She turned around, spotted the lawmen, and nodded. “Of course. You’ve got some spying to do.”
TWELVE
Marshal Flynt must have been a generous spender at Dale’s. Clint gathered as much by watching how the working girls swarmed around him and his men like flies around a wet pile of sugar. They cooed and rubbed against him so much that Clint barely had to do anything to go unnoticed. It was all Flynt could do to pay attention to the men who wanted to see him.
“Any of you men that want to sign on for the posse,” Flynt announced, “just write your name down here.”
To the marshal’s left was a deputy sitting at a table where an open book was displayed like a hotel’s register.
Dale’s had filled up a bit since the lawmen’s arrival, and one of the men clustered around Flynt asked, “What’s the pay?”
Flynt smirked like a snake-oil salesman. “So glad you asked. There’s a reward posted for Laramie and his men of three hundred dollars a head. I am personally adding another three hundred on top of that if the job gets done sooner rather than later.”
“How much sooner?”
“No more than a week. After that, these outlaws will catch wind that we’re after them and go hide in a hole somewhere while we chase our tails. If that happens, I call the search off, find some more capable men, and start again when I figure out where they went.”
“Won’t they know we’re after them the moment we start chasing them down?” the same man asked.
Clint had to smile a bit, since this one fellow in the crowd was asking most of the questions that were coming to his own mind. The marshal, on the other hand, wasn’t so delighted.
“You don’t want to come, then don’t sign.” Flynt sneered.
The man who’d been asking the questions was a fellow in his early forties with a bit more meat on his bones than the rest. He shifted in his seat and looked around to the other locals around him. There were enough friendly faces in Dale’s to give him the confidence to say, “We didn’t just come here to sign. We were told you’d tell us why risking our necks on this posse would be such a good idea.”
“Aren’t you men willing to do your civic duty and lend a hand to the law when it’s needed?” Flynt asked.
There was a span of silence that even weighed heavy on Clint’s shoulders. Finally, the man with the questions replied, “Ain’t none of us been robbed by these outlaws. Fact is, I don’t know anyone that’s even seen ’em.”
“All right then,” Flynt snapped as he slapped his hand flat against the table hard enough to make the book jump. “We’ll just wait for these murderers to ride through town, rape a few of our women, kill a couple of you, and set a few fires! How’d you like that?”
Those words were like a cold slap across the face of every man in Dale’s. There was, however, one exception.
“Let’s not get carried away, here, Marshal,” Clint said from his seat.
Flynt squinted at the far side of the room and quickly picked Clint out. “So you decided to show up after all, huh, Adams?”
“That’s right, and I—”
Jabbing a finger toward Clint, the marshal bellowed, “This here is Clint Adams. The Gunsmith! Maybe some of you have heard of him.”
Judging by the mixed reaction among the men, a scant few of them had.
Completely unaffected by the majority of men who didn’t seem to know Clint from Abraham Lincoln, Marshal Flynt said, “He’s seen Laramie and his boys no more than a day’s ride from town! And that was yesterday, so they’re probably even closer by now!”
The man who’d been grilling the marshal with his earlier questions shifted in his chair until he could get a better look at Clint. “That true?” he asked.
“I don’t really know where they were headed,” Clint replied. “All I know is that they were after my horse.”
“You see?” Flynt cut in. “They’re horse thieves! That’s a hanging offense!”
“But,” Clint added, “they didn’t get my horse. They couldn’t even get the drop on me at all and I bet they’d have trouble getting the drop on anyone in this room. The men I saw match your description, Marshal. The one who you said leads them, Laramie I think you called him . . .”
“That’s right.”
“He’s a kid. Still wet behind the ears and shooting his mouth off more than his gun. The other men weren’t a whole lot worse.”
“You know that for a fact?” Marshal Flynt asked.
“From what I saw . . . yeah. I crawled circles around them for a lark and then left them in the dust once I got to my horse.” Clint looked around at the other men and told them, “There’s got to be more dangerous men in this room.”
“You’re damn right there are,” the marshal said proudly. “That’s why we’re the men to bring them in.”
“You’re forming a lynch mob,” Clint said once he was looking straight into the marshal’s eyes. “Your own deputies are already planning a funeral for a bunch of troublemaking owlhoots. What’s your hurry to kill them?”
Marshal Flynt didn’t avert his eyes in the slightest as he reached under his coat and drew something that had been hidden until that moment. Although all the men gathered in front of him were anxious to see what the marshal had, Clint couldn’t help but inch his hand a little closer to his holster.
Extending his arm to reveal a piece of folded paper the way a magician might reveal a card plucked from a stacked deck, Flynt opened up a freshly printed reward notice. “There!” he proclaimed as he showed the wanted poster for all to see. “‘Laramie’ Harvey Layton, Chris Jerrison, and that black fella are all wanted men. Dead or alive!”
Clint leaned a bit closer to get a look at the hand-drawn likenesses of the outlaws. Sure enough, there was no name under the black man’s picture.
