Clint knew what was coming.
Samuel wasn’t as stupid as Laramie or as brash as Jerrison, but he wasn’t about to hand himself over and quietly be marched off to face a jury. Considering everything that had been tacked onto the three outlaws, it didn’t matter anymore which crimes the men had committed or not. They’d gone far enough to make sure their chances were slim to none.
Samuel came at Clint like a flicker of lightning. He crouched down low and put all of his weight behind one shoulder at the last possible second as Clint tried to twist out of his way. Adjusting to Clint’s movement, Samuel extended an arm and slammed it against Clint’s stomach like a club.
The impact was fast and powerful enough to rob Clint of his next breath. By the time Clint hopped away and turned to face Samuel again, the man was taking another swing at him.
Before Clint could react, he felt Samuel’s fist pound against the same spot that had just been hit. One blow piled on top of another sent a wave of dull pain through Clint’s entire body and also made his legs unsteady beneath him.
Samuel sensed what he’d done and moved in closer to capitalize on it. One fist snapped out for Clint’s jaw, but Clint was able to turn his head before catching the punch on the chin. Samuel’s other fist snapped out, setting up a flurry of jabs against Clint’s chest like he was tenderizing a slab of beef.
For a few seconds, Clint could only weather the blows while trying to stay on his feet. When he felt what could have been a rib cracking, Clint wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake in giving Samuel a fighting chance. Then again, if he hadn’t had this fight now, it would have occurred at another time before they parted ways.
Before Clint’s mind could wander too far, he sucked in a breath and shook himself out of the fog closing in on him from all sides. Turning his upper body while dropping his left arm, Clint was able to snag one of Samuel’s arms as he delivered another punch. Once Samuel’s violent rhythm had been broken, he slammed a boot down toward Clint’s foot.
Clint was just able to swing that leg back so Samuel’s heel stomped against the ground. He cinched his arm even tighter around Samuel’s wrist and then delivered a straight punch to the man’s jaw. As soon as Samuel recoiled from that impact, Clint swept his foot against the back of Samuel’s legs to take them out from under him. Rather than let go of Samuel’s arm, Clint lowered himself with him and pulled back his free hand in preparation for what had to be the finishing punch.
A glint of steel caught Clint’s eye and he pulled away from Samuel just as the outlaw swung a knife at his stomach. If Clint hadn’t let go of the man’s arm and moved, he would have been gutted on the spot. As it was, he only felt the blade rake across his midsection and heard it shred through his shirt.
Clint backed away some more while touching the spot where he’d been cut. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Samuel, so he just glanced at his fingers. There was enough blood there to let him know he’d been cut, but not enough to worry about.
Samuel didn’t let Clint get his bearings before rushing at him with the blade held in a low grip. He slashed out with the knife once and caught nothing but air. While Clint was still reeling backward, Samuel threw a quick feint and then lunged with the intention of driving the blade up under Clint’s ribs.
Taking one more step back and then planting a foot, Clint snapped both arms down to catch the hand wielding the blade being swung at him. Samuel was strong, but Clint was able to stop the outlaw’s hand before it buried the knife into his belly.
For a moment, Clint thought he could end the fight. He had a good grip on Samuel’s wrist, but the outlaw simply flipped the knife to his other hand and raised the blade over his head in preparation for a downward stab. Clint let go of Samuel’s wrist as if it were a snake getting ready to bite him. He was then barely able to cross both arms and raise them in time to block the incoming stab. Samuel’s arm bounced off Clint’s and then the outlaw immediately took a step back to give himself some room.
As Clint watched, Samuel shifted his grip on the blade half a dozen times. One moment, he was holding the blade straight out to take a few quick lunges. The next, he’d switched so the blade ran up along his forearm and he could swing it in an arc aimed for Clint’s eyes or chest. Every so often, Clint would take a swing at Samuel, but for every time his knuckles landed, there was another time his blow was deflected and he got another cut for his efforts.
