Suddenly, the door to the workshop was pushed open and two men stomped inside. Clint looked over his shoulder to find the observer and a man he hadn’t seen before. The blacksmith who ran the shop where Clint was put to work came in last and shut the door behind him.
“Is this him?” the new arrival asked.
Before anyone could answer, Clint turned all the way around to face the trio. He held a hammer in one hand, which he propped on his shoulder while saying, “I don’t much like it when folks pretend I’m not here. If you’re talking to me, step up and introduce yourself like a man.”
The man Clint had never seen before cracked half a smile. He looked to be slightly younger than Clint, but that could have just been the product of good breeding. His thick hair was cut short in a manner that spoke of the Federal Army almost as much as a crisp blue uniform. He wore a pistol on his hip. The confident way he kept his hand resting upon the grip told Clint that he would know how to put the weapon to work if the need arose.
“This here’s Clint Adams,” the observer said. At that moment, Clint felt a little strange for not knowing that man’s name.
Acting as if he’d learned Clint’s name from a passing breeze, the stranger ignored the observer completely and said, “I’m Allan Preston.”
“Preston?” Clint replied. “I’ve heard mention of you.”
“Did you? From who? The old man?”
“No. Mind if I ask what you’re doing here?”
Preston looked at the other two men who’d walked in with him as if he couldn’t decide which of them to slap. “I own this shop you’re in,” he said to Clint. “And I own a good portion of the land you’re standing on.”
“All right. That settles that. What can I do for you?”
Stepping forward, Allan asked, “Is that one of the rifles you were commissioned to make?”
“Yes sir, it is.” When Allan reached for the largest piece of the dismantled rifle, Clint added, “That one’s not finished yet.”
“I can see that.”
“If you want to examine a functioning model, I’ve got five others right over there.”
Preston glanced in the direction Clint pointed and said, “Those rifles don’t look the same.”
“Strictly speaking, they’re not,” Clint said. “I put them together using parts from other rifles in Mr. Stone’s possession. You can’t just fit any parts together, though. They’ve had to be modified.”
“Which is what you were hired to do.”
“That’s right.”
Preston picked up the piece he’d originally reached for so he could take a closer look. After examining the firing mechanism as well as the barrel itself, he nodded and set them both down precisely as he’d found them. “That’s some damn fine work.”
“Glad you approve.”
Swatting the observer with the back of his hand, Preston asked, “Do you think you could do work like that?”
“I’ve seen what he does,” the observer replied. “It ain’t much.”
Clint sighed. “I’ve been hearing a lot of that lately.”
“Well, whoever’s saying that is wrong,” Preston told him. “Seeing a man do something isn’t the same as doing it yourself.” He ran his hand over the top of his head while staring down at the dismantled rifle. He motioned toward the completed ones. “So the others are like this one?”
“Basically,” Clint replied. “I did the same sort of modifications, but each one’s going to be a little different. They should all measure up to the same quality as the sample I provided.”
Preston reached into his pocket for a piece of folded paper. He unfolded it and then held it out so Clint could see. “Is this the list of modifications you made?”
Clint checked the list, but didn’t have to look at it for long before he nodded. “That’s right. Like I said, those five over there are ready to go and this one should be finished shortly.”
“Sam,” Preston said to the observer. “Collect those rifles that are finished. I want to make sure you at least know how to strip them down and put them together again.”
“Christ almighty,” Sam grumbled.
Knowing exactly how far under Sam’s skin his words had dug, Preston grinned at Clint. “He likes to think of himself as a smith. Hopefully he’s learned a thing or two.”
“I am being paid extra,” Clint pointed out. “I could answer any questions he has if he’d like to ask. Or . . . he could just keep hanging over me like a vulture.”
“You’re getting paid extra?” Preston asked.
“That’s right.”
Preston grinned, thought it over, and then grinned a little more. “Good,” he said. “Soak the old man for every last penny.”
At that moment, Clint decided to finish his work and be on his way before any more trouble came to that ranch.
TWENTY-TWO
OLD MEXICO
THE PRESENT . . .
George arrived just before nightfall with a covered wagon that had a wheel with a bent rim. Although the wagon suited their purposes just fine, it rattled like it was about to give up its ghost at any second. They were able to load the wagon and get down from the hills before losing too much daylight. If the rest of the ride hadn’t been across relatively flat desert, they would have needed to make camp and go the rest of the way into town in the morning. As it was, the light from the stars was just enough to illuminate the plain of sandy rock until the town came into view.
Thanks to a deal already arranged with Ramon, George and Clint were able to unload the gold at the old miner’s shop, where it would be held for safekeeping. After that, Clint barely managed to stay on his feet while shuffling toward his hotel.
“You can leave those with Ramon as well,” George said.
Until that moment, Clint had almost forgotten he still had a rifle in each hand. Glancing at the two weapons taken from the cave, Clint replied, “I still want to check a few things on these.”
