The Clint Adams Special

by J. R. Roberts

  “There’s more of them coming up this side of the hill,” George announced.

  “That’s right,” one of the men on the lower path called out. “We’ve got men on either side of you.”

  “You already took a run at us,” Clint said. “In case you need to be reminded, you lost.”

  “I’m not looking for a fight, Adams.”

  Clint squinted down at the four approaching riders. They’d come to a stop midway up the trail. Although the sun was glinting in his eyes and reflecting off the sand-blasted surface of the exposed rocks, he recognized the man who was doing the talking.

  “That’s the one who led the gunmen who fired at us last time,” George said.

  “I know,” Clint replied.

  This time, the man stayed put just outside of pistol range. Clint reached for the boot of his saddle and removed the rifle kept there.

  “You hear me, Adams?” the man shouted. “I said I don’t want a fight with you.”

  “Too late,” Clint replied. “You started it when you fired at me and my partner the last time.”

  “That was unfortunate.”

  “And here I thought you’d try to pass it off as a misunderstanding.”

  While the other three men around him shifted in their saddles, the man who spoke stood like a statue as he said, “There was no misunderstanding. You and that other fellow are helping yourselves to what doesn’t belong to you and I aim to put a stop to it.”

  “You can’t make a claim on anything we found!” George shouted. “After what you and your men did before, we’re well within our rights to shoot you on sight.”

  “I know you better than that, Clint,” the man shouted. “And you should know that you’re in the wrong here. If you haven’t realized that yet, I can explain it to you.”

  “You want to give an explanation?” Clint replied. “You can do it over a drink in a saloon. Surrounding me and my partner with a gang of armed men only tells me one thing and it’s not that you’re here to talk.”

  “I’m here for what’s mine!”

  “I already said what I’m going to say to you. We’re moving along now. If you and your men don’t let us go about our business, you’ll get more fight than you can stomach.”

  George shifted uneasily in the wagon’s seat, but held his ground.

  At the bottom of the pass, the man let out a sharp, short whistle.

  Turning toward the sound of movement, George stood up a bit in his seat to get a look at the portion of the trail that stretched up to higher ground. “Those men coming around the other side of the hill are closing in.”

  Clint rode up alongside the wagon and jumped down from his saddle. Hurrying to the back of the wagon, he reached for one of the closest boxes and opened it. “When I tell you to go, you go. Don’t stop unless I give the order. Understand?”

  “What have you got in mind?” George asked. “Are we making a stand?”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to,” Clint told him as he walked back to Eclipse and mounted the Darley Arabian. “Especially if we spend some of the gold we found today,” he added with a wink while holding up the stick of dynamite he’d collected from the back.

  George became even more uneasy when he saw Clint take a match from his pocket. Despite that, he gripped his reins and prepared himself to follow through on the orders he’d been given.

  “Call your men off,” Clint warned. “I’m only going to ask once.”

  Even though there was no way for anyone to miss those words as they echoed throughout the rocky pass, the men down below spoke quietly among themselves as if nothing had happened to disturb them.

  “Suit yourself,” Clint said. He then struck the match against the side of the wagon and touched the little flame to the fuse attached to the stick of dynamite. He waited for an inch or so of the fuse to burn away before tossing the dynamite in a high arc through the air.

  The hissing fuse left a thin trail of smoke, tracing its path higher up the pass. Since Clint didn’t have as good of a vantage point as George, he couldn’t see the riders that were coming from that direction. He didn’t have any trouble hearing them, however, as they discovered what had been sent their way.

  “Holy shit!” one of the men shouted.

  After that, all that could be heard was the clatter of shoed hooves against the rock followed by a clap of explosive thunder.

  “Go,” Clint said sharply.

  George wasn’t about to argue. He snapped his reins to get the small team moving up the trail.

  The men at the bottom of the pass were no longer having their hushed conversation. All of them were staring up at the caves with guns in their hands. Clint tossed them an easy wave.

  George was just about to disappear behind one of the large rock faces that made up the cave-infested ridge when Clint caught up to him. “Keep going,” he said.

  Nodding fiercely, George replied, “I wasn’t about to stop. It’s all I can do to keep these horses from bolting in opposite directions after that damned blast.”

  Clint snapped his reins and held on tight. Eclipse had been around plenty of gunfire and even a good amount of explosions, but the stallion wasn’t exactly fond of those things. Since none of the men at the bottom of the pass were inclined to fire up at him, Clint dropped his rifle back into the boot so he could draw his Colt. All the while, his eyes searched for anyone looking to take a shot at him or get the drop on the wagon from any angle. So far, all he saw of those men were the dust trails their retreating horses had left behind.

  George said, “Looks like they’re not about to come after us. You think we can pick a few of them off from here?”