Blood seeped into Clint’s sleeves and several other sections of his shirt, but the wounds were all shallow. The way the fight was going, however, he wasn’t going to bet on his luck to hold up forever. Setting his jaw in a firm line, Clint threw a few more high punches at Samuel’s head. After Samuel shifted both arms up to that level, Clint snuck in a straight kick to the outlaw’s stomach.
Clint’s boot landed solidly, driving a good portion of the air from Samuel’s lungs while also forcing him back several paces until his back hit a wall.
Bouncing off the wall like a ricochet, Samuel flipped the knife around to grab it by the blade and then cocked it back next to his ear.
Knowing what was coming next, Clint bent down to scoop up his Colt. He got the weapon in his hand, looked up, and aimed it as if he were pointing his finger. By that time, Samuel had thrown the knife at him.
Clint squeezed his trigger and felt the Colt buck against his palm.
The round hit the blade with a loud clang to send a quick flash of sparks into the air.
Samuel’s knife flew to the side, leaving Clint with a smoking gun in his hand. Before Samuel could make another move, Clint plucked a fresh round from his gun belt and slipped it into the cylinder.
Raising his hands and closing his eyes as if he didn’t expect to open them again, Samuel let out a breath and waited for the end.
FORTY-ONE
Clint knocked at the door to the root cellar, waited a few seconds, and then knocked again. Even after all of that, he was still greeted by the barrel of a gun when he opened the door. Sticking his neck out, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadows and said, “It’s only me, Baker.”
Baker huddled in the cellar with his back to Laramie and both hands wrapped around his gun. It took him a bit longer to adjust to the change in light and even when he did, he still seemed nervous. “Who’s that behind you?” Baker asked. “Do you need any help?”
“Yeah,” Clint replied. “I need you to find me another chair.”
With that, Clint stepped inside and away from the door so he could let Samuel walk past him. Clint held his Colt in an easy grip that kept the pistol ready but not directly aimed at his prisoner.
Samuel’s head drooped forward and he stooped down to keep from bumping it against the top of the cellar. His hands were tied behind his back, but there was enough slack in the ropes to let him move well enough on his own. Once inside the cellar, Samuel stopped and locked eyes with Baker.
Seeing the puzzled expression on Baker’s face, Clint explained, “We had ourselves a tussle, but came to an understanding.”
“A tussle?” Baker scoffed. “Looks like you two kicked the hell out of each other.”
“That’s another way to put it,” Clint said with a shrug. “Have you had any problems?”
“Some of the girls have been coming down here to check on us,” Baker replied. “They did a good job of keeping my friend here in line.”
“That bitch slapped me for no good reason,” Laramie whined from the back of the cellar.
Baker turned to look over his shoulder and said, “You asked her to suck your . . .” Turning back to Clint, he said, “He didn’t stay quiet when he should have, so he got a shot in the mouth.”
Clint couldn’t help but smirk at that. “A common downfall among many young men.”
“Especially that one,” Samuel grumbled. “Things would’a been a lot easier if he could keep his trap shut.”
“Aw, go to hell. You could’a stayed on your damn plantation or wherever the hell you was before me an’ Chris let you trail
along behind us.”
The more Laramie talked, the heavier the air within the cellar became. When the kid stopped to take a breath, Clint swore he could see steam coming from Samuel’s collar.
“Why don’t you shut the hell up before you get a gag or a fist shoved down your throat,” Clint said. “Or I could just untie Samuel’s hands and lock the two of you in here. He’s been agreeable enough for me to trust him that much.”
Laramie’s face paled and his eyes widened.
Although Clint couldn’t get a straight view of Samuel’s face, he could guess well enough how he looked when he heard the menacing tone in the man’s voice.
“I’d like that.” Samuel growled.
Baker looked back and forth between the two prisoners. “I . . . uhh . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“All right, then,” Clint replied. “Think you could scrounge up another chair and some more rope?”
