One of the whores had said to him, “Ain’t it odd that a doctor likes whores? Ain’t you worried about diseases?”
That had earned her a slap across the face, after which he’d had her thrown out by Hale without paying her.
This whore had apparently learned from the others. She hardly spoke, and went about her business with a certain amount of enthusiasm.
She was long and lean, with flat breasts but lovely nipples, which suited him. She was crouched over him now, sucking his stiff penis, going at it like a mule to a salt lick. It was lucky for her that she had spoken to all the other girls who had been with Brock, so that she pretty much knew what he liked.
She sucked him noisily, which Amanda had told her he liked, and made sounds like “mmm,” and “ummmm,” which she had learned from Denise, who apparently had not made enough noise.
And when he abruptly flipped her onto her back and bulled his way into her, she gasped (thanks, Betty), wrapped her legs around his waist (Samantha), and urged him to fuck her harder (thanks to Georgia).
She thought she was doing pretty good, and had to admit that the man had a lot of stamina, which suited her just fine. She was one of the older whores, but rather than being tired of the business, she still enjoyed a good fucking.
• • •
Daniel Hale stood outside his boss’s door and listened to him go at it with the old whore. Hale was the one who had to bring the girls to Brock, and there were a few he’d preferred to this one—usually younger and with more in the way of meat on their bones. But he knew his boss was particular about his whores. Hell, he was particular about everything. Except maybe the men he hired.
Hale never liked Steve Harwick, and didn’t agree with Brock’s decision to let the man head up the Medicine Bow job. But there was no way he could have ever told Brock that. Not without losing his job for questioning the man.
So he just stood and waited for the man to finish and call for him. He might be called upon to escort the woman from the property—with or without pay—or to take some time off, meaning Brock would be keeping the woman with him for a while. In that case he’d go out onto the porch to wait and watch for Harwick and the others.
But that was what Daniel Hale did best—watch and wait.
• • •
“Are we ready?” Steve Harwick asked.
Ned looked behind them at the four wagons, and the mounted men. They had some extra horses thanks to the men Clint Adams had killed, and they were simply tied to the last wagon, like a remuda.
“All right,” Steve said. “Let’s go. We’re done here.”
• • •
Clint watched as the column of four wagons and seven men left Medicine Bow. He had two choices. Hit-and-run—that is, kill one or two, run for it, then follow them again, and hit them again. Or he could simply follow them to where they were going and find out who they were working for—because he doubted this fellow Steve was the mastermind behind this.
He followed along behind them, running the whole thing over in his mind. Who would have planned such a thing, to take advantage of an epidemic disease in order to rape a whole town?
• • •
“It’s gonna take us two days,” Steve said to Ned. “I want you to ride on ahead and tell the boss we’re comin’. You’ll be able to make it by tonight.”
“I can do that,” Ned said, “but what about Adams?”
“Adams is still hidin’ out with the woman and the child,” Steve said. “And even if he does come after us, there are six of us. Out in the open, he won’t have a chance.”
“I hope not,” Ned said.
“Just ride on ahead,” Steve said. “Tell Dr. Brock we’re comin’.”
“Okay,” Ned said. “You’re the boss.”
“Right,” Steve said. “I am.”
As Ned rode off, Seymour rode up alongside Steve and asked, “Where’s he off to?”
“To let Brock know we’re coming.”
“You know, that’s the one thing I can’t figure in all this,” Seymour said.
“What’s that?”
“A doctor plannin’ the whole thing,” Seymour said. “Ain’t they supposed to be . . . well, good?”
“Doctors are men, too,” Steve said. “This one decided to make himself some money.”
“How much you think all this stuff is worth?” Seymour asked.
“I think it’s all worth somethin’ because there’s so much of it,” Steve said. “We did find some cash—a lot of cash, as a matter of fact—and some good furniture. All in all, it’s a good haul.”
“You ever done one like this before?” Seymour asked. “A job like this, I mean? Takin’ a whole town?”
“Never before,” Steve said, “but then I never threw in with a doctor before. A doctor with a plan.”
“Well,” Seymour said, “thanks for bringin’ me in on it, Steve.”
“I needed men I could count on, Joe.”
Seymour nodded, dropped back to ride alongside one of the wagons.
• • •
Clint saw Ned ride on ahead of the column and made the immediate decision to follow him. The only reason he could see for Ned to ride ahead would be to tell someone—report to someone—that the rest of them were on their way. That meant Ned was on his way to talk to the boss. However, if Clint was wrong, if Ned was simply riding to the next town to have a drink in a saloon, Clint could confront him and make him talk. He’d know who planned the robbery of a whole town, and where the townspeople all went.
And find Emily’s parents.
