Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
Do What the Lady Wants . . .
When Jerry heard the door slam open, he turned to look at the man who entered.
“What the—” he said
“I told you!” Lori cried. “I told you my husband would be back!”
That was all Clint needed to hear
“Son of a—”
The man’s gun belt was hanging on the back of his chair. He went for the gun.
“Don’t!” Clint said, but he knew there was no other way. He drew his gun.
“Kill him! Kill him!” the woman shouted, covering her nakedness with her hands and arms.
Clint killed him.
He fired once . . . The impact of the bullet tossed the man onto the table, his arms spread out.
The woman darted forward, grabbed a steak knife from the table, and began stabbing the dead man over and over again . . .
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE DEAD TOWN
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / June 2009
Copyright © 2009 by Robert J. Randisi.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-05725-4
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ONE
Ghost towns gave the Gunsmith the willies.
The last time he’d ridden into one, he’d been ambushed and almost killed. So, naturally, he didn’t like them.
But the dust storm that had come up on him was not leaving him a choice.
He was walking his horse, to keep Eclipse from taking a wrong step in the storm. He had his bandana around his nose and mouth, and could hardly see five feet in front of him. So when the town buildings suddenly appeared, he stopped short and stared.
“Look at that, Eclipse,” he said. “A whole town just appeared before us like magic.”
Clint started walking again, squinting his eyes against the stinging sand.
The street was empty except for tumbleweed rolling in the wind. Clint had ridden all over southern Kansas over the years, but he did not remember this town.
As he walked Eclipse down the main street, he realized that no one lived here, or had lived here, for many years.
“Looks like we found ourselves a ghost town, boy,” Clint said to the Darley Arabian. “Let’s see where we can find some shelter from this storm.”
As they came abreast of a saloon, Clint decided that was a likely place. The doorway was wide enough to walk Eclipse inside with him.
He walked the horse up onto the boardwalk and through the batwing doors. The relief of being inside was immediate. He pulled the bandana down from his face, used his hands to slap as much sand off of him as he could, then took a look around.
It was a small saloon, with only about half a dozen tables. Of course, that might have been all that was left. There was debris on the floor to indicate there might have been more at one time.
He dropped Eclipse’s reins to the floor and walked around. There was enough dust on everything to tell him no one had been there in some time. He went over to the bar, walked around it to check out the bottle
s that were still in one piece. He found two bottles of whiskey that still had something to offer. He grabbed them and took them to a table, then walked to his horse and got some beef jerky from his saddlebags.
“Sorry, big boy,” he said to Eclipse. “I’ll see if I can find you some water and something to eat in a little while.”
He took the jerky to a table, picked up a fallen chair, and sat down. He munched on the dried meat, washing it down with sips of whiskey. He would have preferred a cold beer, but the whiskey would do in pinch. He knew not to drink too much of it, though. No matter how much of the jerky he ate, his stomach was still going to be pretty empty.
It was getting dark outside. They’d found this town just in time. The wind was still howling, causing the batwings to swing, with some of the sand coming through the door. He got up, walked to the doorway, and tried the regular doors. One was only on one hinge, but he managed to get them to stay closed, quieting the wind and keeping the sand out.
Before the sun went completely down, he carried the jerky and whiskey with him to the back office. There was barely enough light coming through the single window to see a dusty desk and a chair lying on its side, a file cabinet with the drawers open, files in one of them. He’d check that later, if he decided he needed some reading material. It was getting too dark to read anyway, unless he could find a storm lamp. If not, he’d just have to start a fire in the middle of the floor.
He left the office, found an other doorway, and entered a back storeroom. There were two windows in the back wall, but he could hardly see. Luckily, there was a lamp hanging from a post. He grabbed it, shook it, and found enough oil to light it. He didn’t know how long it would last, but using the light from that lamp, he found a second one, this one with more oil in it.
He put the last of the jerky in his mouth and balanced the two lamps and the bottle of whiskey as he went back into the saloon.
He put the lighted lamp on the bar and set the other one down on the table he was sitting at. They’d last longer if he lit them one at a time.
By the light of the single lamp he took the saddle off Eclipse. He figured if he couldn’t feed him, he might as well make him comfortable. He still had plenty of water in his canteen, so he poured some into his hat and let the horse drink.
In the morning, when the storm had passed, he’d try to find a livery. Maybe there’d be some feed left behind for the big horse.
He drank a little more whiskey, then corked the bottle and put it down. He took one last look around and found a kitchen behind the bar. There was a potbellied stove back there. If it had been colder, he would have broken up a chair, started a fire, and slept in there, but he was comfortable out in the saloon. In the morning, maybe he’d use some of his water to make some coffee, but for now he was satisfied with the jerky and the whiskey warming his stomach.
He was tired from fighting the storm, so he went back into the saloon, made himself comfortable on the floor with his bedroll and saddle, and went to sleep with his gun close by.
TWO
He woke to the smell of bacon.
He rolled over, off his bedroll, grabbed his gun, and stood up. He strapped on the gun and sniffed the air.
“Is that bacon, big boy?” he asked Eclipse. “I thought I was dreaming.”
He finished buckling his gun belt and walked to the kitchen. He thought he was going to find someone cooking bacon on the stove, but there was no one there. He walked to the stove and put his hand on it, found it cold.
