Something was rotten in Red Water, something that had to do with the marshal, the posse, or the deputies—but that didn’t narrow it down much at all. More than anything, uncertainty nagged at Clint like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.
That itch caused him to finish up his rounds and get Eclipse racing out of town once again. And it was that itch that made him point his nose in the direction the posse was headed rather than some other direction that led to simpler, quieter places.
TWENTY-ONE
Despite all of the marshal’s demands that Clint hurry up, Flynt obviously didn’t intend on leaving Clint behind. Eclipse may have been running at a faster pace than most other horses could manage, but Clint still caught up with the posse in half the time he’d guessed it would take. When he rode up to the group, it was just as easy for Clint to see the relief on Flynt’s face as it was to spot the disappointment on Tom’s.
“You get your business squared away?” the marshal asked.
Clint nodded. “Just like I promised.”
“Good. Now you can uphold the promise you made to me. Where’s that camp of yours?”
“Just keep heading east. Once we get a little closer, I should be able to lead us the rest of the way in.”
“Should?” Tom growled. “What’s that supposed to mean? You either can or you can’t.”
“It was just a spot I picked on a whim,” Clint told the deputy. “I made a fire, had something to drink, and slept for a bit. I wasn’t about to mark the place on a map.”
Tom rolled his eyes and groaned, “For Christ’s sake.”
“Anyone else got a better idea?” Flynt asked.
The posse members all looked as if they’d suddenly been asked to put together a plan for managing a small country. Their eyes glazed over and they shook their heads.
“I say we should head to all the other towns within a day’s ride and ask around if anyone’s seen Laramie or heard-tell of where he might be,” Tom offered.
Flynt nodded. “All right. How far away is this camp of yours, Adams?”
“If we start riding and stop dawdling, we should be able to get there well before nightfall.”
“Since that’ll take a lot less time than scattering and striking out for towns that are a hell of a lot farther, we’ll head for Clint’s camp.” Fixing his eyes upon Tom to cut off the deputy before he could complain, the marshal added, “And if we don’t find the camp or if there ain’t nothing to see once we get there, we’ll switch to the other plan.”
“If them killers ain’t already skinned out by then,” Tom grumbled.
Unable to take any more guff from the redhead, Clint said, “And I suppose riding off to some random other town will be better! Why don’t we all just spread out, ride across the entire county, and call out the names of the men we’re after? There’s just as big a chance of getting lucky with that plan as there is in roaming aimlessly from one town to another.”
Tom didn’t have an answer to that, but he sure looked like he had something else for Clint. One of the redhead’s fists was balled up tightly and the other twitched toward the gun at his side.
“Go on and skin that gun of yours,” Clint said. “See how far you get before I knock you on your ass.”
“Enough!” Flynt barked.
Tom was still perched on the edge of his saddle and Arvin was more than ready to back the deputy’s play. Clint could feel the bad intentions coming from Arvin like heat being given off by a rock that had spent an entire summer in the desert sun.
Circling his horse around to cut Tom off, Flynt positioned himself so the entire, slow-moving group had to come to a halt. The marshal’s hand slapped against the grip of his .45 as he snarled, “I don’t want to draw on either one of you men and I sure as hell don’t want to waste another second bickering like a bunch of children!
“You see this badge?” Flynt asked as he tapped his finger against the tin hanging from the front of his shirt. “This means I’m in charge of this outfit and I say we check out the camp. If it turns out to be nothing, I’ll deal with it! Understand me?”
“Sure do, Marshal,” Clint replied amiably.
“Tom?”
The redhead nodded just enough for the gesture to be seen. He had yet to take his eyes off Clint.
“Good. I won’t say another word on this again,” Flynt declared. “If either of you men become more trouble than you’re worth, I’ll drop you like a bad habit.”
For some reason, that seemed to get under Tom’s skin. Since Clint was still looking straight into the redhead’s eyes, he could see the subtle flinch that tipped the deputy’s hand. Tom might have sensed that as well, because he nodded and looked away.
Knowing a victory when he saw it, Flynt wasn’t about to press for anything more. “Fine,” he said. “Clint, lead the way.”
The pained scowl on Tom’s face was replaced by a sly grin. The expression came and went like a flicker, but that was more than enough to catch Clint’s attention.
“Just like I said before, Marshal,” Clint replied. “Keep heading east and I’ll let you know when we need to change direction. I’m more than willing for you to take your spot at the front.”
Tom obviously liked the notion of having Clint’s back in his sights, but if he wanted that to happen he would need to speak up. Apparently, the deputy wasn’t prepared to be so bold. And, just as Clint had suspected, Flynt was plenty happy to puff out his chest and lead the charge.
“That’s respect, Tom,” Flynt pointed out. “Perhaps it’s good Adams stays with us. You could learn a thing or two from him.” He then snapped his reins and the rest of the posse was quick to follow.
Clint rode with the others, but made certain all of them were in plain view. They rode for several miles with Tom quietly steaming over the marshal’s last comment. It was all Clint could do to keep from chuckling at it all. He couldn’t have gotten under Tom’s skin worse if he’d tried.