FORTY-TWO
Clint followed Ned from well behind. There was no chance the man would notice him. But Ned never even turned in his saddle. He was apparently unconcerned about the possibility of being followed. He would lead Clint right to the man who’d planned the job.
• • •
Ned rode right up to the main house of the Bar Double-B Ranch. He dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a man who knew him.
“Hey, Ned.”
“Sam. Boss in?”
“You’ll have to talk to Hale first.”
“Oh yeah, Hale,” Ned said. “He’s still here?”
“They served together in the war,” Sam said. “Hale was Brock’s aide. That makes men form a bond.”
“Yeah, right,” Ned said. He had never formed any sort of bond with another man, so he didn’t understand. “There’ll be men and wagons here tomorrow,” he told Sam. “Better get ready to take care of them.”
“Okay.”
Ned went up the steps to the front door and knocked.
• • •
Clint watched from a high knoll as the two men talked, and then Ned went to the front door. The ranch seemed sparsely populated at the moment. Either the ranch hands were away, or it wasn’t a working ranch. There were no horses in the corral. There was plenty of room for the wagons and horses, not to mention the loot. Perhaps that was why there were no men. They had been sent to Medicine Bow.
The lone man he did see walked Ned’s horse to the livery. Clint decided there were no other men around. And the one who was there wouldn’t know him when he rode in.
He mounted Eclipse and started down to the house.
• • •
Hale opened the door and looked at Ned.
“What are you doing here?”
“Reporting in,” Ned said. “Harwick sent me on ahead.”
“Is it done?”
“It’s done.”
“All right,” Hale said. “Come on in.”
Ned entered and Hale closed the door behind him, then turned to face Ned.
“Follow me,” Hale said.
Ned knew the way, but he followed Hale anyway. The man was only doing his job.
• • •
Clint rode up to the house, aler
t for the appearance of the man in the barn. When he came out and saw Clint, he walked over to him. Clint waited, not dismounting. He was hoping to talk his way into the house without gunplay. The man approaching him was wearing a gun on his hip, so Clint would have to be careful.
“Help ya?”
“I want to see your boss.”
“Dr. Brock?”
Helpful.
“Yes, Dr. Brock.”
“I don’t think he sees anybody without an appointment.”
“Tell him it’s an emergency,” Clint said. “Tell him I may be carrying a plague.”
“What?” The man took several steps back.
“Just tell him.”
“Yeah, okay,” the man said, putting even more distance between them. “You wait here.”
Clint nodded, still did not dismount. He wanted to be ready to move fast, if he had to. Evasive action would be better on horseback.
• • •
“What are you doing?” Hale demanded as Sam came down the hall toward Brock’s office. Ned was inside with the boss.
“Somebody at the door,” Sam said. “There’s a fella outside wants to see the doc.”
“What for?”
“He says he might be carrying a plague.”
“What?”
“That’s what he said.”
“What’s his name?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
Hale shook his head and said, “Wait here.” He knocked and went inside.
• • •
Dr. Stuart Brock looked away from Ned, who was sitting in front of him, to focus on Hale as he entered.
“Yes, Hale?”
“There’s a man outside, boss, wants to see you.”
“Me?” Brock asked. “Or a doctor?”
“You,” Hale said, even though he wasn’t sure it was the right answer.
Brock looked at Ned.
“Were you followed?”
“I don’t think so.”
Brock gave him a hard stare. “Yes or no?”
“No.”
“It could be Clint Adams,” Brock said to Hale.
“The Gunsmith?”
“Yes,” Brock said. “These idiots allowed him to get involved in our operation.”
“So what do we do?” Hale asked.
“Get your gun,” Brock said. “Take Ned with you, let him have a look out the window. If it’s Adams, let him in and bring him here.”
“Then what?”
“Then you and Ned stand outside that door. Got it?”
“Got it, boss.”
Brock looked at Ned. “Go!”
“Sure thing.”
Ned got up and followed Hale out. Brock opened his right-hand drawer, took out a Colt, checked to make sure it was loaded, and then put it back.
He sat back to await his guest.
FORTY-THREE
Clint kept his eyes on the front of the house. Briefly, he thought he saw somebody at one of the front windows. A few moments later the front door opened and a man stepped out. He was short, about five-eight, stocky, in his forties, wearing a black suit.
“Are you waiting to see the doctor?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“Come this way, then,” the man said. “You can leave your horse there. No one will touch it.”
Clint knew that Eclipse wouldn’t allow anyone to touch him. He dismounted and ascended the steps.
“My name is Hale,” the man said, not offering a hand. “Come this way.”
He entered the house and Clint went in behind him. There was no one else there. He waited while Hale closed the door.
