Red Water

by J. R. Roberts

  Flynt shook his head insistently. “No. Tom should go with you. He’s got the law behind him in case you do run into those outlaws.”

  “We’ve all got the law behind us, Marshal. That’s why you deputized us.”

  The marshal chewed on that, but didn’t seem to like the taste of it. “Tom’s going with you. If you don’t like it, you can come along with us and he’ll follow those tracks alone.”

  Smiling good-naturedly, Clint said, “I don’t have any problem with that. Just trying to make things easier, is all. What’s the plan from here, Marshal?”

  “There’s a town north of here called Springston,” Flynt said. “By the looks of it, that’s where Laramie’s headed. I hear-tell that he’s even got some family up that way.”

  “Yeah,” Lefty grunted. “I think I heard something about that.”

  “You see?” Flynt declared happily. “Those outlaws are probably holed up somewhere near Springston where they can get rested up and lay low with some family to protect them. Those other tracks are probably just them trying to throw us off their tails.”

  “Or they were put down when Adams was running around trying to lose them before,” Tom pointed out.

  Flynt chuckled and then coughed to cover it up. “That ain’t polite, Tom. But, to be fair, he did mention before that he rode about to turn them around.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said dryly. “I mentioned something like that.”

  “Then Tom’ll go with you to see how far them tracks go before they hook up north again. You might just find one of them fellas on their own somewhere. Perhaps that black one from the notice skinned out to Kyle’s Ridge. That’s less than a day’s ride southwest of Red Water.”

  Biting his tongue before saying another word, Clint simply nodded again.

  “There you go,” Flynt said. “We’re all in agreement. Clint and Tom will go see how far those other tracks go and then we can meet up again in Springston. If Laramie ain’t there, we’ll head down to Kyle’s Ridge and if they ain’t there, then they’re probably in Canada or Old Mexico.”

  All the deputies nodded as if their heads were attached to springs and most of the posse members looked like they couldn’t care less.

  “I’ll go along with Clint,” Baker offered.

  Flynt was already turning away and had to shift back around again to look at who’d spoken. Apparently, this was one of the first times he’d heard Baker speak. “What? Why?”

  “I said I’ll go with Clint. I spotted those tracks, too, so if he loses sight of them, I can—”

  “We don’t need you,” Tom growled. “Just do what the marshal says.”

  “No, Tom,” Flynt told him. “It’s all right. You three go. Just be quick about it.” With that, the marshal and the remaining men got moving toward the north.

  “Come on,” Tom said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Not a word was said during the short ride back to the spot where Clint and Baker had had their previous conversation. Once they were there, both men pulled back on their reins and waited for Tom to catch up. The deputy had been content to ride a few paces behind and stopped so as to keep the same distance between them.

  Clint swung down from his saddle and started examining the ground. “We spotted those tracks right around here,” he said.

  “If they were this close to Red Water, they could be anything, you know,” Tom pointed out. “There’s men riding into town all the time, not to mention wagons and stagecoaches that roll through on their way to damn near anywhere else.”

  “The same could be said about the tracks you found,” Clint said.

  Baker added his own two cents with, “You never even showed us them tracks the marshal was talking about.”

  Tom shifted his eyes to the posse member as if he were sighting along the top of a rifle. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You callin’ me and the marshal liars?”

  “No. I just said we never got to look at those other tracks. Maybe we could’a helped follow them. Ain’t that why we’re all out here?”

  “No. You’re here to—”

  “Good,” Clint interrupted. “I’d like to hear this. Tell us why we’re all out here.”

  Freezing with his mouth still wrapped around the words he’d meant to say, Tom narrowed his eyes and looked back and forth between the two men in front of him. “You know why we’re here. It’s to catch them outlaws, not follow every rut you find in the ground.”

  “Why are you so dead set against going back to Red Water?” The moment he asked that question, Clint could tell he’d hit a nerve. Taking a step forward to press the issue even further, he said, “Those outlaws could have gone there. Marshal Flynt was spouting off about that very possibility when he was gathering up all these locals, but now he wants to go anywhere but back to Red Water. Why is that, Tom?”

