The Clint Adams Special

by J. R. Roberts

  “None. I collected the rifles we found.”

  “Oh? You think they came back just for the rifles? I’m sure you did a fine job on them, Clint, but . . .”

  “I don’t think this is all about the rifles,” Clint said. “But they’re obviously something the Prestons want. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been squirreled away.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Think of them more as a token of goodwill. When we have a word with the Preston gunmen, the rifles will prove we truly do have the goods taken from those caves and are willing to trade them.”

  Suddenly, George seemed even less comfortable in the small bed. “Which Preston gunmen?”

  “All of them. Come the morning, we’ll have a word with them to see if we can’t work something out.”

  George’s face paled. “You want me to go, too?”

  “Both of our necks are on the line.”

  “Why don’t we just take what we’ve got and ride out of town? I’m more than willing to admit when enough’s enough. After all, wouldn’t want to be greedy.”

  Clint didn’t try to hide the fact that he was enjoying the display George was putting on as he tried to salvage a bit of his dignity. “That sounds fine,” Clint said. “Just as long as you think either of the two groups will just let us take their gold and be merrily on our way.”

  “Their gold? It was in the back of a cave, for Christ’s sake.”

  “It has their brand stamped on it.”

  “Sure, but . . .” George tried to think of a reasonable reply to that and came up empty. “There’s plenty more,” he said quickly. “I’ll even leave the map. I know! We can throw in the map as another bargaining chip!”

  “Right!” Clint said. “I’m sure that’ll be enough to keep them happy. After all . . . they surely wouldn’t want to get greedy.”

  For a brief moment, George tried to believe that Clint was being serious. When that passed, he rolled onto his side, nearly fell off the bed, and grunted, “I hate you.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  That night, Clint wound up sleeping very well. He slept better than George, which wasn’t saying much since George alternated between sweating nervously about what the next day held for him and trying not to roll onto the floor.

  Clint was in good spirits. Although there was still a good amount of work that needed to be done, he knew most of what lay in front of him and how he was going to deal with it. All that remained for him at the moment was to enjoy the breakfast of ham and eggs cooked for them by the woman who owned the house where they’d slept.

  George, on the other hand, wasn’t so optimistic. When he walked down the stairs and to the woman’s kitchen, he could barely lift his boots. When he ate, he stared down at his meal as though it was the last one he would ever enjoy.

  Knowing better than to try and cheer the other man up, Clint simply led him to the Tres Burros Saloon, where they’d arranged to meet with Felicia. Clint sat at the table where he’d met with her before and ordered coffee from Danny. George did the same.

  “Maybe you should drink something with a little more kick,” Clint said.

  “It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?”

  “Normally, yes. Today, I think you could use something to loosen you up. You look like a watch that’s about to pop a spring or two.”

  George sighed. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

  Standing up and removing his hat, Clint said, “You’ve got a few seconds. Here they come.”

  Following Clint’s lead, George stood and politely nodded as Felicia approached the table. She wasn’t alone and the tall man with the sunken features accompanying her seemed even less happy about being there than George did.

  “Hello, Felicia,” Clint said. “Allan.”

  Felicia smiled and sat down. Before she could return the greeting, Allan said, “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So let’s get down to why we’re here. I want the gold, the rifles, and anything else you may have found in those caves. I also want the map.”

  “Anything else I can offer you?” Clint asked.

  “Don’t be a smart ass, Adams. Those things are mine by right. More mine than yours anyway.”

  “What do you need them for?” When he saw Allan tense as though he was about to lunge across the table, Clint swiftly added, “The only reason I ask is because I’ve also met with John VanTreaton. You remember him, right?”

  Through clenched teeth, Allan replied, “Of course I do.”

  “Seems to me that you men had a falling-out as of late.”

  “What’s that to you?”

  “Seeing as how we’re the ones who have what you want,” Clint replied, “it seems pretty important to figure out who we’re dealing with. You’ve got to know that VanTreaton and his boys want the same thing you do.”

  “Hardly,” Allan said.

  Felicia placed her hands flat on the table as if she were spreading out a contract in front of them. “Let’s not get wrapped up in threats and whatever else you boys had in mind to see who’s the bigger dog here. We all know what we’re here for and what’s at stake. Let’s negotiate a way for all of us to leave happy.”

  Staring across the table at Allan, Clint said, “You had the chance to finish this a couple of times already. Those times when you had your men ambush us, you stayed back and barely lifted a finger to—”

  “You should feel damn lucky I stayed back,” Allan snapped. “Otherwise, you’d be dead.”

  “Why not finish the job?” Clint asked. “Or at least try to finish it?”

  “Because I’m not a bloodthirsty animal like my uncle. He’s out of control and running roughshod across southern Texas. I’d hoped he would come to his senses when the Federals and law came to pick away from his territory, but it only made him angrier. Our family stretches back farther than him, and I won’t have everything we built up be lost in a senseless fight or pissed away on some foolish dream.”

  “How many men do you have on your side of this?” Clint asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Allan told him.