“You’ve had them most of the day. Haven’t you seen all there is to see?”
“I’ve been doing some thinking and . . . I just want to check a few things over. Is that a problem?”
George waved a hand at him and started walking down the street. “Long as it doesn’t interfere with my sleep, I don’t care what you do with those damn things.”
“All right then. See you in the morning.”
• • •
The next day, sometime between breakfast and noon, George wandered into Ramon’s shop. He gawked in surprise when he found Clint sitting at one of Ramon’s tables with several bits of metal spread out in front of him. “What the hell are you doing here?” George asked.
“I own this place,” Ramon grunted.
“Not you,” George said as he pointed at Clint’s table. “Him.”
Clint looked up from what he was doing. He had a small section of a Winchester’s firing mechanism in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. “I told you I’d see you in the morning, didn’t I? You’re the one that’s strolling in here so late.”
“I said I’d see you in the morning, but I didn’t think I really would. It was just one of those things you say. You know . . . like when you ask someone how they’re doing? You don’t really want to know and don’t really expect an honest answer.”
“Hmm,” Clint said as he turned back to his table. “That’s real fascinating. So when did you plan on heading back into those hills?”
“I thought we could head back there tomorrow, but if you’re anxious to get moving . . .”
“I am. I’d like to see if there’s anything left in the rest of those caves.”
“So you believe I can find them?” George asked.
“I believe there’s more to be found. As for the rest,” Clint added with a shrug, “that remains to be seen.”
George then turned
his sights to Ramon. “What about you?” he asked. “Have you been as busy as my partner over there?”
“I looked through those boxes you dropped off if that’s what you mean,” Ramon replied. “Here’s a receipt and my offer for payment.”
Taking the slip of paper from Ramon, George shook his head and licked his lips like any other hungry scavenger looking down at a fresh kill. “I’m going to have to demand a better deal here. Considering how much I’ve brought you and how much is to come, I’m sure you can give me a better reason to keep my business here.”
There was plainly some haggling that needed to be done and Clint didn’t want any part of it. One advantage to playing the role of hired hand was the luxury of stepping aside when such tedious tasks needed to be performed. Strangely enough, just by looking at George’s and Ramon’s faces, someone might think they were engaging in an exciting game of cards.
Clint had more than enough to occupy his mind. Mostly, he was concerned with the rifle he’d been dismantling when George had arrived. It was one of the guns from the cave, but not one that he’d previously examined. It hadn’t taken long for him to determine that this rifle had been constructed in a fashion similar to the rest. It had been pieced together from other quality models and modified to similar specifications, just not by him. Like any craftsman who knew his trade, Clint could spot his own work as easily as if he’d signed it. What he saw in this rifle was an attempt to copy his work. It was a fairly good attempt, but a copy all the same.
“All right then,” George said triumphantly. “Do we have a bargain?”
Ramon nodded and shook George’s hand. “We have a bargain. If I hear you take any of this gold somewhere else . . .”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m a man of my word. Come on, Clint. Let’s get started. There’s plenty of work to do.”
Clint may not have heard the specifics of whatever deal had just been struck with Ramon, but he knew he was more than ready to get back out to find more pieces to the puzzle of what the hell had happened to his rifles.
TWENTY-THREE
George was so excited once he got a look at the now-familiar range of caves that he damn near jumped down from the wagon he’d rented so he could run the rest of the way there. Using the map in his possession, George managed to find two more spots where items were being stored. It was late afternoon when he emerged from the second of those caves wearing a broad grin beneath a thick layer of dirt caked on his face.
“Lookee here!” George said excitedly. “I found something!”
Clint stood guard outside the cave, watching for any hint that the raiders who’d attacked them before might return. Although he’d seen some movement in the distance, there was nothing to make him certain it was anything to worry about. Even so, he wasn’t about to turn his back on another possible ambush. “What is it?” Clint asked.
In George’s hands was a long wooden box with ropes on either end that were fashioned into handles. “Don’t know yet, but it’s heavy.”
“Is there any more in there?”
“I think so.”
“How far back?” Clint asked as he squinted into the shadows of a cave that was barely tall enough for a man to move while crouching inside. “The last one was a tunnel that was a good forty yards long that had you crawling on your belly like a snake.”
“I did the crawling, thank you very much,” George said while setting the box down.
“And you did it for two cases of ammunition.”
“Specially made ammunition,” George corrected. “You said as much yourself!”
“I remember, but that doesn’t make it valuable.”
George leered at the box as he got down on both knees so he could reach for the lid. His hands trembled slightly and his eyes widened as if he were about to peel the corset off of a woman. “That was one cave, but there are plenty of others. And this,” he declared like a magician at the end of his trick, “is gonna be a good one!”
