Cross put his hand on his gun.
Clint moved to his left, keeping his eyes on the three men. He found an angle where the three men were not standing between him and Cross and the colonel. But he discovered something else. From this angle he could see the porch of the hotel all the way at the end of the street. Crapface was no longer seated there. He could also see somebody on the roof of the hotel, the sun glinting off something metal.
The three men had their backs to the hotel. They couldn’t see anything. The same went for John Cross and the colonel. They were so intent on the action, they weren’t looking at the hotel.
Only he knew.
Crapface could see Clint now, but not whoever he was facing in the street. His best guess, though, was that it was more than one person. Since he couldn’t see them, he would have to leave them to Clint. So all he could do was keep his eyes on the other two men, Cross and Woods, and wait to see if they were going to deal themselves in on the play.
FORTY
Clint decided he needed to keep his attention on the three men. He had no doubt that Crapface had somehow found out what was going on, and had gotten himself on the roof of the hotel with his Sharps. Hitting a man from there would not be an easy shot, but he could do it.
Usually.
“All right, boys,” Clint said. “Time to make up your mind. Make a play, or fold.”
Al Carvey and Lou Dale waited for Ed Gentry to make his move. In fact, Carvey had started to hope Gentry’s move would be to walk away. He wanted to say something, but his mouth was dry. He knew they were supposed to lure the Gunsmith onto the street, but he hadn’t really thought they were going to draw on him. Maybe, if he said something, Gentry would back off, and they could all walk away from this.
“Ed—” he started, but his voice seemed to put Gentry in motion.
The man went for his gun.
Gentry heard Carvey start to say something. He was so tense that, without even realizing what he was doing, he went for his gun.
He knew they were all dead.
Clint drew, shot Gentry first, since he was the first to go for his gun. The other two were grabbing at their guns in a panic, but Clint did not have the time or patience to be charitable. He didn’t know what was happening across the way with Woods and Cross. He fired twice, killing Carvey and Dale before they could clear leather.
The rest was up to Crapface, two hundred yards away.
Crapface had one problem.
He figured Cross was going to be the one to go for his gun, and the colonel would watch. But the colonel was standing between him and Cross. He was going to need one of them to make a move—just a step forward or a step back would do.
Or else he’d have to fire at the colonel, and hope that his Big Fifty slug would go through and hit Cross as well.
“Damn!” Woods said. “Take him.”
John Cross went for his gun. At the same moment he took a step forward, and Woods took a step back.
Woods never heard the shot, but he heard something whiz by him and strike Cross solidly. He looked at his future sheriff and saw blood spurting as the man keeled over and hit the ground.
Clint looked over at Cross and Woods, saw the would-be lawman toppling to the ground. He walked to the three bodies, checked them to make sure they were dead, at the same time replacing the spent shells in his gun with live ones. He then holstered the gun and walked toward the colonel, who looked as if he didn’t know what to do, draw his gun or run. His indecision froze him in place.
“Now hold on…” the colonel said.
Clint looked down at Cross, then back at Colonel Woods.
“Looks like you’re going to need another candidate,” he said. He turned and walked away.
By the time he reached the hotel, Crapface had made his way down from the roof to the lobby. He was sitting in a chair, looking pale, and breathing hard.
“You all right?” Clint asked.
“Gimme a minute.”
“That was a hell of a shot.”
“Two hundred yards,” Crapface said with a shrug. “Not all that hard, really. I just needed for them to move, and they did. I almost tried to take them both with the same shot.”
“That would have been a hell of a shot,” Clint commented.
“Yeah.”
“You want to go back to your room?”
“Sure.”
Clint helped Crapface get to his feet and then walked him to the stairway. He helped him make it to the second floor.
“Are we in trouble?” he asked as they walked down the hall.
“I don’t think so,” Clint said. “They made it look like a fair fight, and we can claim Cross was trying to back-shoot me when you shot him. That is, if anyone even asks.”
“That colonel might argue Cross was tryin’ to do his job.”
“Well, first he’d have to find somebody to back a new play for him,” Clint said. “I told him he needs a new candidate.”
“Think we should tell the fella who owns this hotel that he’s got a good shot now?”
“No,” Clint said. “Let him find out himself.”
They got to Crapface’s room and Clint opened the door. The buffalo hunter entered and sat down heavily on the bed. Getting to the roof and back had taken a lot out of him.
“How the hell did you know I was in trouble?” Clint asked.
“The girl came lookin’ for you,” Crapface said.
“Girl? Penny?”
“Joyce Woods,” Crapface said, shaking his head. “She said she heard her father and Cross talkin’ about tryin’ to kill you.”
“Guess I’ll have to thank her.”
“I think we oughtta get outta this town tomorrow, before somethin’ else happens.”
“Let’s see how you feel in the morning,” Clint said. He looked out the window. It was getting on toward dusk. He doubted the colonel would be able to put together any kind of force to come after them. At least, not before the next day.