  “I beg to differ,” George said. “If I’m to throw in with anyone, I need to know I’m signing up on the winning side.”

  Looking over at George as though he’d only just acknowledged the other man’s existence, Allan asked, “Who the hell are you again?”

  “I’m the one . . .” George paused so he could shoot a quick glance over to Clint. He then steeled himself and said, “I’m the one who knows where to find the other maps.”

  Suddenly Allan was very interested in what George had to say. “What other maps?” he asked.

  When Clint saw that his partner needed a little prodding, he said, “Go on. Tell him.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “I got this map because of a man who lives in a town on the border just on the Mexican side,” George said. “He steered me to where I needed to go to get this map and told me there were others I could get later on.”

  “You didn’t get them all at once?”

  “It seemed this one would get me what I needed. Besides,” George added, “there are always dangerous types who come along when the stakes get too high. The company at this table and elsewhere in this town is proof enough of that.”

  “So it is.” Allan leaned back in his chair to digest what he’d heard. “What’s this man’s name?”

  “We don’t part with any information like that,” Clint said before George had a chance to buckle. “Not until this matter is resolved.”

  Allan met Clint’s gaze. “This is Preston family business. Not yours. What do you care whether it gets resolved or not?”

  “Because people are dying and don’t you dare try to tell me it’s just Preston family members or even those hired by the family that are bleeding because
of this idiotic feud of yours.”

  Neither Allan nor Felicia tried to say any such thing.

  “Not only that, but several of those people were killed by my guns.”

  “Come now, Adams,” Allan said with a cold smile. “You’ve made plenty of guns. Do you think all of them were used to shoot snakes or tin cans off of fence posts?”

  “No, but I would never have taken the job if I’d known I was helping a madman stake his claim through fear and murder. Those rifles were supposed to be used by regulators on privately owned land. Not only that, but this feud has found its way back to me regardless. It ends here.”

  “Believe it or not,” Felicia said, “but we’re all of the same mind. We want this thing to come to an end as well. Too many of my family have died recently and my grandfather is to blame. We’ve tried working this out some other way, but he’s too far gone for talking or negotiations.”

  “Maybe I should talk with him,” Clint offered. “It’s been a couple of years since the last time I met the old man, but we seemed to see eye to eye on more than a few things. Perhaps what he needs is to hear from someone outside of this mess.”

  “You’re not exactly outside of it,” Felicia said.

  “It’s either me or the law. I think he’d rather sit across from me.”

  “Too late for that,” Allan said firmly. “Jebediah doesn’t care what anyone outside of his family has to say. Lately, he barely cares what anyone inside of it has to say either. All he cares about is planting his flag anywhere he can, and he needs to collect his stockpiles to do that. VanTreaton and that animal Cal Landry have already buried plenty of men who thought they could get him to listen to reason. The standing orders are to gather those supplies and kill anyone who gets in their way.”

  “There’s not much time left if we’re to do anything about this,” Felicia said. “For now, Jeb’s Corps is just seen as separate gangs of outlaws running through Texas and Mexico like so many other outlaws. Once Jeb’s got his funding, he’ll make himself known in a big way.”

  “He’ll pay for men to rally around him,” Allan said, “and shoot anyone who stands against him. It’s insane for him to think he can succeed, but he’ll sure as hell spill a lot of blood before it’s over.”

  “VanTreaton is dead,” Clint said.

  The bluntness of that announcement caught Allan and Felicia off their guard. “You never mentioned that,” Allan said.

  Clint nodded and leaned forward so he could speak without being overheard. “That’s because I wanted to make certain you were worthy of hearing the truth.”

  “What about Cal Landry?” Allan asked.

  “I know where to find him and the men he brought along. Rounding them up should put a good-sized dent in Jebediah’s plans. With enough persuasion, I’m thinking we should be able to arrange a meeting with the old man himself. No matter what, he’s the key to all of this.”

  “We both agree on that,” Felicia said. “One word from him, and the fighting is over. Without payment coming, those hired killers will crawl back inside whatever holes they came from. And without his blessing, the men who are truly loyal to him will stand down.”

  “If he won’t end this willingly,” Allan said, “we’ll have to kill him.”

  “You’d do that to your own flesh and blood?” George said.

  Without a flinch, Allan replied, “If it’s got to be done, I’d rather be the one to do it. Me or someone within the family.”

  “That’s all fine and good,” Clint said, “but the old man’s a bit out of our reach for the time being.”

  Allan grinned in a way that made him look like the face of death. “That’s why we’re bringing him here,” he said.

  “How could you manage something like that?” George asked.

  Felicia drew a deep breath so she’d have the strength to say, “He’s always had a weakness for his granddaughters. I sent word to him a few days ago that I was here and we made sure Cal and VanTreaton could confirm it.”

  “We also made it known that a good portion of his gold is in our hands,” Allan explained. “Whether it’s because of greed or whatever is left of his family honor, Jeb will be along soon. I’m guessing he’s already on his way.”

  Clint pushed away from the table and stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Allan asked.