  The deputy spoke in a low growl that was barely enough to get his lips moving. “We don’t have to explain ourselves to you or anybody. You do what the marshal tells you to do or you shouldn’t have signed up for this posse. Since you have signed up, do what you’re fucking told.”

  “We were promised a shot at that reward,” Baker said. “If we aren’t gonna get that, we deserve—”

  “You don’t deserve shit!” Tom barked as he drew his pistol from its holster. Pointing the weapon at Baker, he placed his thumb on the hammer and his finger against the trigger. “If you intend on questioning every goddamn move, I’m of a mind to think you’re in league with those outlaws!”

  Baker’s mouth hung open and the color drained from his face. Although Tom seemed to like that reaction, he didn’t like what came next.

  Clint grabbed hold of the deputy’s free arm and yanked Tom from the saddle so his legs were plucked from the stirrups and his gun whipped toward the sky. The pistol’s trigger guard snagged on Tom’s finger, but wasn’t fired before its owner hit the ground.

  Tom slammed against the earth in a heap. His horse started to fret at all the sudden activity, but didn’t do more than huff and fidget from one leg to another. Before he could fill his lungs again, Tom found himself looking up at Clint’s face.

  “I don’t know what pisses me off more,” Clint said as he grappled with Tom’s gun hand. “The way you figured I’d bow down and forget you tried to break my neck in that alley or the fact that Marshal Flynt obviously takes me and the rest of this posse for raving fools.”

  After hitting the ground on his side, Tom strained to right himself while also fighting to keep hold of his gun. Once he had his legs beneath him, he got up and pulled in his .44 with all the strength he had. Clint wasn’t about to let go, which was just fine by the deputy, who snapped his head forward to drive his forehead into Clint’s nose.

  There was a jarring impact, mixed with a wet crunch that filled Clint’s entire head. He was dazed and nearly gave in to the fog that filled his brain, but he still managed to keep his grip on Tom’s weapon. Suddenly, the .44 came away from Tom’s grasp, leaving Clint with his hands wrapped around the barrel and cylinder. The moment he tried to shift to a proper hold on the pistol, it was slapped completely away from him.

  Tom then reached for another gun he’d stashed in a rig strapped to his shoulder. He had just managed to touch the handle of the .38 when Clint rushed him like a bull.

  Clint’s shoulder slammed against the taut muscle of Tom’s midsection. Although he didn’t knock the deputy off his feet, Clint did manage to stagger him back a ways. Tom’s arms dropped onto Clint’s back and shoulders like clubs, slowly turning the tide of the fight in his favor.

  Suddenly, there was another impact that Clint could feel through his whole body. This time, however, he didn’t catch the brunt of the impact. Clint could feel it because Tom had been hit hard enough for some of the force to make it all the way through him like ripples on the surface of a pond.

  Twisting around toward the source of the impact, Tom spotted Baker and bared his teeth at the posse member as if
he fully intended to tear his throat out. Ignoring the effects of the last few hits he’d taken, Tom grabbed hold of Baker’s shirt in one hand and continued to draw his .38 with the other.

  “That’s the last mistake you’ll make,” Tom swore.

  Just as Tom’s .38 cleared leather, Clint’s modified Colt cracked against the side of the deputy’s head.

  Tom’s head snapped to one side and he stumbled in that direction. It took a few more steps, however, for him to drop to one knee. Once he did, Clint was right there to grab the .38 from Tom’s hand.

  “You’ll . . . hang for this,” Tom groaned. “Both of you.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “I’ve got to admit,” Clint said as he pushed the deputy to the ground and held him there with his boot, “you really impressed me. That’s a real hard head you got there.”

  “What you done . . . it’s . . . you’ll hang for it.”

  “I know, I know. Normally, I don’t much approve of knocking a lawman around like that, but you were about to shoot a member of your own posse for no good reason. From where I stand, that doesn’t make you much of a lawman.”

