Authors: J. R. Roberts
The Sapphire Gun (18 page)
“John Blevin isn't anywhere near here,” Clint said. “You've got to know that.”
“What makes you think I give a shit about someone named Blevin?”
“If I find a sapphire on that gun of yours, I'll know you were one of the same group who tried to kill me and Johnny before.”
Even though Mackie didn't say anything to that, he shifted his eyes toward his gun in a way that made Clint think he was on the right track.
Placing one foot flat on top of the sign, Clint stepped up onto it and walked across to the side where the barrel of Mackie's gun was sticking out. Every step he took was deliberately heavy, and each one brought a strained grunt from Mackie.
Clint hopped down and kicked the gun out from under the sign. Before he could reach for the discarded weapon, he caught a glimpse of movement coming from the otherwise deserted street. Even as Clint shifted to get a better look, part of him already knew what he would find.
Sure enough, by the time he spotted Eli, Clint was too late to get a shot off first before the other man's rifle fired.
Clint dropped down and felt the bullet crease his back. He rolled to one side, came up on one knee, and fired two quick shots at Eli.
The black man didn't even flinch. He knew he was outside of Clint's range, and didn't mind Clint wasting bullets. He also knew he wouldn't get many more clear shots, so he lined up the shot he knew he could hit and pulled his trigger.
The rifle cracked and hot lead drilled through the fallen sign. It also drilled a messy hole through the man trapped beneath it.
Without wasting another second, Eli turned tail and got the hell out of sight.
Clint's first impulse was to fire and cover himself as he moved to another spot, but when he saw Eli run away, he wanted to chase him. He jumped over the sign and ran a quarter of the way to the corner before realizing just how many turns Eli could have made in the time that had already passed.
Having seen firsthand how quickly Eli could run, Clint knew there wasn't a chance in hell for him to catch up now. Spitting out a frustrated curse through clenched teeth, Clint turned back around and walked toward the fallen sign.
Mackie was still under there, but he wasn't moving. By the time Clint knelt down and tried lifting the sign off of Mackie, he could tell the man was dying. The sign was heavy, but soon a few men had found their way out of a few different doorways to lend Clint a hand.
“You got anything to say to me?” Clint asked. “Or do you still want to protect the man who just sent you to your grave?”
Coughing up a mouthful of blood, Mackie grunted, “Go to . . . hell.” His eyes were still fixed on Clint as the life in them dwindled away.
The locals who'd ventured onto the street flooded Clint with one question after another. Theirs and Clint's combined efforts were enough to lift the sign and drop it onto the street. Clint looked down at Mackie's body. His eyes were then drawn to the gun laying beside it.
FORTY
The lawman who ran down the street wasn't the same one Clint had spoken to before. He was a bit older and heavier. The badge on his chest marked him as a sheriff, but he carried himself in the same lackadaisical manner as his deputy. In fact, he approached the mess in the street as if he were looking at an overturned wagon instead of a dead body.
“Looks like we got us a mess,” the sheriff said.
“Well,” Clint snapped, “at least I can see you're not blind on top of being slow.”
“No need for taking that tone, mister. You want to tell me what happened?”
“Sure. Should I start with me getting shot at or should I tell you about the assassin I chased out of here while you were off twiddling your thumbs somewhere?”
The sheriff looked angry, but he wasn't too quick to come to his own defense with a street full of locals glaring at him. “In case you didn't know, I have been trying to track down the killer of two men.”
“I do know,” Clint said. “I talked to one of your deputies about that.”
“Save yer breath,” one of the locals said. “He don't give a damn unless you work for the railroad or Western Union. The rest of us don't pad his pockets enough to warrant any of his precious time.”
“That's not true,” the sheriff said.
“The hell it ain't!” another local said.
After that, the air was filled with more voices shouting so many words at the sheriff that they all blended together into a mush. What was easy enough to decipher was the fact that none of them were too happy about how the sheriff was doing his job.
“Everybody settle down,” the sheriff said as he walked over to Clint. “Give me some room to move and I'll see what there is to see here.” When he was next to Clint, he added, “And you can stop riling these folks up before I haul you into jail for inciting a riot.”
“Are you kidding me?” Clint asked in disbelief.
Rather than try to back up the shallow threat he'd made, the sheriff squatted down to get a better look at Mackie. “You kill this man?” he asked.
“Actually, no,” Clint said. “I dropped the sign on him, but didn't fire the shot that did him in.”
“That dead man shot first!” one of the louder locals said. “You let that man alone. He shot to defend himself!”
“Is that true?” the sheriff asked.
Clint let out a sigh, knowing all too well where this was headed. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you know why he took a shot at you?”
“Take a look at that gun.”
The sheriff did and let out a low whistle. Mackie's gun lay right where its owner had dropped it. Although it wasn't as ornate as Franco's pistol, the plating had a fair amount of engraving, with a few small sapphires embedded where Mackie's fingers would have been when he was holding the grip. “Looks expensive.”
“It also looks like the gun used by an assassin who tried to kill me and Johnny Blevin.”
“Johnny's dead?”
The lawman's question brought a few shocked gasps from the locals who'd gathered around. Whispers immediately started flowing in the crowd.
“No,” Clint said clearly enough for all to hear.
“And neither are you, I see,” the sheriff added. “That means this assassin of yours ain't much of a killer. If it's all the same to you, I'll worry about the real deaths in my jurisdiction.”
“I thought the Pinkertons were the ones who worried about that,” Clint said.
“Whether it's me or the Pinkertons,” the sheriff replied, “it ain't you who should be concerned about legal affairs. There's enough folks here vouching for you to keep you out of jail, but don't push me any farther. You understand?”
