The Dead Town

by J. R. Roberts

  “Guess I’ll get going,” Clint said, standing up. “What kind of town is Cold Creek?”

  “Bigger than us,” Deadly said. “Got a lawman and a deputy. Mrs. Gregory could do worse, I guess.”

  “I’ll try to convince her.”

  Deadly walked Clint out to his horse.

  “Sorry I made all that extra work for you,” Clint said, mounting up.

  “That’s okay,” Deadly said. He eyed the burlap sack hanging from Clint’s saddle. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Just some supplies for Mrs. Gregory,” Clint said. “Just in case I can’t convince her to leave her house.”

  “Well, I wish you luck,” Deadly said. “I’ve had some conversations with the woman and she’s not easy to convince.”

  “Well, this experience may have changed her,” Clint said. “I’ll see if I can convince her.”

  Deadly held out his hand out and Clint shook it.

  “I wish you luck,” Deadly said. “If you get over to Cold Creek, give my best to the sheriff there, fella named Poulson. He’s a good man.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Clint promised.

  He turned Eclipse’s head and rode out of town.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Clint pushed Eclipse and got to the Gregory house before the sun went down and it got any colder. He dismounted, approached the door, and then stepped back when it opened and Lori pointed a rifle at him. Her eyes were wide with fright.

  “Lori, wait! It’s me, Clint.”

  She stared at him and for a moment he thought she might shoot. Finally, she lowered the rifle as if it weighed a ton. Clint went to her and she fell into his arms. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

  “Oh God . . . ,” she said as he helped her into the house and closed the door behind them.

  He took the rifle from her and lowered her into a chair.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I think I’m going crazy,” she said. “I haven’t slept . . . I jump at every noise . . .”

  Clint didn’t think he was going to have much trouble convincing her to leave this house . . .

  Clint made coffee after putting Lori to bed. She drifted right off to sleep now that he was there, and she needed it desperately. He sat down at the table with a cup of coffee and some beef jerky from his saddlebags. He didn’t want to risk making noise by trying to cook something.

  The poor woman had been living in a state of fear since he’d left. She even looked like she had lost weight since he’d last seen her. He needed to take her to a town—Cold Creek obviously—and get her to a doctor. He also hoped there would be some women there who could care for her. Once he brought her there, he wanted to head out, ride south and get away from the cold of Minnesota, and the bad luck of the place. He’d already had to kill three men, and he was still mighty curious about the first man, and whether or not he was related to the Pettigrews he’d heard about from Gloria two months ago in Kansas.

  But that was then, this was now. He had to go out and see to Eclipse, get him bedded down and fed. He just hoped Lori wouldn’t wake up while he was gone and panic. He hid the rifle, just in case.

  When he came back in, his hands were frozen. He warmed them by the fireplace. Looking around, he didn’t see anything in the little house that Lori Gregory couldn’t do without. He’d seen an old saddle in the small barn. Hopefully, her horse would stay on its feet long enough to get her to Cold Creek.

  He rolled himself up in his blanket in front of the fire and went to sleep.

  He woke to the smell of bacon, rolled onto his back, and looked at Lori standing at the stove. He could hear the bacon sizzling. She was dressed, which included a riding skirt and boots.

  “Where was that last time?” he asked.

  “I guess I just wasn’t in the mood,” she called out. “You like it crisp?”

  “So crisp it crumbles,” he said.

  “Biscuits?”

  “If you’ve got them.”

  “Might as well cook what we’ve got,” she said. She peered over her shoulder. “You are taking me away from here today, aren’t you?”

  He rolled over and got to his feet.

  “I was going to try to convince you,” he said.

  “Oh, believe me,” she said. “I’m convinced.”

  He stretched and walked over to the table. As he sat, she placed a cup of coffee in front of him, smiling at him. She was a different woman from the one who’d pointed a rifle at him the night before.

  She opened the oven and took out the biscuits, removed the bacon from the frying pan, and set the whole thing on the table. Then she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from him.

  “I want one biscuit and one slice of bacon,” she said. “The rest is yours.”

  “No argument,” he said.

  He pulled the plate of bacon over to himself after she lifted a slice. There was butter on the plate with the biscuits. He cut one in half, buttered it, placed some bacon on it, and put it back together.

  “Would you like some maple syrup for that?” she asked.

  “This is fine, Lori,” he said. “How are you today—or need I ask?”

  “I didn’t know if you’d ever come back,” she said. “I decided if you did I was leaving with you.”

  “What if I don’t want to take you?”

  She smiled. “Why else would you have come back?”

  He bit into the buttered biscuit, enjoying the crumble of the bacon.

  “Good?” she asked.

  “Perfect.”

  She looked calm—too calm.

  “Are you packed?”

  “Won’t take but a minute.”

  “Do you care where you go?”

