Keeping his head down and his hands stuffed in his pockets, Clint watched the duo weave through the folks walking down Sales Street. If there were more than two outlaws on the loose, he wouldn’t have been so quick to let Allie and Sven go. But not only were the outlaws working with low numbers, they were also probably getting desperate and sloppy.
Before Clint could try to make a guess as to how sloppy the outlaws might be, he saw one of them make the very move he’d been hoping for.
Chris Jerrison kept his head down as he stepped out from behind a group of men gathered in front of a saloon. Fortunately, he’d been in a bit too much of a hurry to catch up to Allie, and by racing in a straight line for her and Sven, he made picking him out of the crowd that much easier.
Clint, on the other hand, wasn’t worried about blending into the crowd. Now that Chris had tipped his hand, Clint was perfectly content to announce himself if it meant giving Allie and Sven a running head start. He just prayed that those two would take advantage of it.
“Hey!” Clint shouted when he realized he still hadn’t caught Chris’s eye.
Not only did his shout catch Jerrison’s eye, but it also drew some gunfire. From where Clint was standing, he couldn’t see the gun in Chris’s hand. But he sure as hell saw it when the outlaw brought the weapon up and fired a few quick shots.
Clint dove toward the other side of the street and reached for his modified Colt. Now that the shooting had started, he knew he was the only one in town who could put a stop to it.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Hot lead blazed through the air, causing folks on the street to scream and scatter in all directions. A few of the locals dropped and covered their heads with their hands, but Clint had already circled around them to get a better angle on his target.
He cleared leather and pulled his trigger in a single, fluid motion. The Colt bucked against Clint’s palm and sent a round toward Jerrison. But Chris wasn’t about to stand still to catch the bullet. Instead, he ducked down low and made a mad dash back toward Franklin Avenue. Since that was on the opposite side of Sales Street from where Allie and Sven were headed, Clint was more than willing to let Chris go.
Once he had a clear line of sight, Clint fired a few more rounds to keep Chris moving in the proper direction. Sure enough, the outlaw ducked down Franklin Avenue and fired wildly to cover his retreat. With Chris in front of him and Allie at his back, Clint replaced the spent rounds in his pistol with ones from his gun belt and ran into the fray.
More screams came from Franklin Avenue, but the bullets were still aimed at Clint. He could tell as much by the occasional sound of lead whipping through the air or the sight of splinters shot off a wall at the mouth of the avenue. Clint arrived at the corner and pressed his back against one of the buildings. He then chanced a look down Franklin Avenue by leaning quickly for a peek.
With folks scattering or diving for cover, it was fairly easy to pick out Jerrison. The outlaw kept his back to another wall and unleashed a fiery hailstorm the moment he caught sight of Clint.
“That you, Adams?” Chris called out. “You just don’t know when to quit, do ya?”
Clint smirked and replied, “You’re about to be surrounded, so why not just give it up?”
“Give it up?” Jerrison replied. “Surrounded? You sure about that? Do you think I’m stupid enough to—”
“Nope,” Clint muttered to himself as he bolted for the door of the building he was up against that was facing Sales Street. “But I sure hope you keep talking for a while.”
Clint wasn’t able to make out what Jerrison was saying, but he could hear the outlaw shouting from Franklin Avenue. Every so often, another few shots were fired.
Rather than stand aside and try to guess where every bullet was going, Clint raced through what appeared to be a clothing shop. After entering through the Sales Street door, he ran straight down the aisle that led all the way to the rear of the place. When he got to the back of the shop, Clint found himself surrounded by men’s suits on racks and a very confused tailor.
Clint pointed to a stout wooden door and asked, “Does that door open onto Franklin Avenue?”
The tailor shook his head. “That just leads to the lot out back. You can see Franklin from there and you could—”
“Thanks,” Clint said hastily as he opened the door and ran outside.