“It says right there, these men are wanted criminals with a death sentence hanging over their heads,” Flynt bellowed. “I need a group of men to go after them before they get close enough to do any damage to this good town or any others nearby. The reward will be paid to anyone that nabs these desperadoes and I’ll pay the bonus upon completion of the task.”
“Where’s the bonus coming from?”
Even Clint was surprised to hear the question spoken by the woman directly beside him. When he looked at Allie, he saw her raise her eyebrows and wait patiently for a reply.
“Well, miss,” Flynt told her. “The money comes from a pool of concerned business owners.”
“I’m a business owner,” she said. “I never heard a thing about it.”
“Well, it’s genuine.” With that, Flynt reached into his pocket again to remove a bundle of money. Slamming the stack of bills onto the table, Flynt declared, “And there it is! Any man wants to do his duty as well as claim some of the reward for their own, just sign up.”
No more announcements were needed. More than half the men in front of Flynt stood and walked over to sign the book. The other half seemed to be pondering that very same thing.
When Clint took a step forward, he felt Allie touch his arm. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“Where else?” Clint told her. “I’m going to sign that book.”
THIRTEEN
After Clint had written his name in Flynt’s book, he walked back to find Allie standing in her spot with a puzzled look on her face. He took her arm and escorted her out of Dale’s without a word passing between them. By the time they reached the street, however, Allie found plenty of words to throw at him.
“What was that about?” she asked.
Clint blinked with exaggerated confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You sounded like you were dragging the marshal over the coals. Before long, I was starting to wonder if Flynt had a grudge against those outlaws. From what you said, you didn’t think there was any need for a posse.” The more she said, the more trouble Allie had keeping her focus. “You even told everyone that—”
“I know what I said,” Clint interrupted before she cou
ld whip herself into even more of a tizzy. “Everything about those horse thieves was true. Laramie is just some kid who barely knows his way around a pistol and I have a real difficult time believing his gang was any sort of terror that needs a bloodthirsty posse set on their tails.”
Allie blinked and waited for a few seconds. Before too long, all she could do was blink again. “That really didn’t straighten anything out for me. Was this another one of your quick, peculiar decisions?”
More men were streaming out of Dale’s. For the most part, they looked like the men who had been there to listen to Flynt’s proposal. Upon spotting one of Flynt’s deputies, Clint tightened his arm around Allie’s and led her down the street as if he were accompanying her to that night’s Founder’s Day celebration.
“I’ve never been good at sitting back and letting lynch mobs tear a man down,” he explained. “No matter how much some men deserve it, the law has plenty of ways to make a man pay for what he’s done. If a group of armed men allow themselves to be led by the likes of that marshal back there, they’ll be a hell of a lot more dangerous than most outlaw gangs.”
“You sound like you know something on the subject,” Allie said warily.
“I’ve seen more than my share of blood and I won’t stand aside so more can be spilled on the word of a liar like Flynt.”
“You think Flynt is a liar?”
Once Clint said those words, he instantly regretted it—not because his words were out of line, but because he knew that some folks tended to defend their lawmen before they would side with a stranger. Since Allie seemed more concerned than offended, he guessed that Flynt’s reputation wasn’t exactly sterling to begin with.
“I can’t say for certain he’s lying,” Clint explained, “but I know he’s hiding something. I’d stake my life on that much.”
Allie nodded and fell into step with Clint. Already, there was less tension in her shoulders than there had been a few minutes ago. “Nobody around here thinks too much about Flynt, but he usually doesn’t spend a lot of time in Red Water to make it worth the trouble of raising a fuss.”
“Was he duly appointed to his office?”
“More or less,” she said with a shrug. “The marshal before him used to make the rounds between here and other towns pretty regularly. When he stepped down, Flynt took his place. Things have never been too wild around here, so all he’s ever needed to do is settle some disputes or chase away some rowdy cowboys every so often. What do you think he’s doing with this posse of his?”
“To be honest, I think he’s putting together enough gun-hands to kill these three men and cut off more than his share of the reward,” Clint told her. “Those notices looked fresh, so they could have been printed up by him any way he pleased.”
“Why would he do that?”
“The reward could be larger, so he could pay off a smaller amount and keep some for himself. There could be money on those men’s heads offered by any number of unsavory sources and Flynt might get an edge on any bounty hunter by forming a legal posse. Having the law on your side makes it a whole lot easier to fire a gun without a proper explanation.”
Chuckling uncomfortably, Allie said, “I never thought of anything like that.”
“Because you’re not a swindler or a killer. Do me a favor, though.”
“Depends on what it is,” she replied with a crooked grin.
“Turn down this street and walk away from me. If you hear any shooting, just get away and don’t come back.”
That got rid of Allie’s smile real quickly.
FOURTEEN
Clint had glanced back at Dale’s every so often as soon as he’d noticed that a few men were following him. There was a certain way armed men walked when they intended on putting their guns to use. There was a look in their eyes that could be seen just as well with a quick glance as it could when there was time to study.