“Yeah.”
“And don't leave town.” The sheriff straightened up and held out his hand. “I'll have that gun of yours.”
Clint could feel the blood running hot through his whole body. As much as he wanted to say to that sheriff, Clint settled for picking up the sapphire gun and slapping it into the lawman's hand. “Here. Take this gun instead. You'll probably be seeing another one like it soon enough.”
With that, Clint turned his back to the entire scene and walked away.
Between the dead body on the ground and all the angry locals gathered around it, the sheriff had more problems to worry about than chasing after Clint.
FORTY-ONE
When Johnny had lived in his house, it was alive and kicking. When Clint had responded to Johnny's invitation, the house had been busting at the seams with rowdy drunks, willing women, and lively music. When Clint had returned after that, it was a quiet nesting place for a few scavenging killers.
Now the place felt like a ghost town.
Not only was the fence still broken, but even less of it was standing. Practically all the windows were shattered, and bodies lay strewn in the dirt. When Clint walked the property, he felt like he was trampling someone's poorly kept grave.
It didn't take long to survey the place. He rode around and could only find a few hungry critters darting for cover. Even Eclipse kept his head low, as if paying his respects to the dead and departed.
Clint swung down from the saddle so he could walk through the house. Despite the fact that he could practically see through the building from one window to another, he went inside and checked to be certain.
There was nobody scrounging around inside.
There was nobody hiding in the shadows.
There was just plain nobody.
Clint took a quick walk through the barn and was heading back to Eclipse when he saw another person on horseback coming up the trail. Before he even got a look at who it was, Clint drew the modified Colt and held it at the ready.
Judging by the wary smile on Victoria's face, she hadn't yet seen the gun in Clint's hand. “Is that you, Clint?” she asked.
Clint holstered the Colt and stood with Eclipse's reins in his hand. His other hand reached out to scratch the Darley Arabian's neck. “It's me.”
She rode up to him and looked around. Soon, she was shaking her head. “This place looks awful.”
“I know.”
“John wouldn't like this one bit. He used to talk about how he was going to build this place up. I wonder what happened.”
“I wouldn't worry about him,” Clint said with a chuckle. “From what I hear, he made out just fine.”
“That's right. Western Union bought him out. It all happened so quick I barely even noticed. I don't have much use for sending telegrams.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Keep it simple and there's less to go wrong.”
“You say that like you know all about it.”
“Sometimes it feels like that's all I know.”
She climbed down from her saddle and walked over to Clint. Her arms stretched out, and she slipped her fingers through his hair as if she somehow knew that would make him feel better. She couldn't have been more right.
“I heard about what happened in town,” she said. “Sheriff Snetski isn't keeping you here. You could just leave and forget this place ever existed.”
“That sounds like a dismissal.”
Victoria's fingers stopped moving so she could pull Clint's face closer to her own. “Not even close and you know it. You just look miserable and things around here are downright bleak. Folks have been screaming for Snetski to be replaced, but nobody's willing to take the badge for themselves. Now that the Western Union finally got what they wanted, they'll probably keep his dead ass right where it is.”
“His name's Snetski?” Clint asked.
“Yep.”
Nodding, he said, “He seems like a Snetski.”
Victoria laughed, less at the joke and more at the lighter tone in Clint's voice. “He does, doesn't he?”
“What's Western Union see in him?”
“They probably like how well he fills out his chair rather than looking into anyone else's business. Don't all companies like that sort of thing in a sheriff?”
“I suppose so,” Clint said. “You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing.”
She shrugged and looked over to the broken-down, empty house. “Lots of people around here have been talking about it. I doubt even Johnny knew his deal was pretty much the talk of the town. The only thing folks were guessing about was how rich he got in the deal.”
“Are they upset he sold?”
“Nobody blames him. Some may be a little jealous, but there's no hard feelings.”
“That's nice to hear.”
“It wasn't so nice to hear about those men shooting at you earlier,” Victoria said with a shudder. “I was scared to death you were hurt.” Suddenly, she pulled in a breath and turned Clint around. “Dear Lord, you are hurt!”
“What?” Only when he turned at the waist to try and see what she was talking about did Clint feel the burn from where the bullet had creased his back. “I almost forgot about that.”
“Hasn't anyone looked at this?”
“Not yet.”
“I'm taking you to the doctor.”
“Would you mind bandaging me up?” Clint asked.
“I wouldn't mind.”
“Then there's no need for a doctor.”
“Don't be stubborn. Let's at least get somewhere clean.”
Clint dug around in his saddlebags to find a roll of bandages and his canteen. “I'd rather stay here.”
“Why? There's nothing here, and something over there looks like a dead body.”
Rather than tell her that's exactly what it was, Clint said, “If there's any more of those assassins left, they'll probably be coming back here. It's the only spot where they might find a hint as to where Johnny went.”
“Did he leave anything like a letter or such?”
“I don't think so, but an assassin wouldn't know that. Right about now, they'd be getting desperate for anything they could find.”
“Like Johnny's friend who rode with him out of town?” Victoria asked sternly. “If they're after information about Johnny, you're the best source of it around here. Everyone knows that.”
“I'm also the best chance he's got of getting to where he needs to go without someone tracking him down and putting a bullet in him. So long as they keep coming after me, there aren't as many going after him. There might not even be any who know where to look for him.”
“You must be a good friend of his,” she said.
Clint nodded a bit and then shrugged. “He's a good guy and I told him I'd watch his back. I also don't like the thought of a bunch of assholes shooting their guns like they've got nobody to answer to, especially when they shoot at me.”
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