All of this had flown through Franco's mind by the time his watch had hit the bottom of his pocket. When he looked up again, he caught sight of another passerby in the corner of his eye.
Only, this one didn't pass by.
Instead, the figure stayed at the edge of Franco's field of vision. Before Franco could turn to tip his hat, he felt the distinctive touch of a gun barrel tap against his back.
“If you think I'm still against shooting you in the back,” Clint said softly, “you're more than welcome to put me to the test.”
Franco remained still. His casual smile even remained plastered onto his face. “Not a very private place for an execution,” he pointed out.
“No, but it is a fine spot to nab a bank robber.”
“I had no plans on robbing a bank.”
“And if I marched you into that marshal's office, he wouldn't recognize your face or that fancy gun of yours in connection to any other wrongdoings of late?” Clint asked.
Turning just enough to look over his shoulder at Clint, Franco put an extra dose of smugness into his smile and replied, “I'd be more than happy to visit the marshal. My guess is that you have more kills associated with your name than I do.”
Clint paused to allow another pair of locals to walk past Minnie's.
“And I am not the one holding a man at gunpoint right now,” Franco said confidently. “If I raise my voice, I might even be able to get you arrested.”
“You won't do that,” Clint said. “Because then you wouldn't be able to pick Johnny off before he could deposit his money. Actually, I'm surprised to find you here rather than watching the roads from farther out. But that's what your partner was supposed to be doing, right?”
Hearing that last part, Franco turned slightly around and was stopped by Clint's gun.
Clint knew he'd struck a nerve, so he struck one more time with “She's got a good eye. I'll bet she's a great scout. She is only human, though, which means she can't look in every direction at once. But you know how that feels right about now, don't you?”
“If you think I'm going to let slip where she is, you're sadly mistaken.”
“I'm not trying to get you to say anything,” Clint stated. “I figured you knew where we were headed, otherwise you would have hit Johnny earlier on. It would have been messier, but you can afford to pick your shot when you know where your target is going.
“Rather than race you to this town, I thought it would be more sociable if I just met you here. Unfortunately, Johnny isn't around for this little reunion.”
Franco let out a sigh and grunted, “You're enjoying this, aren't you, Adams?”
“After your little ambush, yeah. I am enjoying watching you squirm a bit.”
“So, I have squirmed,” Franco said as though he were squatting down in the muck to speak at Clint's level. “What will you do now?”
“I'm going to escort you out of town and away from these good people and make sure you aren't able to lift a finger to hamper Johnny from making his deposit.”
“Fine. Let's go.”
Clint nudged Franco with his gun barrel to make sure the Spaniard was moving in the right direction. Once Franco was walking on his own, Clint quickly holstered the Colt without making a sound and nodded to an elderly woman crossing the street to go into the bank.
As far as anyone else was concerned, Clint and Franco were just two amiable fellows out for a stroll.
FOURTEEN
Clint and Franco didn't speak as they walked down the second of Dover Shallows's main streets. Every so often, Franco would test the waters by slowing his pace or looking for a spot where he could split away from Clint. Every errant glance or pause in his stride was met by a subtle prod from the barrel of Clint's modified Colt.
Since he was able to keep Franco in front of him, Clint could keep his gun holstered throughout most of his walk. Whenever he needed to put Franco back on track, he drew the gun, used it to give the Spaniard a shove, and holstered it again before anyone else noticed.
Once they got away from the main streets, however, they both had a bit more room to breathe.
Franco planted his feet and came to a stop in an empty lot behind a livery filled with wagons and carts in various stages of repair. He kept his hands at his sides and his eyes pointed straight ahead.
“I'm not walking another step,” Franco announced.
“That's up to you.”
Although he knew Clint couldn't see it, Franco smiled. “Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I walked to my horse, rode away, and our paths never crossed again?”
“Actually, that sounds nice.” After allowing Franco to take one step, Clint added, “But you and I both know that's not how it will happen.”
Slowly, Franco turned around to face Clint. Every fraction of every second that it took for him to do so grated on Franco's nerves like a rake across a chalkboard. Despite being a little surprised to complete the turn, Franco put on a victorious grin. “You never took my gun from me.”
Clint calmly nodded. “I know.”
“This was never about you, Adams.”
“I know that, too. I got a vested interest in this from the moment you started shooting at me. That's not something any man would let pass so easily.”
“Especially not a man like you.”
“No,” Clint said gravely. “Especially not a man like me.”
Franco stood his ground and let his hand move to his holster. Although he didn't make an attempt to draw his .44, he brushed his fingers past it just to make certain it hadn't been taken from him somewhere along the way.
The .44 was still there.
As Franco's hand lingered near the holstered pistol, he saw Clint's hand tensing as it eased its way to his own Colt. Franco raising his arm until his hand was held straight out in front of him was enough to get Clint to relax just a bit.
“This can go on for a long time,” Franco mused.
“It doesn't have to. Not so long as you drop that holster and come with me without making a fuss.”
The Spaniard smiled once more and nodded. “Ah yes. I have heard this about you. You will give a man the chance to walk away before you gun him down. At least, that is how the story goes.”
“Not every man gets that choice,” Clint pointed out. “Only the ones who don't force my hand.”
“And you would forgive our little scuffle from before?”
“No, but I wouldn't have to kill you.”
“And where would we go?” Franco asked.
“I know some U.S. marshals not far from here. Since you strike me as someone who might have a badge or two watching your back, I'd prefer to take you to someone I can trust.”
“If I had bought the law in this town, I would not have needed to be so careful, no?”
Clint shrugged. “Maybe. I'd still rather do it my way to be sure.”