Clint picked up on these things easily, and he knew his suspicions were confirmed when the men increased their speed to catch up to him and Allie. That’s when he’d told her to part ways and not look back.
To her credit, Allie seemed confused but still followed Clint’s request. At first, she’d actually seemed grateful for a quick excuse to leave him and get back to her normal life. After taking a few steps, she’d decided to stop and turn around anyway. She was just in time to watch Clint turn around to face the three men who’d been chasing after him.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” Clint asked as he planted his feet and let his arms hang down loosely at his sides.
Two of the men wore deputy badges pinned to their shirts. One of the deputies was the same man Clint had spoken to before meeting Allie for lunch. The deputy was still armed, but looked more perturbed than when he’d been guarding the end of Sales Street.
The second deputy was a little taller than Clint and had a head full of bright red hair that was parted neatly down the middle. His eyes were narrowed into slits and his hand hung within easy reach of a .44 at his hip. Judging by the bulge under his jacket, the deputy was carrying some iron under there as well.
The third man wasn’t wearing a badge, but he’d been one of the more enthusiastic members of the group listening to Flynt’s speech back at Dale’s. His right fist was wrapped around a thick piece of lumber that was roughly the length of an ax handle, which he slapped menacingly against his other palm.
“Yeah,” the tall redheaded deputy replied. “You can tell us what you mean by signing on for the posse when you had nothing but bullshit to say to the marshal’s face.”
“Wasn’t the purpose of that meeting to ask questions?” Clint said. “Isn’t that all I did?”
Coming to a stop less than a foot or two in front of Clint, the redhead stared down at him to make sure everyone knew who was bigger than whom. “Now we got some questions for you. Think you’ll be willing to answer them, or should we just cross your name off the list?”
“I don’t mind answering—”
“Good,” the redhead cut in. “Why don’t you let Frank and Arvin here show you to a spot where we can talk?”
Clint could feel the other two men closing in on him like a vise. Keeping his eyes on the redhead, he said, “I’m comfortable where I am.”
“Folks around here have been distressed enough. If you want to ride with the law, you’ll have to respect how we do things.”
“All right. Lead the way.”
The redhead nodded, which was the signal for the other two to grab one of Clint’s arms. Rather than pull away at the first chance he got, Clint allowed himself to be led to the cramped space between a nearby general store and saddle shop. That way, he could get a feel for the strength of the two men while letting them get comfortable in the knowledge that they had the upper hand.
Clint dug his heels into the dirt as soon as he realized the men intended on dragging him around back of the stores and out of sight completely. “This is far enough,” he said. “What did you want to ask me?”
Frank and Arvin tried to keep pulling Clint along, but stopped when they saw a subtle nod from the redhead.
“Sounds to me like you know those outlaws pretty damn well,” the redheaded deputy said. “I’d like to know why that is.”
“I told you, they tried to steal my horse.”
“And tell me again why you seem to be on their side after they tried to steal your horse.”
“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 enough for Clint to smell what the other man had had for breakfast. “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—”
Having been generous with the amount of time he’d actually given the deputy, Clint wasn’t about to continue that generosity any further. Snappin
g one leg up, he drove his knee into the redhead’s stomach with enough force to double him over. Clint then cinched his right arm around the arm of the deputy holding him on that side, while pulling his left straight out of Arvin’s grasp.
Arvin wasn’t about to let go easily, so Clint snapped his boot into his shin. Clint’s heel landed with a solid crack and put an ugly wince onto Arvin’s face. After that, the posse member couldn’t let go of him fast enough.
The redhead was a tough fellow, because he was already recovering from Clint’s initial blow. As soon as he straightened up, however, the redhead was knocked aside by the second deputy. Clint twisted his entire body around so his hip was against Frank’s midsection. Once he had a good pivot point working in his favor, Clint swung Frank into the redhead as if he were tossing a sack of grain against a wall.
Allowing the men to catch their breath, Clint told them, “You had that coming for flapping your gums so recklessly. Since we’re working together, we can call it even.”
The redhead shoved the other two away from him so he could square his shoulders to Clint. “We ain’t about to work together,” he snarled. “And we sure as hell didn’t bring you here to call it even.”
Upon getting a quick nod from the redhead, Frank snapped a fist at Clint with just enough speed for the punch to land. Clint tensed for it and turned so the deputy’s knuckles slammed against muscle rather than ribs. Before Frank could deliver a follow-up punch, Clint sent a jab into Frank’s face. The fast punch hit him in the mouth, snapped his head back, and sent him staggering a few steps.
Clint wasn’t able to do anything before Arvin came at him from the side. The posse member lowered his shoulder and ran at Clint like a bull. Turning toward Arvin, Clint felt the incoming shoulder brush against him as he kept on turning. Once he’d moved enough for Arvin to pass by him, Clint gave him a quick punch in the ribs to take with him. Arvin let out a grunt and did his best to skid to a stop.
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.
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