TWENTY-TWO
It took a good, long while for Clint to find the spot of his old camp. Despite all of Tom’s grousing, the slow progress wasn’t due to any effort on Clint’s part to muck them up. Clint had been more than honest in what he’d told the marshal. The last time he’d been at the camp, Clint’s main concern was counting the holes in his eyelids. Trying to find that same spot again was akin to finding where he’d been standing the previous week when a particular butterfly had fluttered past his nose.
And yet, even with Tom’s grousing, Clint managed to find the camp.
Just when Clint had thought the search was a lost cause, a couple stands of trees caught his eye. He got that nagging sensation of recall as if he had spotted a vaguely familiar face in a crowd. He rode a little closer until something else struck his fancy. A few minutes after that, he reined Eclipse to a stop and climbed down from the saddle.
“Is this the spot?” Flynt asked.
Before Clint could respond, Tom growled, “It damn well better be.”
“Or what, Tom?” Clint asked. He hadn’t meant to do anything to draw any more attention to himself, but the question had come out before Clint could stop it. After riding this far with the deputy, he finally had enough of the redhead’s whining.
Tom smirked and shook his head. Somewhere during the ride, he’d reined himself in enough to get his point across while also staying in the marshal’s good graces.
Resisting the urge to goad the deputy any further, Clint walked past a few of the trees until he found the spot he’d been after. “This is the place,” he announced. “I was sitting right here when I heard those horse thieves come around.”
“And you’re sure it was Laramie?” Flynt asked.
“There were three of them. One was a black fellow, who didn’t say much of anything. Another was a young kid called Harvey. He’s the one that looks like the man named Laramie on your reward notice. The third looked like the other man on the notice.”
“Chris Jerrison?” Flynt asked hopefully.
Nodding,
Clint said, “I don’t know about the last name, but he was called Chris.”
“And how’d you hear all this?” Arvin asked. “You said you was chasing them around or they was chasing you.”
Still biting his tongue, Tom looked at Arvin and nodded approvingly.
“I was able to circle around and listen to them talk for a bit,” Clint said.
Flynt hopped down from his saddle and stomped over to stand beside Clint. Along the way, he impatiently waved at the rest of his men. “I already heard the story and it sounds like the men we’re after. Now let’s see if we can find any tracks.”
From there, Flynt hunkered down and studied the dirt as if he were squinting at the small print in a smudged newspaper. He was concentrating so intensely that everyone else in the area reflexively quieted down so as not to disturb him.
A few seconds ticked by and the only sounds to be heard were the rustling of the leaves and the breath of the horses. Before too long, Flynt looked up and asked, “Well, ain’t you going to look for tracks?”
Clint felt as if he’d been rudely awakened from a deep sleep. Then, once he realized the marshal’s tracking was a half-assed charade, he had to cover his laugh by clearing his throat. “Oh, sure. Let me just take a look here.”
Starting at the tree where he recalled sitting and looking up at the stars, Clint looked around for traces he’d left behind. When he found them, he at least knew he was in the right spot. He then widened his search by moving off in the direction he’d gone when he’d circled to get around and behind the horse thieves. The lawmen stood back to watch Clint, and the other posse members were content to relax and swap a few jokes amongst themselves.
Clint did his best to recall what the horse thieves had done and in which direction they’d ridden so he could get a handle on where to look for tracks. It had been more than a day, but the ground was mostly flat and covered by trampled grass, which made it slightly easier to spot imprints. Looking up at the waiting lawmen, Clint said, “I found them.”
Flynt’s eyes widened and he rushed over to Clint’s side. “You did? Show me.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’d do best if more than one of us knows what tracks we’re following.”
“You’re a tracker, then?”
The marshal blinked, ground his teeth together, and admitted, “No, but I can pick it up easy enough.”
“I can follow tracks pretty good,” Frank volunteered. Since those were the first words he’d said all day, everyone in the posse turned to make sure their ears weren’t playing tricks on them. Noticing all the eyes fixed upon him, Frank added, “I ain’t no trailsman, but I used to hunt bounties before I signed on as a deputy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you was a tracker?” Flynt asked.
“I ain’t a tracker. I got good eyes, is all. If he points the tracks out to me, I should be able to pick ’em out well enough to follow ’em.”
Clint stood up and pointed down to the spot he’d been studying. “You see that?” he asked.
Frank leaned forward in his saddle and squinted. “What?”
“Those shoe prints in the dirt. The way the grass is torn up. The ground that’s been kicked up.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“Which way do they lead?”
After a bit of consideration, Frank said, “East. No, that’s where they come from. Looks like they’re headed north. I think that’s another set behind you. That one looks to head west . . . more or less.”
Clint nodded. “He’s right. They scattered and then came back around to me.”
“Perfect,” Flynt said with a beaming smile. “We’ll split up and follow both sets of tracks. Since the gang isn’t known for splitting up, the tracks should lead us to all meet up again soon enough.”
TWENTY-THREE
Frank actually wasn’t a bad tracker. As much as he disliked the deputy for that scuffle in the alley, Clint had to admit as much just by watching the man lead the others around in circles in the distance. As near as Clint could remember, those were awfully close to the same circles the thieves had made when they were trying to regain control of their spooked horses.