“And how do I know you would hand me over to a lawman I could trust? Or that I would even make it there alive?”
“Because, if I'd wanted you dead, you'd already be facedown in the dirt.”
Franco's eyes narrowed and he pulled in a slow breath. When he let that breath out, it was in a short, decisive sigh. “I think not, Adams.” With that, the Spaniard snapped his hand toward his holster and pulled the .44 from its spot.
Clint's arm moved in a similar flicker of motion as his hand was suddenly wrapped around his modified Colt.
Both weapons cleared leather at the same time, but Clint was able to aim and pull his trigger before Franco's hammer could drop. The Colt barked once and sent a bullet through Franco's heart. The .44 roared as well, but only after a twitching reflex of Franco's finger.
The Spaniard had a surprised look on his face as the fire in his eyes slowly dwindled away. He started to wobble backward, but was spun around as Clint's second shot punched through his shoulder.
As promised, Franco's body landed facedown in the dirt.
FIFTEEN
Rosa laid on her back in the same spot where Clint and Johnny had found her. The hill was a little ways outside of town and had a good view of nearly every side of Dover Shallows. It also had a real good view of all three roads that led into town.
She could feel the rumble of approaching hooves and winced when that rumble got so close that she got fresh dust kicked in her face when Eclipse skidded to a halt. Straining her neck to get a look at the new arrival, Rosa was only given a closer look at the business end of Johnny's rifle.
“I told you not to move, bitch,” Johnny snarled as he leaned down and pressed the rifle barrel against her forehead.
Tears formed in her eyes as she looked up at him and did her best to nod.
Johnny looked up for a moment and asked, “Did you find the other one?”
“Yeah,” Clint said as he climbed down from the saddle. Walking to stand next to Rosa, Clint made sure she could see his face when he added, “He's dead.”
“Really?” Rosa asked anxiously. She was so anxious, in fact, that she caused Johnny to lean in and shove her head down once more.
Clint looked at the top of the hill, which was mostly flat and only big enough to possibly support one more horse before forcing someone to stand at an incline. Laying well out of reach were the things that had been on Rosa's person when Clint had snuck up on her upon his arrival.
Most prominent among her possessions was a large shotgun. The shells for the shotgun were scattered on the ground, and a spyglass laid nearby as well. The only other things Rosa had when she'd been searched were the clothes on her back.
“Has she been behaving?” Clint asked.
Reluctantly, Johnny nodded. “She asked to sit up a few times, but I didn't let her. Other than that, it's been pretty quiet.”
Rosa started to speak, but was cut short by a warning glare from Clint. She closed her mouth and even tried to press her head back further against the grass when she saw Clint kneel down and lean in closer to her.
Keeping one hand on his Colt, Clint used the other hand to pat her down. Since her blouse was off both shoulders, there wasn't much of a need to search too high. He placed his hand flat against her torso and felt quickly around and between her breasts. He moved his hand down to feel her waist and then patted along both legs. His touch was quick and precise without lingering in any one spot for too long. Only after he felt for a holster or scabbard in her boots did Clint relax.
Just to be certain, Clint sifted his fingers through her hair. He found a single decorative comb toward the back of her head, which he removed and tossed away.
“All right,” Clint said to Johnny. “Let her up.”
“Are you sure?”
“If she's got something I didn't find, she won't be able to get to it before one of us puts her down.”
Nodding, Johnny eased back and took a few shuffling steps away from her. He still kept his rifle to his shoulder and his sights on Rosa.
“That doesn't look too comfortable,” Clint said. “Why don't you sit up?”
After glancing to Johnny to make sure he wasn't going to shoot, Rosa sat up and shifted until she was fairly comfortable. “Thank you,” she said to Clint.
“Don't thank me. You're not out of this yet.”
Her eyes widened a bit and she recoiled. “I was just along with him, I swear. I didn't even have a choice.”
“You were here acting as his lookout,” Clint pointed out. “That makes you an accomplice in anyone's book.”
“I stayed out here,” she insisted. “I may have shared a bed with him, but I would never take part in a killing.”
Clint picked up one of the shotgun shells and rolled it in his palm. Since Johnny hadn't let his guard down yet, Clint took a moment to pull out the innards of the shell and dump them into his hand. “There's twice the amount of powder in this and no buckshot,” he said. “Not too deadly, but it would make one hell of a noise. Probably loud enough to be heard in town if someone knew what to listen for.”
“Son of a bitch,” Johnny said under his breath. Narrowing his eyes to glare down at Rosa, he snarled, “You were gonna tip that killer off as to when we got here.”
She was shaking her head before all of Johnny's accusation had even escaped his lips. “No, I swear! Well . . . that's what I was supposed to do, but I didn't have a choice. He would've killed me if I didn't!” The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and her voice was burdened by a growing number of sobs. “He would've killed me.”
Clint hunkered down to her level and looked her in the eyes. He ignored Rosa's tears, the sobs that wracked her shoulders, and even her desperate pleas. Instead, he focused on her eyes. They were bloodshot and swelling with tears, but still gave him something to work with when he asked, “Why should we believe a damn word you say?”
“Because it's the truth.”
“You're telling me you couldn't have just run away rather than lay up here on this hill all by yourself?”
“Where should I go? I've tried running before and he only found me. When he did . . . it was . . . bad.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “It was real bad. He promised I wouldn't survive it if I ran again, and I believe him.”
“That don't make sense,” Johnny grunted. “Why the hell would an assassin drag around some crying woman?”
“Answer the question,” Clint said. “I'd like to hear the answer myself.”
“I . . . did things for him,” she replied. “Helped him. He paid me and I was safe so long as I did what I was told. There's a whole lot worse jobs out there.”