  “Not really,” she said. “Just as long as it’s away from here.”

  “Oh, it will be,” he said.

  “I’ll pack while you eat.”

  “I’ll saddle the horses.”

  She stopped at the doorway to the other room.

  “I hope we’re not going too far,” she said. “I don’t know how long mine will last.”

  “Long enough,” he said. “He’s not much to look at, but he’ll get you there.”

  “That’s Rufus.”

  “Rufus?”

  “My husband named him.”

  He nodded, buttered another biscuit, and said, “Go pack.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Lori took nothing more than a small garment bag. When she came out the front door, Clint helped her into the saddle, then handed the bag up to her.

  “Can you ride?” he asked.

  “Very well,” she said, as he mounted up. “You won’t have to wait up for me . . . but you might have to wait for Rufus. I don’t think he can keep up to that monster of yours.”

  “We’ll go easy—fast, but easy.”

  They started away from the house. She turned only once to look back at it.

  “That was supposed to be our dream house,” she said. “The dream died very quickly.”

  Clint turned and looked at her. He wondered if she remembered what had happened between them last time. She seemed more lucid this morning than he’d ever seen her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Cold Creek,” he said. “You ever been there?”

  “Once,” she said. “We stopped there on our way to here.”

  “Why did your husband buy his supplies in Bedford, and not Cold Creek?”

  “Bedford was closer.”

  “Not by much.”

  “He only had Rufus to get him there and back,” she said. “So it was closer.”

  “Cold Creek is bigger, isn’t it?”

  “Lots.”

  Clint shrugged, and they rode for a while in silence. In fact, they rode all the way to Cold Creek.

  Cold Creek was, indeed, larger than Bedford—a lot larger. Clint still wondered why her hus
band wouldn’t have come here for his supplies. And then he started to wonder if maybe he did come here, but he told his bride he went to Bedford.

  “Do you have any money?” he asked as they rode into town.

  “Not a penny,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll put you in the hotel.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then we’ll talk,” he said. “Let’s get you situated first.”

  She pointed.

  “That one will do.”

  It was a small hotel with the name “COLD CREEK” above the door. If there was another word after it, it had faded away a long time ago. This town was bigger than Bedford, but it didn’t look much more prosperous.

  “There might be a bigger hotel in town,” he said.

  “That one’s good enough,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  After Lori was checked in, Clint left her in her room and took the horses to the livery stable. When he left, somebody called out, “Adams!”

  He turned and saw Walter Deadly coming toward him.

  “Well, which job brings you here, Deadly?” Clint said. “Undertaker or lawman?”

  “A little of both, I’m afraid,” Deadly said. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “I brought Lori Gregory here,” Clint said. “Thought she needed to get away from that house.”

  “You might be right.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “Remember I told you the sheriff here was a friend of mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, somebody killed him. I got the word soon after you left.”

  “Know who did it?”

  Deadly nodded. “The Pettigrew gang.”

  “Pettigrew?”

  “Apparently, the brothers and cousins of the one you killed.”

  “Pettigrews,” Clint said again.

  “Four of them.”

  “You going after them?”

  “Soon as I can get up a posse,” he said. “Looks like I’m gonna have to act like a real lawman for a while.”

  “I don’t envy you.”

  “I was kinda glad to see you from across the street,” he said.

  Clint looked across the street. There was nothing there that would have interested Walter Deadly.

  “Why was that, Mr. Deadly?”

  “Just call me Walter, Adams.”

  “And I’m Clint.”

  “Clint, can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Saloon’s this way.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “This town is five or six times the size of my town, Clint,” Deadly said in the saloon. “And I swear, I could probably put a better posse together in Bedford than I can here.”

  “Then why don’t you do it?”

  “Because Bedford’s in the other direction,” Deadly said. “It would take too long. I need to build a posse here.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “make your pitch.”

  “I need you for this, Clint,” he said. “Why? Because I’ve never done it before. I’m determined to hunt these men down because they killed a lawman, a lawman who happened to be my friend. There’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know how to do it.”

  “Don’t you have any deputies in town?”

  “There was one,” Deadly said. “They killed him, too.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “I’ve got men who want to ride,” Deadly said, “but they’re likely to get themselves killed, and me, too.”

  “Your pitch, Walter.”

  “I want you to ride with the posse,” Deadly said. “Actually, I want you to lead it, but it has to look like I’m leading it. Do you understand?”

  “I understand the request, Walter.”

  “But will you do it?”

  “You’re not making it sound very attractive,” Clint said. “You want me to lead a posse of trigger-happy men and make it look like an inexperienced lawman is doing it. Can I do all that and stay alive?”

  “I hope you can,” Deadly said. “If you get killed, I’ll be stuck out there alone.”

  “With a bunch of trigger-happy townsmen.”

  “You have to do this, Clint,” Deadly said. “If just to keep me alive.”

