clint batted around the idea of pretending to be asleep, but that could prove to be especially dangerous if the men sneaking up on him meant to do any harm. He also considered silencing the approaching men with a few well-placed shots from his Colt, but that would only have created more noise.
Reluctantly, Clint pulled himself to his feet so he could circle around to get the drop on whoever had ruined such a peaceful day.
TWO
Three men led their horses to the spot where Clint had set up his camp. All they found when they got there was an empty patch of grass, a few trees, and a short pile of burnt wood.
The man at the front of the trio had a round face covered in rough stubble. Although he appeared to be somewhere in his early twenties, his squinty eyes looked to have seen more than his share of trouble in that time. The more the man’s eyes darted back and forth, the narrower and more suspicious they became. “Where the hell is he?”
“How should I know?” asked the man at the back of the trio. He was the first man’s senior by at least ten years, but wore his age well. Short, dark hair and a thin beard framed a narrow face. He walked with a swagger even though the only one watching him was his horse. “You were the one who spotted him.”
“I did spot him, Chris,” the younger man replied.
Mimicking the tone of that response, Chris said, “I know you did, Harvey. Now it would be useful if you could spot him again.”
The man in between the other two was only slightly taller than his companions, but carried himself as if he could tower over both of them even if they were in their saddles. A muscular black man somewhere in his early thirties, he dressed in simple buckskins beneath a tattered formal coat. He smiled, but didn’t make a sound.
Twisting around as if he could hear the black man’s expression change, Harvey snapped, “What’s so goddamn funny?”
Although his smile dimmed somewhat, the black man did not avert his eyes. In fact, he focused them on the younger man intensely enough to cause Harvey to look away first.
“Go on and push Samuel some more, Harvey,” Chris chided. “I always like to see a good fight, though I don’t know how good it would be.”
Since Samuel wasn’t adding any fuel to the younger man’s fire, Harvey shifted his gaze toward Chris. “I don’t like it when you call me that. Jus’ call me what everyone else does.”
Chris glared at the younger man as if he were struggling to keep himself from taking a swing at him. After gnawing on the inside of his cheek for a moment, he grunted. “Fine. Now can you spot this asshole again or not?”
“If I could, don’t you think I would have?”
“You sure you even saw anyone or did you just see smoke from that cooking fire?”
“There was someone here!” Whipping his head back around so he was once again facing forward, the younger man furrowed his brow and muttered, “Least I thought there was.”
Before Chris could get out the insult he’d prepared, something heavy thumped against the ground no more than five yards to the men’s left. All three of them turned toward the sound as their hands went for the guns at their hips. Only the youngest of them cleared leather.
“You hear that?” Harvey snapped. “I told you I—”
“Shut up,” Chris snarled. He glanced over at Samuel and pointed away from the sound before moving his finger in a quick half-circle. Nodding, the black man moved away from the group to get behind whatever had made that sound.
“He’s got it covered,” Chris said. “I’ll swing around the other way.”
“What do you want me to do?” Harvey asked.
“Keep walking straight. If that fella you spotted is around here, we’ll flush him out. When we do . . .”
“I know what to do,” the younger man groused.
Chris nodded the way he might show his approval to a bright-eyed puppy. “Just don’t shoot too soon and try not to hit any one of us.”
Harvey’s lips moved without letting any sound escape them. Judging by the look on his face, the words he’d choked back were anything but friendly.
As Harvey inched his way forward, Chris drew his .45 and held it at hip level. Every step Chris took, he picked up some speed and hunkered down a little more until he was practically scurrying through the weeds on all fours. Harvey took a quick look in the other direction and was barely able to catch sight of Samuel. For a man his size, Samuel never had any trouble turning into a ghost when he needed to.
After taking a few more steps, Harvey’s ears pricked up at the sound of more movement in front of him. He bent at the knees, but knew it was useless to try to hide since he couldn’t move the way Samuel could. Plastering a defiant snarl on his face, he tightened his grip upon the weathered Cavalry-model pistol that had been glued to his side since he’d left home. There were better models out there, but the young man had learned to make this one sing. Just feeling it in his grasp was enough to put some more steam into his stride.
The small clearing was only a few paces away, so Harvey covered the distance quickly. When he got to the smoldering pile of firewood, he kicked it over as if the charred sticks had done him wrong. Lifting his chin a bit, he pulled in a breath that was still flavored by the scent of expensive tobacco. Just as he was feeling confident in his tracking abilities, Harvey jumped at a voice that cracked through the air like a gunshot.
“State your business!” Clint’s voice came from a direction that none of the three other men had anticipated.
Harvey spun around quick enough to feel a little dizzy when he came to a stop. His two partners weren’t so fast to turn, but they did stop in their tracks
to find who’d just spoken.
“Who’s there?” Harvey asked. “Show yerself!”
After a few seconds, Chris circled around the camp. When Harvey looked over at him, the older man pointed in the direction of Clint’s voice and then started moving that way. Samuel wasn’t in sight, but Harvey knew he had to be close by.
“What’s the matter?” Harvey challenged. “You scared to stand up so we can see ya? All we want is to say howdy.”
Just when it seemed that there was no reply forthcoming, Clint answered, “Men don’t say howdy with their guns drawn.”
Hearing Clint’s voice come from a new direction entirely caused all three of the other men to stop and look about as though they were being pestered by a swarm of invisible moths. When Harvey finally did allow his eyes to settle on one spot, it seemed more because he was tired than because he’d actually found what he’d been searching for.
The longer he waited, the more aggravated Chris became. The sour expression on his face only turned uglier when he heard Clint’s voice again.
“You men here to rob me?” Clint asked.
Snapping his head toward a new direction altogether, Chris hollered, “You’re the one sneaking around, damn it! Stand up so’s we can see you!”
“You are here to rob me.”
Behind Chris and to his left, Samuel let out a short whistle. Chris turned to find the dark-skinned man crouching in the grass and pointing toward something that brought a smirk to Chris’s face.
“I see your horse, mister,” Chris announced. “We’ll just help ourselves to the animal since you’re of a mind to run and hide instead of share some coffee with a few thirsty cowboys.” When he didn’t get a response, Chris turned to Harvey and said, “Go fetch that horse.”
Red Water Page 1