“You get some rest,” Clint said. “I’ll see what’s going on, maybe get the doctor to come early in the morning to check on you.”
“Good,” Crapface said. “He’ll give me the go-ahead to ride outta here.”
Crapface sprawled out on the bed, his rifle lying right next to him.
“I’m locking the door,” Clint said. “I’ll knock before I come in.”
“You better,” Crapface said, “or I’ll put a hole in ya.”
As Clint stepped out into the hall and locked the door, he thought he heard his friend snoring already.
FORTY-ONE
Colonel Woods entered his house and slammed the door behind him. Joyce heard it and came running.
“What happened?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Adams,” he said.
“Is he alive?”
“He killed three men,” Woods said, “and then that friend of his killed John Cross—with a shot from the roof of the hotel.”
“Oh, thank God.”
Woods grabbed her by the upper arms.
“You warned them, so you got what you wanted. Now what am I supposed to do?”
“What you always do, Father,” she told him, pulling away. “Think of something.”
Clint came down to the lobby and, from the look the desk clerk gave him, figured word had already gotten around that he’d killed three more men. Maybe four, if he was getting credit for Cross.
He stepped outside. It was dusk, and getting darker. He decided to go back to the saloon and see what the word was. See if the bodies had been cleared from the street yet.
He stepped down from the hotel and started walking. There was no sign of Colonel Woods or anyone else on the street. The killing might have cleared the street for a few hours. Once people figured the shooting was over, they would probably come back out.
When he got to the front of the hotel, he saw that the bodies had been cleared—the three that he had left in front of the saloon, and Cross’s body from across the w
ay.
When he entered the saloon, the noise inside died down. The patrons all watched as he approached the bar.
“Well, you’re back,” Brent said.
“Beer,” Clint said. “What’s the word?”
Brent set a beer in front of him. Activity was getting back under way around them.
Brent leaned on the bar.
“Word is you gunned down those three, and then somehow managed to blow a big hole through Mr. Cross.”
“I’m just amazing,” Clint said.
“How did you blow a big hole through Mr. Cross?” Brent asked curiously.
“Wasn’t me,” Clint said. “He was killed by a Big Fifty slug.”
“Ah,” Brent said, “a buffalo gun—your friend?”
Clint nodded. “From the roof of the hotel.”
“From that far?”
“Not too far for him,” Clint said.
“Helluva shot.”
“That’s what I said, especially since it kept Cross from shooting me in the back.”
“Looks like the colonel’s gonna need a new candidate for sheriff.”
“That’s what I told him,” Clint said. “You interested?”
“Not me. I’m happy tendin’ bar.”
“Anybody you know who might want the job? And I mean besides Sam Robinson?”
“Huh,” Brent said, “not with you in town. Ain’t nobody gonna wanna go against you after today.”
“I wish that was true,” Clint said.
FORTY-TWO
Think of something, Joyce had told him.
He left her and went directly to his office, closing the door behind him. All he could think of at the moment was to get Clint Adams to leave town. Then he’d have to find another candidate for sheriff. He certainly wasn’t going to find another while the Gunsmith was still there. Nobody was going to want to go up against him, no matter what was at stake.
Woods hated to let Adams get away with ruining his plans. Adams and his smelly friend.
Maybe there was a way to get them taken care of after they left town? For the right amount of money somebody might agree to kill them, as long as they didn’t have to face them. An ambush somewhere on the trail. Yes, that was it.
Woods knew that Sam Robinson wanted to be sheriff. With Cross gone, he’d probably win the election. But Woods figured, if he now backed Robinson, the man would be unbeatable.
So maybe he had thought of something after all.
When Clint got back to the hotel, he found Sam Robinson waiting for him in the lobby.
“Mr. Adams,” Robinson said. “Is what I’ve been hearing true?”
“If you’ve been hearing that John Cross is dead, then yes, it is true.”
“And you killed three other men as well?”
“That’s true, too.”
“Well,” Robinson said, “it looks like my chances of being sheriff just improved.”
“I’d say so.”
“But just in case the colonel comes up with another candidate, there’s still a way for me to improve my chances.”
“We aren’t going to talk about me running with you again, are we?” Clint asked. “Because I thought I made myself clear on that.”
“Well, I just thought with the colonel trying to have you killed, you might have changed your mind.”
“I haven’t,” Clint said, “but let me tell you what I think is going to happen.”
“What’s that?”
“The colonel definitely needs another candidate,” Clint said, “and he might just look in one direction.”
“What direction is that?”
Clint pointed at Robinson.
“You think the colonel is going to come to me?”
“Who do you think would make a better candidate?” Clint asked.
“Well… nobody… unless he comes to you.”
Clint became frustrated.
“I told you, I don’t want to be sheriff here, or anywhere,” he said. “All I want to do is get out of here and hunt some buffalo.”
“Then, this is an interesting thought,” Robinson said. “The colonel coming to me?”