  “To confirm your story.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  When Clint went to the livery down on Cruces Street, he didn’t go alone. Not only was George with him, but Allan went along as well. Rather than waste time trying to talk Allan out of it, Clint settled for insisting that he remain out of sight while they went to check on the rifles they’d stashed. As soon as the livery was in sight, it was obvious that they weren’t the only ones paying it a visit.

  “That’s Cal Landry’s horse,” Allan said when he spotted the dark gray mare tied near the trough in front of the livery.

  “Looks like he’s got some men with him,” Clint said.

  “Mangy dogs always travel in packs.”

  A few seconds later, George hurried toward them from the direction of the livery. He was out of breath and sweating when he said, “There’s more of them behind the livery. I don’t think any of them spotted me. I got close enough to count three of them.”

  “Stay here,” Clint told him. “I’ll go and have a word with them.”

  “If that’s where you’re keeping those rifles,” Allan warned, “I doubt they’ll be willing to speak to you.”

  Clint slapped his hand on the grip of his holstered Colt. “That’s why I intend on doing my talking with this. Just stay out of sight.” Without waiting for Allan to agree to those terms, Clint stepped into the street and hurried toward the livery. Just as he was spotted by a man stepping out of the livery, he shouted, “What the hell are you doing there?”

  The man had just gotten outside and was carrying a bundle wrapped in a horse blanket. Keeping one arm wrapped around his cargo, he used his other hand to knock on the livery door behind him. Almost immediately, the door was opened by two more men. One of those was carrying a bundle similar to the one in the first man’s possession. Clint recognized the other as Cal Landry.

  Landry positioned himself in front of the livery’s door. “We’re reclaiming these rifles, Adams! If you know what’s good for ya, you’ll let us take the gold as well.”

  The bundles were the right shape for the rifles to be wrapped up in those blankets.

  “You’re not reclaiming anything, damn it!” Clint shouted.

  “Go to hell, Landry, you son of a bitch!” Allan roared as he hurried over to stand at Clint’s side.

  “Wait!” was all Clint got out before guns were drawn and lead started to fly.

  Landry cleared leather first and he pulled his trigger while sidestepping away from the street. His intent was obviously to provide cover so his partners could get away with their bundles. Allan stood his ground and returned fire, squeezing his trigger twice before the three men that George had spotted behind the livery came rushing around to join the fight. Allan was forced to find a spot that wasn’t in the open.

  “George, try to push them back,” Clint shouted.

  “What?” George cried. “Me?”

  “Just point a gun at them and pull your damn trigger!”

  George wasn’t wearing just one pistol. He wasn’t even wearing just two. He wore all three pistols he’d brought along with him when he’d made his first trek into the desert. Since he so rarely used the guns as anything more than decoration, even Clint had forgotten how many of them there were. When he tried to pick one to draw first, George wound up slapping at his shoulder holster and hip as if he were trying to smother flames that had spread to his clothing.

  Rather than try to run for cover, Clint dropped to one knee so he could steady his aim. The livery was on the edge of pistol range
, which meant it would take sheer luck or incredible skill for someone to hit him while firing so many rounds in such quick succession. By the time Clint had sent another round back at the livery, there was even more thunder exploding behind him.

  Not only was Allan returning fire, but George had finally pulled the .44 from beneath his left arm and was blazing away. The next few seconds were filled with chaos and stank of burnt gunpowder. Gritty smoke hung in the air between the two groups of men, where it was churned by a slow Mexican breeze.

  The first ones to escape from the confusion were the two men carrying the rifles away from the livery. Upon reaching the back corner of the structure, they hurried to the lot behind the place and disappeared from sight.

  Cal Landry hunched over and made his way to an outhouse that was so old it practically leaned against the building next to the livery. Moments after he ducked behind the little shed, bullets impacted against the outhouse door to punch holes through the brittle wood while sending pops of dust into the air.

  Since he no longer had a clear shot at Landry, Clint shifted his aim toward one of the other gunmen. He squeezed off a shot that caused the younger man to curse and stagger to one side. The gunman managed to send one more wild shot through the air before he caught a series of rounds in the chest and arm. His body twitched from the impacts and the gun flew from his hand. He fell to the dirt and hit the ground with his chin, becoming deathly still.

  One by one, Landry’s men circled around the livery, where their horses were waiting.

  “They’re gonna get away!” Allan shouted. “Pour it on!”

  George now had a pistol in each hand and was pulling his triggers as quickly as his fingers would allow. The more his guns bucked within his grasp, the tighter he clenched his eyes shut. Even so, he was at least keeping Landry and the gunmen by the livery too busy to take careful aim.

  When Clint heard gunfire coming from yet another source, he turned around to get a look for himself. If they had been north of the border in Texas, he would have expected lawmen to have arrived. Instead, he saw a pair of men in long coats striding down Cruces Street. One of them fired a .45 caliber pistol while the other brought a scattergun to his shoulder and sent a load of buckshot at the livery. Neither one of them so much as flinched at the prospect of walking directly into the middle of a raging hailstorm.