  Tom sucked in a few breaths that Clint could feel through the sole of his boot. Before the deputy could gather any more strength, Clint leaned more of his weight down and placed his elbow on his knee. “It’s just us out here now, Tom,” he said. “There’s no reason to keep lying and there’s nobody around to back you up. Despite that hard head of yours, you couldn’t even take me when you had partners back in that alley.”

  That one stuck in Tom’s craw. When he squirmed under Clint’s boot, there was a little more strength than there had been before. Clint turned and slowly placed his hand upon the grip of his holstered Colt. Despite everything that had come before, he still didn’t like the idea of pulling a gun on a deputy. Fortunately, his bluff wasn’t about to be called.

  The moment Clint’s hand settled upon the Colt, Tom stopped moving.

  “Tell me what’s really going on here,” Clint demanded.

  “Or what?” Tom grunted. “You’ll kill me? You can’t even draw your gun.”

  “I don’t draw my gun unless I’m about to pull the trigger. When I draw this gun, it’ll be too late for you to say a damn thing to stop me.”

  Baker stepped in close enough for Clint to see him without taking his eyes off Tom. Despite the fact that Clint could only see the posse member’s legs, he could tell Baker was rattled.

  “There’s no reason for anyone to get shot here,” Baker said in a trembling voice. “We just want to know why we were all brought out here.”

  “Step aside,” Clint said. “This is between me and Tom.”

  Clint didn’t want to threaten Baker, but it was the only way to maintain the tone he’d set for the conversation while also discouraging Baker from calling his bluff. Unfortunately, Baker wasn’t about to be pushed aside so easily.

  “I agree that something ain’t right,” Baker said. “Marshal Flynt put together the best posse anyone could, but all he’s doin’ with them is runnin’ them from one spot to another.”

  At that moment, the thing that had been nagging at the back of Clint’s mind started nagging even more. It was like a tick burrowing under his skin until it stumbled upon a soft spot. “What did you say?” he asked.

  Baker had settled down a bit now that he seemed to have drawn Clint’s eye away from Tom. “I said I agree that—”

  “No, I meant about Marshal Flynt putting the posse together.”

  It took a moment for Baker to sift through his racing thoughts, but he found what he was after soon enough. “Oh, I said he got the best posse he could expect. Considering the folks in Red Water, he got damn near all the most capable men to sign on one way or another. The ones that passed on the job were either too old or too wide around the middle to do any good out here.”

  Clint looked back at Tom, just as the redhead was easing his hands toward the boot planted upon his chest. Glaring down at the deputy as if he could see straight through to the ground beneath Tom’s head, Clint was able to make the deputy think twice about trying to grab the offending boot. “That was the idea, wasn’t it?” Clint asked.

  Tom gritted his teeth and stared defiantly up at Clint in a way that somehow made it seem he was looking down on him. “What nonsense are you spitting out now?”

  “Something’s happening in Red Water.” Although Tom didn’t say anything to confirm that, Clint didn’t need him to. “The posse wasn’t intended to go after those outlaws or anyone else. It was intended to get all the capable gun-hands out of town.”

  “That’s a pile of horseshit,” Tom scoffed.

  Clint shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. Marshal Flynt may not be as sharp as they come, but he can’t be as incompetent as he’s making himself out to be. Somewhere along the line, even one of you deputies would have stopped to ask a few questions here and there. But you haven’t, have you?”

  “It ain’t our place to question orders.”

  Baker stepped closer, but didn’t seem so intent now on getting between Clint and Tom. The expression on his face had turned around completely to reflect eagerness rather than panic. “I heard you were a military man, Tom.”

  “So?”

  “You don’t do anything without a plan. You say as much every time you bring in a drunk or break up a fight at a saloon. You’re smarter than just some idiot who forms a posse to run in circles. Hell,” Baker added, “even Marshal Flynt is smarter than that.”