“Yes. I think I could do that.” As Baker walked past Samuel, he kept his gun at the ready. He backed out of the cellar until he was too far to see anyone inside. After that, he ran toward Joan’s Emporium.
Clint nudged Samuel’s shoulder to get him moving. As the black man got closer to Laramie, the kid squirmed in his chair.
“If you’re gonna let him take a swing at me, at least let me defend myself!” Laramie whined.
“I don’t know if I can hold him back,” Clint warned, even though Samuel had yet to make a truly threatening move.
Samuel must have been glaring at the kid awfully hard, because Laramie had yet to stop squirming within the layers of ropes that bound him.
“I could make sure you stay in one piece if you tell me the rest of Marshal Flynt’s plan,” Clint said.
Gritting his teeth, Laramie forced himself to sit still. It seemed to help when he looked at Clint instead of Samuel. “I won’t be known as some yellow son of a bitch who gives up his partners. You may have caught that one, but Chris is still out there. Just wait until he finds you! He’ll shoot you so full of holes you won’t—”
“Your other partner is dead,” Clint said.
Those words hit Laramie like a bucket of cold water. His face was frozen in the defiant expression he’d worn when tossing his last few threats at Clint, but the spark was quickly fading from his eyes. Finally, the kid asked, “Really?”
Samuel nodded once when Laramie looked at him.
“If’n you killed Chris, then you’ll just kill us,” Laramie said. “I ain’t gonna say a damn thing.”
“If I wanted to kill you two, I would have done it already,” Clint pointed out. “Flynt’s a crooked lawman and they tend to draw a lot more fire during a trial.”
“Flynt’s coming back tomorrow,” Samuel said.
“You piece of shit!” Laramie spat.
Clint walked over to shove his bandanna into the kid’s mouth. Once that was done, he turned to look at Samuel. “Go on.”
“I’ll tell you the rest, but only if I stand trial for what I done,” Samuel said. “I ain’t gonna answer for what other folks say I done.”
“You’re a horse thief,” Clint pointed out. “You also robbed that store and tried to steal those safe plans. Whatever Flynt had in mind for that safe maker, I’ll have to assume you were in on it, too.”
Samuel nodded once. “You’d be right with all of that.”
“All right, then,” Clint replied. “When I turn you over to a real lawman, that’s what you’ll go in for. I can’t guarantee anything during your trial, though.”
“I got to answer for what I’ve done. I knew it might come to that, but I won’t stay put to hang for some trumped-up bullshit anyone like Flynt tries to put on me.”
“Fair enough. Start talking.”
FORTY-TWO
After Baker arrived with a chair and rope for Samuel, he and Clint took turns watching the prisoners. Having Samuel next to Laramie was even better than stuffing a bandanna in his mouth. The kid seemed too nervous to say much of anything now that his partner was close enough to kick him. The fact that Chris wasn’t on his way made Laramie pull his head into his shell even further.
When he wasn’t sitting in the doorway to the cellar, Clint climbed to the top of Joan’s Emporium. There was a single room in the attic where Gertrude slept. It was a neat little space with a small bed and a large window that had a perfect view of Red Water. She allowed Clint and Baker to sit up there in shifts to watch for any sign of the posse returning to town.
According to Samuel, Flynt was supposed to keep all the men away from Red Water until the next afternoon. So far, Clint hadn’t seen anything to make him believe Samuel was lying. He had no reason to believe Samuel would pass up a chance to escape, either, but there was certainly no love lost between Flynt and any of the three outlaws. On the few occasions the marshal’s name had come up, Laramie and Samuel practically spat it out as if it left a bad taste in their mouths. When they spoke about the deputies, they might as well have been talking about slobbering dogs.
Clint was sitting in a rocker next to the attic window when Pearl walked into the room. The tall blonde was smiling when she approached Clint with a cup and pitcher in her hands.
“You look ready to start knitting something,” Pearl said.