With that, George pulled off the top of the box with a grand sweeping gesture. Both men looked down to see what was inside, and when they looked up again, only one of them was smiling.
“Dynamite,” Clint said. “I’ll grant you, it’s not exactly gold, but we can get a real bang out of it.”
George slammed the lid down beside the box so he could dig beneath the sticks of explosives with both hands. “I don’t know what you’re so damn smug about. Both of us are either profiting or losing on this venture.”
“We’ve attracted enough attention with that gold,” Clint replied. “It’s comforting to have a wagon full of things that won’t draw so many men looking to shoot us.”
“You’ve been worried about men coming to steal from us all day. So far, it’s just us and the lizards out here.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re safe. Could just be that the men looking to help themselves to our gold are lazy and are waiting to take a run at us when we get back into town.”
George dismissed that with a casual wave.
“Where’s the next cave?” Clint asked.
Looking up from the box, George asked, “We can still sell this, right?”
“Sure. Won’t bring you a fortune, but it should pay for some of our supplies.”
“Maybe pay for the damn wagon I rented.”
When George grabbed the box lid and brought it down swiftly, Clint stopped him by grabbing his wrist. “It may not be worth as much as you like,” he said, “but it’ll explode a lot worse than gold. Take it easy.”
George nodded. “You’re right. Sorry about that.” He then put the lid gently back into place. “Perhaps I’m in a mood after crawling around in the dark all day. The cave where I found this box was slimy and foul.”
“Probably an animal’s den.”
Looking down at his clothes and noticing the slick mess that was smeared all over him, he couldn’t do much more than laugh. “Seeing as how we’re partners in this venture, I don’t suppose you’d want to explore the next cave or two on the list?”
“You brought me along to watch for robbers and guard the gold,” Clint said. “I’ve already done more than my share of stumbling in the dark.”
“Come on, Clint! At least take the next one.”
At the start of this job, Clint would have been willing to do his share where the dirty work was concerned. Lately, however, the work had gotten much dirtier than expected. All he had to do was look at the putrid state of George’s clothes for proof of that. Rather than mention that, however, Clint said, “I’m surprised you’d want to risk not being the one to open the next boxes we find.”
“I’ll roll those dice.”
Clint shrugged and gazed out toward the seemingly endless row of caves. “I think about some of those first strikes we made, setting eyes on those stacks of crates, feeling the thump of my heart as they were pried open. Mmmm. That does sound a hell of a lot better than standing around out here in the sun.”
“I know what you’re doing,” George grumbled while doing his best to brush off some of the mess.
“Doing?”
“You just don’t want to get dirty.”
“Since these caves we’ve found so far today have been disappointing, maybe the next one or two will be just what we’ve been waiting for. Fine. I’ll do it.”
When Clint started rolling up his sleeves, George responded by reaching into a pocket for his map. “The next one should be right over there somewhere,” he said while pointing to a short row of caves that didn’t look big enough to be used for a rat’s nest.
“I imagine there’s another good-sized space just inside that entrance,” Clint mused. “Probably a nice tunnel as well so the valuables are kept well out of sight.”
“I reckon so. You’ll be needing the lantern, then.”
“Hope you don’t mind if I take a look inside whatever boxes I find while I�
��m in there. After all this time spent standing around looking at nothing but desert, I’m aching for something more enticing.”
“I bet you are. Whatever you find, get a nice look,” George said. “It’ll do you some good.”
Clint was about to try to tempt the other man again, but decided not to bother. George knew what was going on, and he was too tired to be swayed. Cursing under his breath, Clint had to admit defeat.
Now that he’d resigned himself to having to follow through on what he’d been saying, Clint lost a good deal of his previous enthusiasm. “Fine. I’ll have a look inside the next two caves, but that doesn’t mean you just bask in the sun. Someone needs to watch for those gunmen.”
“They won’t return,” George said. “After the beating we gave them last time, they’re surely off somewhere far from here licking their wounds.”
“If you believe that, then you’re dumber than you look.” Although his words had come out a bit harsher than he’d intended, Clint still meant every one of them. At the very least, they seemed to have the desired effect.
George lost his smugness and nodded. “All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep watch. Do you really think they’ll come back?”
After a slight pause, Clint said, “Yes.”
Now George didn’t look so happy. “You do? How long do you think we have before we need to start worrying?”
Clint pointed down at the trails that would take them out of the rocky pass and back into the flatter portion of the desert. There were two paths that could be used by horses, and two men were riding up each of them on a direct route to the caves.
“I’d say we’ve got about another minute or two,” Clint said.
TWENTY-FOUR
Although the caves were an inviting prospect in terms of seeking shelter, Clint didn’t like the idea of backing himself into a spot that could be so easily blocked. So he climbed into his saddle and George got into the wagon’s seat so he could move it up the pass. He made it less than fifty yards before pulling back hard on his reins.
The Clint Adams Special Page 8