  “Well, Walter,” Clint said, “I’m going to do it, but I have other reasons than keeping you alive.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I’ve got to find out if Pettigrew is a common name.”

  “What?”

  “And I need to find out if I’m involved in a coincidence,” Clint said, “because I hate coincidences.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I first heard the name Pettigrew a couple of months ago,” Clint said. “I want to find out if these are the same ones.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Deadly said, “but are you riding with the posse?”

  “I’ll ride with your posse, Walter,” Clint said. “Just remember, it’s your posse.”

  “Okay, Clint,” Sheriff Deadly said. “Okay. Let’s have one more beer on it.”

  “Bring it on.”

  Clint turned while Deadly ordered two more beers. At that moment the batwing doors opened and a woman walked in. She was wearing trail clothes and a gun on her hip. She attracted the attention of the other men in the saloon, which, at that time of the evening, was busy as hell.

  She looked familiar to Clint as she studied the room. Deadly turned and handed Clint a beer. At that moment the woman looked over at them and then started toward them.

  “You’re the sheriff?” she asked Deadly.

  “That’s right, miss.”

  “I want to volunteer,” she said.

  “Volunteer for what?” Deadly asked.

  “The posse,” she said. “You are putting together a posse, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “I want to ride with you.”

  “Ma’am,” Deadly asked, “have you ever ridden with a posse?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever killed a man?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  That stopped Deadly. “You have?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “A man named Pettigrew.”

  There was that name again. “Hello, Gloria,” Clint said.

  She looked at Clint, seeing him for the first time. “Clint Adams?”

  “How are you, Gloria?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “I’m riding with the posse,” he said. “We’re going after a gang named Pettigrew.”

  “I know that.”

  “There’s four of them.”

  “Four?” she said. “There used to be six. I killed one of them.”

  “And I killed one of them,” he said.

  “Well,” Deadly said, “if you know this young lady and she’s already killed a member of the Pettigrew gang, I guess she should come along.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. When will we be leaving?”

  “First thing in the morning, Miss . . .”

  “Mundy,” she said, “Gloria Mundy. Just call me Gloria, Sheriff.”

  “All right, Gloria,” he said. “Would you like to have a beer?”

  “No, sir,” she said. “I just got to town and I need to get a hotel room.”

  “I know a nice small hotel, Gloria,” Clint said. “Why don’t I walk you there?”

  “All right, Clint.”

  “But I want to finish this beer first,” he said. “Why don’t you have one, too?”

  “Well . . . all right,” she said. “I guess one won’t hurt. I am pretty hungry, though.”

  “After the beer we’ll get you a room, and then we’ll have something to eat and catch up,” Clint said. “I want you to explain to me how this whole coincidence happened.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  TWENTY-FOUR

/>   Clint ended up with both Gloria Mundy and Lori Gregory in a small café down the street from the hotel. They all had steak dinners in front of them.

  Clint had checked Gloria into a room at the hotel and then had taken her to Lori’s room so they could meet. The two women seemed to get along immediately, although he wasn’t sure why—even though they were very close in age.

  “I don’t understand, Gloria,” Lori said. “Why would you want to ride with the posse?”

  “The Pettigrews killed my family,” Gloria said. “I’m going to kill them.”

  “Why don’t you leave that to Clint?” she asked. “He’s already killed one of them.”

  “So have I,” Gloria said. “I’ve tracked them for hundreds of miles, and I’ve killed one of them. And I intend to kill the rest.”

  “Well,” Lori said, “if you’re that committed to it . . .”

  “You could come, too,” Gloria said. “Did they kill somebody in your family?”

  “No,” Lori said, “my husband died from a fall . . . a stupid fall. No, all Jerry Pettigrew did was . . . rape me for five days.”

  Gloria stared across the table at her.

  “And you don’t want to kill that whole family?” she asked.

  “Well . . . the one who raped me is dead, thanks to Clint. I think I could have killed him if I had the chance, but . . . I don’t think I could ride with a posse. I mean, I don’t wear a gun like a man . . . like you do. I . . . I admire you, Gloria.”

  “Don’t admire me,” Gloria said. “I’m driven by hate. It burns inside me, and nothin’ is gonna put it out but killin’ that whole family.”

  “You say you killed one of them already?” Clint asked.

  “I left Jasper, Kansas, soon after you did,” she said. “I started tracking them. It wasn’t hard. They were leaving a lot of bodies behind them. I finally found one of them—his name was Lemuel—in an Arizona whorehouse, and killed him.”

  “With a gun?” Lori asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I caught him with his pants down, and his gun belt hanging on the bedpost. He went for it, but I beat him.”

  “I don’t think I could’ve done that,” Lori said.

  “I had a good teacher,” Gloria said, “and my hate is still as hot as ever.”