Sure enough, there was a small lot piled high with empty crates next to a two-seater outhouse. Clint got his bearings and looked to his right. The lot was surrounded by a waist-high fence and beyond that was another road. Since the sound of a gunshot came from that road, Clint guessed it was Franklin Avenue.
“Where you hidin’, Adams?” Jerrison shouted from somewhere a bit farther down Franklin. “I know all about you and you didn’t strike me as the sort to take off like a scalded dog.”
Clint ran as fast as he could while also trying to keep his steps from making too much noise. He needed to sacrifice a bit of speed, but Clint was able to hop a fence and circle around another building to work his way a little farther down Franklin. When he looked around that other building, Clint could see the edge of Franklin Fixtures and could hear Chris’s voice a little more clearly, as if nearer.
He could even catch a few words that Jerrison must have intended for himself and his partner.
“. . . still up there a ways,” Jerrison hissed. “Just keep looking.”
Clint swore he heard another voice, but wasn’t able to make out any words. If Jerrison was scheming with anyone, though, it meant his partner was nearby. And since both outlaws were in one place, that made Clint’s job a little easier.
Rushing behind another few buildings, Clint raced through a tobacco shop and emerged on Franklin Avenue a little ways past Franklin Fixtures.
THIRTY-EIGHT
“Ain’t nobody comin’, Adams, and you know it!” Chris hollered.
In the store behind him, the outlaw could hear pipes hitting the floor and glass cases being shattered. After taking a few steps toward Sales Street, Chris fired off the last of his rounds and turned to rush into Franklin Fixtures.
“I think he skinned out of here,” Chris said triumphantly. “Maybe he’s scared.”
“Or maybe he’s getting reinforcements,” Samuel said from behind one of the cases.
Reloading his .45, Jerrison grinned and took another look outside. “What reinforcements? The law’s on our side, remember?”
Samuel grunted under his breath and pulled up a section of the floor. “All that means is we can’t trust Flynt any more than this town can trust him. The fat prick is probably gonna string us up the first chance he gets.”
“String you up, maybe,” Chris replied with a smirk. “You’re the one they think is a murderer.”
When Samuel looked up at him, it was with enough intensity in his eyes to melt Chris’s head like a candle. “I wonder how they got that idea?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“It couldn’t be you told someone that to keep the fire burning under my feet instead of yours.”
Chris chuckled and took another look out the window. “In case you ain’t noticed, both of us have been drawing the same amount of fire. And since Harvey couldn’t get his pants on fast enough, that leaves only us two to try and dodge the bullets.”
Samuel let out a measured breath and stuck both hands through the hole in the floorboards he’d pulled up.
“What’ve you found there?” Chris asked as he walked over to look across the broken counter.
“Strongbox,” Samuel replied.
“Them plans inside?”
Lifting a dented metal box that wasn’t big enough to hold a pair of men’s shoes, Samuel said, “Not likely.”
“Well, open it up anyways.”
“We can take it with us. Adams is probably still coming after us.”
Chris laughed and waved at the front window. “That whole street’s clear. Adams is probably out trying to scrape up some more of these chickenshit locals
to—”
The remainder of what Jerrison meant to say was swallowed up by the sound of wood being splintered and hinges being knocked from their screws. The back door of the shop was kicked in and Clint dove behind a display case as soon as he was through the splintered frame.
“Take the strongbox and get the hell outta here!” Chris shouted as he pointed his .45 at the spot where Clint had landed and fired a shot.
Samuel had his gun in hand when he got to his feet and the strongbox was tucked under his arm. Starting to protest, he was cut short by a head shake from his partner.
“Just go!” Chris roared. After that, he pulled his trigger enough times to shatter every piece of glass in the display case.
Hopping over the broken counter, Samuel reached out and slapped his gun into Chris’s free hand. “Meet back at the horses,” Samuel said.
“Just clear a path for me. I won’t be far behind.” With that, Chris took hold of the gun Samuel had given him and started firing it as soon as his own pistol ran dry.