Clint had a couple of the locals accompanying him as he followed the other set of tracks. Only one man opened his mouth for more than a yawn and he seemed like a good enough fellow. His name was Baker and Clint had to assume that was his last name, since no other had been given. Baker looked to be the runt of the litter, but he sat in his saddle as if he’d been born on a horse’s back. The holster around his waist was well weathered and the gun looked to be properly cared for.
“You ride along with a posse before, Baker?” Clint asked.
“Maybe a few. Why?”
“Because you look more suited for this than some of those lawmen.”
Baker winced and looked over his shoulder as if the marshal and his men could hear Clint despite all the distance between them. “Marshal Flynt means well enough.”
“I’m sure he does. It just seems that they don’t really have much of a plan out here.”
One of the other posse members chimed in. “We’re supposed to get paid whether they find those men or not. You ain’t heard any different, have you?”
Clint looked over at a slouching man in his thirties with a face covered by uneven stubble and a curtain of stringy, greasy hair. Until now, Clint wasn’t even sure what the man’s voice sounded like.
“I haven’t heard any different,” Clint assured him, “but I just think it’s peculiar that—”
“Just so long as we get paid,” the greasy man interrupted. “Suits me just fine if’n we don’t find them outlaws.”
Baker shook his head as if to apologize for the greasy man’s apathy. Clint leaned toward him and asked, “What exactly were you men told?”
“That this was an easy paycheck,” Baker replied. “When we went up to so much as look at that book we signed, Marshal Flynt said we’d get a handsome fee no matter what.”
“You don’t seem too anxious to get that reward.”
“Fact of the matter is that the marshal made it sound like we probably wouldn’t find the men anyhow. The fee’s enough to make it worth our while to take a few days and ride around for a bit, though.”
Clint nodded and took it all in. One thing that struck him now was that Baker seemed to be one of the only normal men he’d spoken to in this affair. Just to check that theory, Clint asked, “Doesn’t any of this seem strange to you?”
Reluctantly, Baker nodded. “Yeah, but I wasn’t gonna say anything. I could use the money. We all could.”
“Never look a gift horse in the mouth!” the greasy man said. “Remember that and we’ll all be home with full pockets.”
Although Baker wasn’t about to argue with that, he shifted in his saddle for a few seconds before asking, “You think something else is goin’ on here?”
Clint pulled back on his reins, bringing all the men to a stop. “Take a look over there,” he said while pointing to the lawmen in the distance. “They’ve been milling around there all this time.”
“Frank said he wasn’t a tracker,” Baker pointed out. “He’s just got good eyes.”
“Sure, but they would have either found tracks by now or come back to let us know they haven’t found anything. For a bunch of men out to hunt down such vicious killers, they don’t seem to be in much of a hurry.”
“They’re the ones with the gift horse, Adams!” the greasy man pointed out. “Don’t look it in the damned mouth.”
“Shut the hell up, Lefty,” Baker snapped.
Lefty grunted and swiped his hand at Baker while steering his horse in another direction.
Clint didn’t care what Lefty did, since Baker had proven to be a whole lot more useful. Even though he figured Lefty wasn’t listening, Clint lowered his voice to make sure what he said next was strictly between him and Baker. “I’ve just spotted those tracks again, but they head back toward town.”
“Real
ly?” Baker asked.
Clint nodded. “Do you want to find out if Flynt and those deputies are any more interested in catching outlaws than your friend Lefty over there?”
Baker raised an eyebrow and leaned over to whisper, “We stand to make a lot more with the reward than the scraps that fat lawman’s willing to toss at us.”
“I like the way you think.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Clint, Baker, and Lefty rode back to join the rest of the posse. When they got there, they found Marshal Flynt and his deputies milling about as if they were enjoying the weather. “I found them!” Clint declared.
Flynt looked a little surprised, but none of the others seemed very impressed.
“What did you find?” Tom asked. “More tracks?”
“That’s what we were looking for, wasn’t it?” Clint replied. “What have you men been doing all this time?”
“For your information,” Flynt said, “we found tracks of our own. They lead to the north and they look like they were put down in a rush. Ain’t that right, Frank?”
“Yeah,” Frank replied. “Pretty fresh, too.”
Clint nodded slowly. “I would have thought those men were long gone from here, but they must have come back if the tracks are fresh like you say they are.”
“What about the tracks you found?” Flynt asked. “Do they hook up toward the north as well?”
“Nope. They lead to the west.”
“I saw them, too,” Baker added. “Looks like they head back toward Red Water.”
Flynt looked at each of his deputies in turn, but his eyes settled upon the redhead. “Why don’t you go along with them, Tom? See where those tracks really lead.”
Tom nodded and moved his horse to stand alongside Clint.
“No need to break up the groups,” Clint told him. “Since you men know what you’re looking for and we’ve seen our own tracks, we can just follow them and meet up back in town. If one of us comes up empty, we shouldn’t have any trouble catching up to the other.”
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