He lifted his chin and sniffed the air.
Definitely bacon.
There was a door from the kitchen that led outside. He went to it, tried to open it, found it locked. He left the kitchen and went back to the saloon.
“I’m going to go outside and check around,” he told Eclipse. “I’ll see if I can find something for you to eat, too.”
He opened the front doors and walked through the batwings into the sunlight.
“Bacon,” he said, looking up and down the empty street. “Definitely bacon.”
He stepped into the street and walked out to the center. The calm after the storm was beautiful. Rather than everything being covered by sand, it all looked clean and fresh.
There was no one in sight, but the smell of bacon had now been joined by the scent of fresh coffee. Clint picked a direction and started walking.
By the time he found the livery stable, he knew he’d walked the wrong way. The scent of coffee and bacon was gone. Still, he had to find something to feed Eclipse or the horse would be no good to him. He entered the livery and found it empty. Meaning there were no men or horses, and no indication that any had been there for some time. But there was some feed there, enough for Eclipse to have his fill. Rather than try to carry it to the horse, though, he decided to go and get the horse and bring him here.
Walking back to the saloon, he once again picked up the smells of cooking bacon and coffee. His stomach growled, but he decided to get his horse fed first, before he continued to look for wherever and whoever was doing the cooking.
Back in the saloon, he saddled Eclipse so he wouldn’t have to carry the saddle himself. Then he took him out of the saloon and walked him to the livery. Once there, he removed the saddle again, poured some of the feed out, and let the horse enjoy it.
“When I get back, I’ll get you some water,” he said, patting the Arabian’s big neck. “Right now I’ve got to track down that bacon.”
He only hoped that whoever was cooking it wouldn’t mind sharing.
He reached the saloon and then started walking in the other direction, trying to follow his nose. He was no bloodhound, but he thought the smells were getting stronger.
When he saw the café, he figured that was where it had to be coming from. He stood and watched for a few moments until he saw some white smoke coming from the chimney pipe on the roof.
Okay, this was it. Breakfast. He hoped whoever was cooking wouldn’t react badly to his appearance. Maybe whoever it was had also taken refuge from the storm the night before. If they had that in common, maybe it would work in his favor.
He started across the street to the café.
THREE
As he entered the café, he saw that it was pretty much in the same condition as the saloon. Overturned tables and chairs, lots of dust. The only difference was, he saw some footprints in the dust on the floor. Also, in one corner, table and chair had been set upright and cleaned off.
The prints looked like they belonged to a small man, or a woman. The smell of food was stronger than ever, and he headed for the kitchen.
He didn’t want to startle anyone, so he called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”
No answer.
The doorway he assumed led to the kitchen had a curtain across it.
“Hello?”
Still no answer.
He approached the curtain, pushed it aside, and entered. As he’d suspected, it was a kitchen—an empty kitchen with a hot stove. He walked to the stove. There was a pot of coffee and a frying pan of bacon. The bacon was hot, but no longer cooking. It had been moved to the back of the stove. From the looks of it, it was nice and crisp. There were three pieces.
He picked up the coffeepot, burned his hand, grabbed a towel, and picked it up again. It was full.
Coffee and bacon.
Since there were only three pieces in the pan, he assumed whoever was cooking had already eaten some.
“Hello?” he called. “Come out. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Had whoever it was heard him enter and gone into hiding with the rest of the bacon?
“I’m hungry,” he called out. “I’m going to have this bacon and some coffee if you don’t come out.”
No reply.
He looked around, found no coffee cup. The cook had probably taken a cup.
“I’m going to take this coffee and this bacon over to the saloon with me,” he called. “You can find me there.”
He was taking a chance, holding the coffee
in his left hand and the frying pan in his right. But he didn’t have the feeling there was any danger. If there was, he would have to drop the bacon to get to his gun. That would make him mad.
He took the pot and the pan with him, left the café, and walked back to the saloon. He set them both down on the bar, then went to his saddlebag and dug out his coffee cup. He moved around behind the bar and poured himself a cup, then grabbed one piece of bacon and bit off half of it. He chewed thoughtfully and watched the door, washed the bacon down with a sip of coffee.
Maybe whoever had done the cooking would come looking for the coffee.
He was uncomfortable all of a sudden with Eclipse over in the livery, so he decided to go and get him and bring him back. He popped a second piece of bacon into his mouth, had some more coffee, and then left the saloon to go to the livery.
He found Eclipse standing still, having finished feeding. He’d never known the horse to eat too much.
“Had enough, fella?” Clint asked. “Come on, let’s go back to the saloon.”
He set the saddle on the horse’s back, but didn’t cinch it in. They walked back up the main street to the saloon. Clint didn’t feel as if he was being watched, and that was something he was usually able to feel.
Inside the saloon he took the saddle off Eclipse and set it on the floor. He went back to the bar. The coffeepot was still there, and so was the frying pan.
But the last piece of bacon was missing.
FOUR
He was fairly certain there was only one other person in town with him. What he didn’t know was whether or not it was someone else who had taken cover from the storm, or if it was someone who lived there.
Either way, there had to be another horse somewhere. It wasn’t in the livery. Maybe it was in one of the other buildings.
The Dead Town Page 1