The little shop filled with the thunder from the pistols.
Sparks flew from the display case, because the fixtures in it were made of iron or brass.
Baring his teeth in a wide grin, Jerrison moved forward until he was close enough to look over the top of the case. He stood in his spot, waiting for Clint to make a move. After a few seconds, Jerrison stooped down to pick up a stray chunk of wood and he tossed it toward one end of the display case.
Nothing happened.
Keeping his head low, Jerrison rushed toward the other end of the display case with his gun up and ready to fire.
The only things on the floor behind all the broken brass and iron fixtures were more broken fixtures.
When he heard the rustling behind another display case, however, it was too late for Chris to do much of anything about it.
THIRTY-NINE
Clint stood up with his gun held at hip level, so it was just high enough to clear the top of the display case he’d been hiding behind. Thanks to the intimate knowledge he’d gained of the shop’s floor plan, Clint had been able to crawl from one case to another without double-checking if he could stay out of sight. He’d made the switch while Chris was busy and now it was paying off.
“Don’t take another step,” Clint said. “It’s all over.”
Jerrison held his hands up, but didn’t raise them any higher than shoulder level. He also didn’t let go of his .45. “It ain’t over ’til it’s over. You should know that.”
“It should have been over when I got the drop on you after you tried stealing my horse,” Clint pointed out. “I was feeling generous that day and look where it got me.”
“I’ll tell you where it got you. It got you a chance to make out like a bandit.”
“How do you figure?”
Latching on to the few extra seconds he’d bought for himself, Jerrison leaned forward and started to take a step toward Clint but stopped short when he saw the warning glare in Clint’s eye. “We’re gonna make a fortune selling some plans to a few very interested parties.”
“What plans?”
“Plans for a bunch of safes being put together right here in Red Water. Them plans can be used to take apart them safes, just like they can be used to put them together.”
“You’re supposed to know how to do that?” Clint asked skeptically.
Without blinking an eye, Jerrison replied, “Hell, no, but the men we’re selling the plans to know plenty and they’re willing to pay. We got it all lined up.”
“You mean Flynt’s got it all lined up.”
“Flynt barely lined up his own men to march them outta town,” Jerrison scoffed. “That prick gets his percentage for it and that’s it.”
Sadly enough, Clint believed every word of that. He would have been more suspicious if the town’s marshal was given any more credit than he was worth. “So you’re trying to cut me in?” Clint asked.
Jerrison shrugged and glanced toward the front door. “You got the drop on me fair and square. It’s either that or put a bullet in you.”
“Or,” Clint added, “you can tell a judge what you told me and then try bargaining your way out of jail.”
Jerrison’s lazy grin remained in place and he slowly shook his head. “I ain’t the sort to fool about in a court-house,” he said as he sneaked another glimpse at the door.
Clint didn’t bother looking at the door. He could see enough from the corner of his eye to spot any motion coming from that direction and there wasn’t anything happening on that side of the shop anyhow. “If you’re waiting for your friend to come back for you,” he said, “I think you’re going to be disappointed. He would have rescued you by now if he could. Or if he still had his gun.”
Finally, the smirk on Jerrison’s face faded away. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist around the gun in his hand.
“You’ve got a few rounds left, but I wouldn’t advise you to try to burn them,” Clint warned. “If you go to jail, at least you’ve got a chance. I truly don’t believe all that murder talk Flynt was spouting. Any real posse would have caught the three of you a long time ago.”
It hadn’t been Clint’s intention to goad Jerrison, but he simply couldn’t help himself. Also, he didn’t want to wait around forever because Samuel would find his way back to the shop eventually. Judging by the twitching muscles in Jerrison’s face and arms, the situation would be resolved long before his partner decided to come back.
“I could’a killed you back at that camp,” Jerrison snarled.