  Whether Baker had ruffled the deputy’s feathers or had hit too close to the mark, Tom started to sit up and raise his hands as if he intended on throttling the posse member right then and there. Fortunately for Baker, Clint’s boot was still in place and he was able to force the redhead down once more.

  “What’s going on in Red Water?” Clint asked. “You might as well tell us.”

  “There’s gonna be a trial,” Tom snapped. “That’s what’s gonna happen in Red Water. Or maybe there’ll be a hanging. Either way, you two ain’t about to walk away after attacking a duly appointed man of the law.”

  Clint couldn’t help but smirk. “Those are some fancy words for a man that doesn’t even know what to do with a posse. You truly think you’ll still be duly appointed when it comes out that you had a part in this business?”

  “Nobody will know a damn thing!”

  “Is that so?” Clint asked. “A damn thing about what?” Tom shut his mouth so quickly that he nearly bit off the end of his tongue. The corners of both eyes were twitching and the muscles were tensing beneath Clint’s boot. Before the deputy could make the move he was thinking about, Clint held up the hand that was gripping Tom’s .38.

  “Go on and shoot, Adams,” Tom snarled. “That’ll only bring the others here quicker. They’re probably on their way already.”

  “Tell me what’s going on in town,” Clint said. “It’s over one way or another, so you might as well come clean.”

  “Why should I? You think I believe you’ll just turn me loose as a show of good faith?”

  “No, but I’ll come after you last. If you’re the smart military man Baker thinks you are, then you stand a chance of getting away. Or you could even come back around to try your gun against mine. Either one would be fine with me.”

  There was a glimmer in Tom’s eye when he heard the second choice. Still, his mouth remained shut tighter than a sprung trap.

  “Fine,” Clint said after a few seconds. “We’ll just go and do some digging on our own.”

  “What are we . . . I mean . . . what do we do with him?” Baker stammered.

  “Simple,” Clint replied. “We just make sure nobody’s able to find him and they’ll figure we all rode off to Springston. That was the plan, right, Tom?”

  That was the first time Clint saw even a hint of fear in the deputy’s eyes.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tom put up a hell of a fight when Clint tried to do more than hold him down with his boot. The moment Clint
asked Baker for a rope, Tom knew he had to fight for his freedom. The struggle was as quick as it was furious. Tom grabbed hold of Clint’s boot and tried to twist his foot off, but Clint was able to shift his weight and drop his elbow onto the deputy’s midsection.

  Tom’s breath came out in a single gust, doubling him over like a caterpillar curling up on itself. Clint tried to get ahold of Tom’s arms, but the deputy was too strong to be subdued just yet. After that, the two men wrestled amid a flurry of fists, elbows, knees, and damn near anything else they could throw at one another.

  When Baker tried to get the rope to Clint, he caught a wild punch in the face and didn’t even know who’d thrown it. After taking that punch, Baker dove into the fight and was able to pull Tom off Clint for about a second or two. That was just enough time for Clint to land one solid punch on Tom’s jaw that knocked the deputy out cold.

  “Damn,” Clint said as he shook his aching fist. “Good thing he was too proud to call for help.”

  Judging by the look on Baker’s face, it was only just occurring to him what had happened. “He’s right,” he gasped. “We’ll hang for this. You can’t just knock out a deputy and get away with it.”

  “Help me get him tied up and then we can discuss the rest.”

  Baker was rattled, but he went along with Clint’s request. Between the two of them, they got Tom’s arms tied behind his back, his legs trussed up, and a few bandannas wrapped over his mouth. Just to be on the safe side, Clint looped the rest of his rope around the big deputy and tied it all together with a triple knot.

  “What now?” Baker asked as he looked at the unconscious deputy.

  Clint wiped his brow and looked in the direction he’d last seen the rest of the lawmen. “Now we need to put this one where he won’t be found.”

  “Oh, Lord. You don’t mean burying him do you?”

  “Settle down, Baker. If I’m right about any of this, the marshal and his men are up to something rotten and they won’t be wearing badges when it’s over. Even so, I’m not about to kill someone just to keep his mouth shut.”