Clint looked down to find a half-finished sweater draped over one arm of his chair. “And it looks like I do pretty good work,” he replied.
Approaching him, she said, “I brought you some water. There’s some food downstairs, too, if you want it. Just some sandwiches, but they’re pretty good.”
“No thanks, but I’ll take the water.”
Accepting the cup from Pearl, Clint sipped the water and then shifted his eyes back to the window.
“Do you think those lawmen will be coming back?” she asked.
“They’re not due until tomorrow, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Since Flynt will be expecting all hell to have broken loose around here, he’ll probably be a little upset when he just finds one body.” Noticing the questioning look in Clint’s eyes, she added, “Baker and those other two did some talking when I brought them their sandwiches. Well, mostly the younger one.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear a lot more from that one when you had him all to yourself.”
Pearl rolled her eyes and shook her head. “He could barely put two words together before tripping over his tongue. Once he did get going, he just did the same sort of bragging every other boy his age does.”
“Once he got going, huh?”
There was no mistaking where Clint was headed with that. Pearl responded with a short laugh along with a bit of a blush in her cheeks. “As far as that goes . . . I think it may have been his first time.”
“I’m sure he’d deny that with every breath in his body.” Clint chuckled.
“He can deny it all he wants, but he . . . well . . . he struck me as a boy with high hopes and no experience. I get a lot of those.”
Clint took another sip of water and said, “You do seem like a soft, pretty lady who won’t bite.”
“I will if the occasion calls for it,” Pearl replied with a promising smile.
“I’m sure you’re worth every penny, but . . .”
Reading Clint perfectly, Pearl took the cup from his hand and said, “You strike me as the sort of man that doesn’t need to count pennies to get on a woman’s good side. I haven’t been with a man like that in a while.”
As Pearl moved around to stand in front of him, Clint reached out to place his hand upon her hip. “And you do,” he told her as he rubbed the curve of her buttocks, “have one hell of a good side.”
She reached down to take hold of his wrists and guide his hands to her pert breasts. “Try this side. It’s not so bad either.”
Clint massaged her breasts and soon he felt her tugging at his belt. In no time at all, she had his pants down just enough to free his erection. Pearl lifted her skirts and eased down to let him slide into her. She let out a slo
w sigh and slipped her legs around so she could sit on his lap facing him.
The rocker moved slowly back and forth, allowing Clint to slip in and out of her. He took his time and held her in place with both hands. Pearl wrapped her legs around him and rested her head upon his shoulder. She shifted every now and then, but seemed perfectly content to just feel his hardness slowly moving in her.
“You think you can keep this up for a while?” she asked.
“I can sure try,” Clint told her.
“Then, as a reward, I can tell you the rest of what I heard from those men in the root cellar.”
Clint stopped moving and looked her in the eyes. “What did they say?”
Pearl smiled as if she’d just awakened from a deep sleep. “Not yet.”
“If you heard something, I want to know about it. Otherwise, don’t try to put one over on me.”
“I’m not trying to pull anything,” she assured him. Shifting her hips, Pearl managed to send a jolt through Clint without moving more than a few well-trained muscles. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We have all night and some of the morning.”
Clint grabbed her in both hands, pumped halfway into her, and stopped. Just as she opened her eyes all the way, he thrust the rest of the way into her and stopped. “Tell me now, or you won’t get any more.”
She smiled and rubbed his shoulder. “I knew negotiating with you would be a hoot. Why don’t we both go at the same time? I talk and you keep doing what you were doing.”
Clint thrust into her a few more times, simply because he couldn’t help himself. Pearl was true to her word and placed her lips against his ear to whisper her report between deep, grateful breaths.
FORTY-THREE
It was late in the morning when the four horses ambled toward the field about a quarter of a mile outside Red Water. The horses were in the deliberate, plodding rhythm of their casual gait and the riders on their backs were happy to let them keep ambling at their own pace.
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