“You did your best and fell short. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”
Clint’s last words hit a nerve and Jerrison didn’t try to hide it. Each breath the outlaw took was more ragged than the last until he’d stoked his fire high enough to make a move.
Jerrison dropped to one knee and straightened his gun arm so he could sight along the top of his barrel.
Clint pulled his trigger out of reflex, but that shot hissed through the air where Jerrison would have been if he’d remained standing. Fortunately for him, Jerrison’s shot was also thrown off when he’d dropped down and it sparked against one of the pipes on display in the case Clint was standing behind.
Taking a fraction of a second to shift his aim, Clint fired once more and put a round through the upper portion of Jerrison’s chest. The impact knocked the outlaw straight back, causing him to hit the floor with a loud thump. Jerrison’s finger clenched around his trigger again to fire a shot into the ceiling.
Moving around the display case, Clint checked the front door and found nothing but a few curious locals trying to get a look inside from the street. He stepped over to Jerrison and took the gun from the outlaw’s hand.
Seeing the placement of Jerrison’s chest wound, Clint crouched to the man’s level and quickly asked, “Where’s your partner?”
“That . . . son of a bitch . . .” Jerrison croaked while coughing up some pink, foamy blood. “He left me . . . here. He actually . . . left me.” Before Clint needed to ask again, the outlaw snapped, “There’s a lot across Sales Street that’s . . . down some other avenue. I don’t know which avenue but . . . our horses are there. That’s where I’m supposed to . . .”
When Jerrison’s voice trailed off and his eyes clouded over, Clint knew the outlaw was dead. Rather than waste any time mourning the loss of someone who would have gladly traded places with him, Clint rushed out of the shop and reloaded his Colt on his way across Sales Street.
FORTY
Samuel wasn’t quite the traitor that Jerrison had assumed he was. When Clint hurried down the avenue directly across from Franklin, he found the last remaining outlaw leading two horses back toward Sales Street. Upon spotting Clint, Samuel stopped and calmly met Clint’s gaze.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” Samuel asked.
Clint kept his eyes level and his shoulders squared when he replied, “He didn’t leave me much choice.”
“Now you’re here to kill me.�
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“I’ll give you the same chance I gave your other partners,” Clint told him. “You can speak up for what you’ve done and do your part to make sure Flynt doesn’t wear a badge again. There’ll probably be some jail time, but that’s the price you pay.”
“Or?”
“Or you can try to get away from me,” Clint said plainly. “Maybe you’ll do better than your partners. Maybe you won’t.”
Samuel’s eyes darted to Clint’s gun and then jumped right back up again. “You’ve got the pistol and Chris has mine. That is, he had it.”
Clint could see the fire was still burning inside the man. It would keep burning even if Clint managed to get Samuel tied up alongside Laramie and would only grow brighter until Samuel found a way to get loose and get the drop on Clint. A fire like that kept men going and Clint knew better than to try to stamp it out. Since he also didn’t like the idea of shooting Samuel just to make things easier, there was only one alternative.
Clint needed to convince Samuel that his fire burned just a little hotter.
Nodding slowly, Clint opened the cylinder of his Colt and dropped five of his six bullets to the ground. Each one hit the dirt until only one remained in the chamber. “This one is just for insurance,” Clint said as he closed the cylinder. Once he’d done that, Clint held his gun arm out to one side, opened his hand, and let the Colt hit the ground amid all the fallen bullets.
Samuel looked down at the gun and then up at Clint. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. “You want me to believe you’ll just let me leave?”
“I’m not stepping aside and letting you do anything. If you want to come along with me and face up to your crimes like a man, you can do that. If you want to take a run at me, then do it now instead of waiting for a chance to hit me when my back’s turned.”
When he said those words, Clint could feel them grating against Samuel the way other words had grated against both of his partners. While Samuel didn’t react as harshly as the other two outlaws, he fixed his eyes on Clint and stalked forward. He let go of the horses’ reins and dropped his hands to just above waist level.
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