  “Since when did you become so bloodthirsty?” Clint asked.

  “Since I found myself in the same men’s sights twice in a row. I’d rather be on the right side of the rifle barrel instead of looking down the wrong end again.”

  “We’re not picking anyone off,” Clint told him. “We’re heading back to town.”

  George’s voice was already losing its bluster as he shifted back and forth to survey the terrain on either side of the wagon. “But we’ve got miles of desert to cover between here and town. That leaves a whole lot of opportunities for another ambush.”

  “They won’t ambush us again. Not just yet anyway.”

  “And how can you be so sure?”

  “Because,” Clint replied, “they want something. If it was something they could just take from us, at least one of us would be dead already.”

  George swallowed hard to get rid of the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “You think they’re after more than just the gold we found?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not exactly sure what just yet.”

  Looking over at Clint while bringing his team back under control, George said, “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Clint’s eyes were fixed on a point far beyond the trail in front of him. “That man who showed up today and the last time we were ambushed . . .”

  “You mean the one who did all the talking?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing some thinking and I finally figured out why he looked familiar.”

  “Really?” George said hopefully. “You know him?”

  “He’s Allan Preston, and judging by the state of those rifles we found, he’s been through a whole lot of hell getting here.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  They got back to town without anyone shooting at them. Even so, it was one of the longest rides Clint had experienced in quite a while because he never stopped searching for a hint of where the next attack might come from. His eyes darted toward every rustling branch. His muscles were tensed in preparation of drawing his pistol, snapping his reins, or leaping from his saddle altogether. Nothing came, however, which shredded his nerves worse than broken glass being dragged over expensive silk.r />
  Since there was no gold in the wagon that day, they rode straight to the livery and unloaded their haul on the spot. Once the boxes were all spread out on the floor, George went through each of them while Clint kept watch.

  Trujillo was never a bustling place, which made Clint’s job easier. If anyone came down the street in front of the livery, there was no chance Clint would miss it. For anyone to sneak up close enough to be a threat, Clint would either have to be blind and deaf or asleep. Even if someone tried to get to a rooftop or look through the window of a nearby building, they would have to either show themselves on the town’s flat skyline or open a shutter.

  Clint leaned with his back against the livery beside its front door. He wasn’t the only person in the vicinity. A few locals sat on their porches, and every so often children would scurry by. All of them were part of the town, however, and Clint figured they could only help him in his task. That notion was proven when a couple of old men sitting in front of a general store stared down the street and started chattering to each other.

  The children running in that direction stopped and scattered.

  A few dogs barked.

  Clint smirked at how his hunch had paid off. By the time he saw the two strangers round the corner and walk toward the livery, he’d had more than enough time to prepare himself for whatever was on its way. And yet somehow he was still surprised when he saw who’d broken Trujillo’s natural calm.

  The years had been kind to Felicia Stone. Her thick black hair was a bit longer and her movements were more guarded but she was every bit as beautiful as he’d remembered. As she got closer to him, Clint picked out a few beautiful parts of her that he’d almost forgotten about. Almost, but not quite.

  Clint didn’t recognize the man walking at Felicia’s side, but it was obvious he was hired to keep an eye on her. His hand never strayed far from the gun holstered at his side, and his eyes locked on to Clint as if he was already thinking of ways to tear him apart.

  In stark contrast to her protector, Felicia brightened considerably as she drew closer to the livery. Extending one hand to block the gunman’s path, she said, “You can find somewhere else to go, Wes. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you,” the gunman replied.

  “I can keep an eye on myself,” she told him. “I’ve been doing it for some time. There was a cantina back there. Why don’t you get something to drink.”

  Wes stared holes through Clint while standing in the middle of the street. Even though there was nothing coming from any direction, he looked as if he wouldn’t have budged if a stampede of buffalo had charged straight through town.

  Clint stepped forward and opened his arms. “Hello, Felicia. I was just thinking about the last time we saw each other.”

  She stepped into his embrace, wrapped her arms around him, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I think about those nights, too. Still makes me quiver.”

  “I’m guessing you’re here with Allan Preston.”

  “You guessed right.”

  Doing his best to at least make it appear that he was immune to her charms, Clint asked, “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to have a word with you. Can we go somewhere more private?”

  “You can have all the words you want right here.”

  “If you’re concerned about your friend,” she said while nodding toward the livery, “don’t be. I’m not here for the gold.”

  “What makes you think we found any gold?” Clint asked.

  Felicia raised one eyebrow and looked at Clint with a disbelieving grin. “Come now. Don’t treat me like a fool. I know what’s buried in those caves.”

  Clint shrugged in a way that told her nothing. “You’re telling me you’re not here just to pay me a visit?”

  She sighed and looked around at the locals, who barely seemed to take a passing interest in them. “I want to talk, but not out in the middle of the street. Surely you’d like to know what’s been going on around here.”