“What’s your name?” Hale asked.
“Clint Adams.”
“I know that name,” the man said. “It’s very famous.”
“Kind of.”
“Come with me.”
He did not take Clint to Dr. Brock’s office, where he had left his boss. Instead, he took him to an examination room farther back in the house, where Brock was waiting. He was wearing his white doctor’s jacket, and had a stethoscope around his neck.
“Hello,” the doctor said. He was a tall, slender man about Hale’s age. “I’m Dr. Brock.”
“Hello.”
“Please, sit. What seems to be the trouble?” Brock asked. He moved around behind his desk and sat. Clint remained standing. “You said something to Sam about a plague?”
“Plague, disease,” Clint said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know what it was, but I’ve been exposed to it. I thought I should see a doctor.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Hale,” Brock said. “You can wait right outside.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Hale left, closing the door behind him.
“Why don’t you start by telling me where you think you contracted this disease?” Brock asked.
“I think you already know.”
“Do I?”
“I recognize your name from papers in your office in Medicine Bow, Doctor,” Clint said. “I know you were their doctor.”
“That’s no secret.”
“Tell me about the epidemic.”
“It came on suddenly,” Brock said. “People began to die. There was nothing I could do.”
“So you left with the others?”
“That’s right.”
“And left the sick behind, unattended? Like the little girl, Emily? And a woman named Kathy?”
“Did they survive?”
“They did.”
“I’m glad.”
“Sure you are,” Clint said. “Tell me, where did the townspeople go? Where did Emily’s parents go?”
“They headed for Flint,” Brock said. “I don’t know if the people there will let them in, though.”
“And you don’t care,” Clint said, “because you came here and put your plan into motion to rape the town.”
“Rape?” Brock asked. “I prefer to think of it as . . . recovering.”
“And selling?”
Brock spread his arms. “Well, I can hardly keep it all for myself.”
“You could return it.”
“Why would I bother taking it if I was going to return it?” Brock asked.
“Tell me something,” Clint said. “Why haven’t I contracted this disease?”
“You must have a natural immunity,” the doctor said, “as did the girl and Kathy.”
“But they were sick.”
“If they came through it, they’re immune.”
“Well, they did, and they are probably already in Givens, talking to the law.”
“That’s not a problem since you’re the only one who knows I’m involved.”
“I’ll talk to the sheriff in Flint when I get there.”
“When, or if?” Brock asked, his hand inching toward his desk drawer.
“Go ahead and go for that gun in your drawer,” Clint said.
Brock pulled his hand away as if burned, then smiled.
“I wouldn’t dare draw on the Gunsmith,” he said, “but there are two men with guns outside that door.”
“If they come in, you’re the first one I’ll shoot.”
That didn’t sit well with Brock. He recognized that he had made the wrong play. His eyes went to the drawer that contained the gun.
“You’re a doctor first, not a crook, Brock,” Clint said. “You’ve misplayed this whole matter. What makes you think Steve Harwick is even bringing the loot here?”
“What—he sent Ned ahead to say he was coming.”
“And you believed him?”
“I have the connections to sell everything.”
“I think Harwick could han
dle that himself.”
“You’re wrong.”
“We could wait and see,” Clint said, “but first I’ll take that gun. Open the drawer . . . slowly.”
FORTY-FOUR
Clint could tell Brock’s mind was working. Was he right about Harwick? Could the doctor reach his gun in time?
“Feel free to try,” Clint said. “Open it. I’ll give you a chance.”
“No,” Brock said, “as you said, I’m a doctor, not a gunman.”
“Call your men in,” Clint said.
“They’ll come in shooting.”
“For your sake, I hope not.”
“Hale? Ned? Come in here.”
The door opened and the two men came rushing in, their guns out. At the same time Brock went for the gun in his drawer.
Clint moved swiftly. He drew his gun with his right hand, at the same time stepping to the desk and slamming the drawer on Brock’s hand. He fired, killing both Hale and Ned before they had a chance to pull the triggers of their weapons. Then he removed the gun from the top drawer.
Brock sat back in his chair, cradling his injured hand.
“Now,” Clint said, “we’ll wait and see if Harwick appears with your loot. Personally, I hope he does.”
“And when he does, he and his men will kill you.”
“They’ll try.”
“Who else is in the house?”
“Only the cook.”
“And your other men?”
“Just Sam. The rest are with Harwick,” Brock said. “This is not a working ranch, so I have no hands.”
That confirmed what Clint had surmised.
“All right,” he said, “we’ll have the cook prepare some food and you can tell me your plan for all your profits. Perhaps to set up a new practice?”
“No more town doctor’s office for me,” Brock said. “I have bigger plans.”
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