“Sure,” Clint said, “you fellas could join forces and run this new town. Hell, this new county.”
Robinson rubbed his jaw.
“I have to admit, Adams, you’ve given me something to think about.”
“Good,” Clint said, “then go and think about it. I’m tired. I’m turning in, and with any luck we’ll be leaving town tomorrow.”
Clint left the hotel owner standing in the middle of the lobby, still rubbing his jaw and nodding.
Upstairs Clint knocked on Crapface’s door before letting himself in. Crapface was still holding the Sharps when his friend entered.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, lowering the rifle.
“I think you’re right,” Clint said. “Tomorrow would be a good day for us to leave. I’ll get the doctor over here early and see what he says.”
“Suits me.”
“But no matter what he says, we’ll get the hell out of here before something else happens,” Clint went on. “Maybe he can bandage you up nice and tight to protect those stitches.”
“I’m with you on this, Clint,” Crapface said.
“Good. I’m going to turn in now. We’ll be well rested when morning comes.”
“Will we be alive?” Crapface asked.
“I doubt anyone will try anything tonight,” Clint said. “But I’ll lock your door, and mine, and I’ll sleep lightly.”
Clint was dozing lightly into his room when there was a knock on his door a couple of hours later. He grabbed his gun and quickly moved to the door. He turned the doorknob slowly, then yanked the door open.
“I thought we’d try it on a bed this time,” Penny said.
FORTY-THREE
Actually, having Penny in bed with him the whole night turned out to be very helpful. It helped him to either stay awake or sleep lightly. As the sun came through the window, she woke with her head on his belly. She was lying on her own stomach, and when she awoke, she began to kiss him, reaching for his penis and stroking it. She kissed down his stomach until she reached his semierect cock and took it into her mouth, quickly sucking it to stiffness.
He had just been dozing, so as soon as she had awakened, he’d felt it. He put his hand on her head now as she bobbed up and down on him wetly.
She rubbed her hands on his thighs as she continued to suck him, becoming more and more eager in her oral ministrations. She moaned and hummed, working him into a frenzy, until she knew he was close to finishing, and then she withdrew and tightened her fingers around the base of his cock.
She kept him from finishing, and then began to work on him again, licking and sucking him, until finally she climbed atop him and took him into her hot pussy.
He could have lost himself in her heat, but instead he remained aware of noises either in the hall or from across the hall, and the fact that there were none. His gun was still on the bedpost, well within his reach. But instead he reached for the girl and gave her as much of his attention as he dared, until they cried out and finished just seconds apart…
“I heard you were leaving today,” Penny said with her head on his chest.
“Possibly,” Clint said, but he was thinking it was more like definitely.
“I also heard the colonel’s daughter was helpful to you.”
“How do you hear all these things?” he asked.
“Hey, I work in a saloon,” she said. “You hear everything there.”
“I suppose you do.”
“Aren’t you worried she’ll come up here and find us together?”
“What’s the difference?” he asked. “I’m not engaged to either one of you, and I’m leaving town soon.”
“When’s the last time you were with a woman you loved?” she asked.
“What makes you think I don’t love being with you?” he asked.
She chuckled, lifted her head, and looked at
him.
“I said in love with, not love being with.”
“I know you did.”
“So that means you’re not gonna answer the question?”
“Exactly.”
She turned her head and bit him on the stomach.
* * *
Clint left Penny in his room and went to fetch the doctor. It was early, and apparently no one had gotten injured yet that day, so the doctor was available to go right back to the hotel with Clint.
They entered Crapface’s room and woke the man up.
“How’re you feelin’?” the doc asked.
“Good,” Crapface said. “Ready to ride, right after breakfast.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Starvin’,” Crapface said.
“Well, that’s good, then,” the doctor said. “Let’s have a look.”
He removed Crapface’s bandage, probed the wound for a few minutes, checking the stitches,
“I’ll need to clean it,” he said. “You did something yesterday that made you bleed a bit between the stitches.”
Clint and Crapface exchanged a glance.
“I wonder what that was,” Crapface said.
“Listen, Doc,” Clint said, “I’m sure you heard what happened yesterday.”
“I did hear something.”
“Well, we have to get out of town today,” Clint said. “So I think you ought to bandage that up real tight because he’s going to have to ride today.”
The doc sighed and said, “Well, I wouldn’t recommend it, but I understand it. All right, I’ll do my best.”
“If you like,” Clint said while the sawbones began to rebandage Crapface’s shoulder, “you can join us for breakfast when we’re done here.”
“If you don’t mind,” the doctor said, “I think I’d just as soon not be around you fellas your last hour or two in town.”
“Can’t say I blame you for that,” Clint said.
“Me, too,” Crapface said.
“Good,” the doctor said. “I didn’t want to offend you, but—”
“No offense taken, Doc,” Clint said. “I wouldn’t want to be near me either when the lead starts flying.”
The Last Buffalo Hunt Page 10