  “Once the shots were fired at me, I stopped wondering and started concerning myself with staying alive. I can figure out the rest once the smoke clears.”

  Tapping Clint on the chest while remaining close enough for the scent of her hair to reach his nose, Felicia said, “I imagine you’re just angry about the misunderstanding between you and Allan.”

  “I understand just fine. He shot at me and I shot back.”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “He was the one who misunderstood. You’re right and he’s wrong. Better?”

  “A little.”

  “Then come along with me so we can have our talk.”

  Clint held on to her and said, “I’ve got a better idea. Meet me at the Tres Burros Saloon in an hour. If I see Allan or any of those others there, I’ll start shooting and figure it’s in self-defense. You understand me?”

  She nodded. “I don’t want any of them to be there either.”

  “That includes Wes. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “No,” she laughed. “He’s a friend of Allan’s. Don’t worry, though. I’ve gotten real good at slipping away without any of them noticing.”

  “Fine. See you soon, then.”

  She placed a kiss on his lips and stepped back. “Thank you for trusting me, Clint.”

  “Don’t disappoint me. It could turn out real bad for those involved. I’ve had my fill of men announcing themselves by firing at me.”

  “I don’t blame you.” With that, Felicia turned away from him and walked off.

  Clint stayed put for another minute or two so he could watch the street. When he stepped inside the livery, Clint found George standing right there with rifle in hand.

  “You in trouble?” George whispered.

  “Not as such, but thanks for being there for me.”

  “Actually, I was staying inside where it was safe.”

  “I know,” Clint said with a grin as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “I was joking. What did you find in those boxes?”

  “Just supplies, ammunition, the dynamite, of course.”

  “Of course. Nothing more interesting than that?”

  “Not really,” George replied. “Apart from this.” He picked up the lid from one of the boxes and turned it over. Stamped onto the wooden slats was the same emblem that had been pressed into the gold coins they’d found. “I suppose it’s just a brand.”

  Clint took a closer look at the lid. Apart from the emblem and the nails sticking through the wood that had connected it to the box itself, there wasn’t anything else to see. “Yeah. It just marks this as belonging to the same man who owns that gold.”

  “You still think it’s Preston?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “If I may ask . . . who was that woman you were talking to?” George winced and added, “I’ll admit, I did hear some of what you were saying while I was—”

  “Hiding in the livery?”

  “I was going to say covering you, but whatever. You know that woman? Who is she?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You’ve got an hour to tell it to me,” George said.

  “Fair enough. Why don’t I do that while we break apart those boxes to see if there was anything we missed?”

  TWENTY-SIX

  When Clint walked into the Tres Burros Saloon, the only thing that was different than any other time he’d been there was the woman sitting at one of the tables at the far side of the main room. Felicia sat with a glass of wine, which she raised in a silent toast when she saw Clint step inside. He crossed the room and went to the bar.

  “Hey, Danny,” he said to the barkeep.

  Having already picked up a mug from below the bar, Danny filled it from the keg and set it down in front of Clint. “You and George still crawling around them caves?”

 
“More or less.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Just some tools, a few sticks of dynamite, and a whole lot of spiders.”

  “Heard about the dynamite,” Danny said. “Or I should say I heard when some of it went off. You two still got all yer fingers and toes?”

  “Last time I checked. Has anyone been asking around about me, George, or those caves?”

  Danny didn’t say anything at first, but he seemed a bit readier to speak when he saw the silver dollars Clint slid across the bar toward him. “That partner of yours doesn’t know how to keep quiet about much,” he said.

  “I already knew that,” Clint replied.

  “Some men have asked if I think you two really found anything or if George is just full of hot air.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “The truth,” Danny said. “All I know for certain is that you and him keep riding out to the desert. Some others know about George renting a cart. Other than that . . .”

  “Yeah?” When he saw Danny glance down at the bar, Clint placed another dollar in the same spot. Before Danny could claim it, Clint slapped his hand down on top of the money. “Tell me what you have to say. All of it.”

  “There was a fella came through here not long ago. Not this last time you and George went into the desert, but the time before that.”

  “You know every time someone rides out of town?”

  Danny shrugged. “Trujillo is a small town. After all the talking George was doing, you two have become a topic of conversation.”

  Sighing, Clint fought back the impulse to march straight back to the livery and punch George in his big mouth. “Who was this fella you’re talking about?” Clint asked.

  “I don’t know his name, but he’s about your height. Long, dark hair. Kind of looks like death warmed over.”

  “He asked about me and George?”

  “Not by name. He came along and heard folks talking about all the wild stories George had been spouting off about. That’s when he came to me and asked about who was going after the gold. He wanted to know how many of you there were, what you’d found, that sort of thing.”