The Dead Town

by J. R. Roberts

  Clint walked back to the hotel with both women, left Gloria at her room first, then walked Lori to hers.

  “She’s an amazing girl,” Lori said.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Do you think I’m weak because I couldn’t kill anyone?”

  “I don’t think you’re weak at all, Lori.”

  “But I left my home,” she said. “I left because I was frightened to stay alone.”

  “I think it took a lot of strength to leave home, Lori.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Yes.”

  She opened her door, hesitated in the doorway, then turned to look at him. Once again he wondered what, if anything, she remembered from the first night he’d spent in her house.

  “So you’ll be leaving tomorrow to ride with the posse?” she asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “And Gloria’s goin’, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

  “No,” he said, “but I’ll pay for your room for a week ahead. You’ll have that long to decide what you want to do.”

  “I should get a job,” she said.

  “Probably.”

  “Except I ain’t never had one before.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to find something.”

  “Maybe sewin’,” she said. “I can sew.”

  “You’ll have time to decide.”

  “Well . . . ,” she said, “good night.”

  “Good night, Lori.”

  Clint waited until she had closed the door and locked it. Then he walked down the hall to his room, which was around the corner and next to Gloria’s. He unlocked the door and entered, then stopped when he saw Gloria in his bed.

  “Well,” she said, smiling, “I’m glad you didn’t bring Lori back here with you.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Why would you think I’d bring her back here?” Clint asked.

  Gloria was nestled in the crook of his left arm. He had wasted no time joining her in the bed, and they had spent the better part of an hour getting reacquainted.

  “Can’t you tell?” she asked. “The girl’s in love with you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Tell me you haven’t been with her.”

  “That was . . . different.”

  “How?”

  “She thought I was her dead husband.”

  “What?” Gloria pushed herself up so she could look directly at him.

  “She was in shock, and thought I was her husband.”

  “And you took advantage of her in that condition?” she demanded.

  “No, of course not.”

  “But you did have sex with her?”

  “Yes, but—”

  She sat up and stared at him, arms folded across her naked breasts.

  “This should be good.”

  He took the time to explain to her in detail what had happened to Lori, and what had occurred after he saved her from Jerry Pettigrew.

  When he was finished, she stared at him and said, “Well, you did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “You managed to explain it away,” she said. “What you did was . . . wonderful.”

  “Well, I don’t know if it was wonderful.”

  She lay back down next him, plastering the length of her body to his.

  “I still think she’s in love with you, though.”

  “Despite what you think, every woman who meets me doesn’t fall in love with me.”

  “I didn’t say that!” she said, pinching some skin on his side. “I hope you don’t think that I’m in love with you.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “I have too much hate in me to love anybody, don’t you think?”

  “Gloria—”

  “No, don’t try to talk me out of it,” she said. “I’m only kiddin’ slightly. I know what hate can do, Clint. I’m not a fool.”

  “If you gave up your quest,” he said, “you could—”

  “No,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t try it, Clint. I’m not givin’ up. I’ll be leavin’ with that posse tomorrow mornin’.”

  “All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

  They got quiet then for a while, and just when he thought she might have fallen asleep, she asked, “What are you thinkin’?”

  “I was just . . . ah, I was thinking maybe I could’ve made more of a difference when we first met.”

  “How so?”

  “I could have tried to talk you out of this back then,” he said, “or I could have gone with you.”

  “You couldn’t have done either one,” she told him.

  “Maybe . . .”

  “No,” she said, “I was determined then, and there was no way you could give up your life to follow my path. I knew that then, and I know it now.”

  “But here we are,” he said, “riding in the same posse, chasing the Pettigrews.”

  “It’s just a coincidence.”

  “A coincidence?” he said. “No, more like fate has brought me back around to do what I should have done in the first place.”

  “You hate coincidences that much?” she asked. “You can’t just admit that this is one?”

  “No,” he said, “I can’t.”

  “Well,” she said, “whatever it is that’s brought us together to do this, I’m glad.”

  “I am, too,” he said. “If we can get the rest of them all at once, you’ll be free to get on with your life.”

  After a moment she said, “That will be . . . hard. I don’t even know what I’ll do when I don’t have this hate to keep me warm.”

  “It doesn’t keep you warm, Gloria,” he said. “That’s cold you feel, not warmth. Once it’s gone, you’ll be free to be a warm and loving woman.”

  “Loving?” she asked. “You mean, fall in love with a man?”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have much faith in men, Clint,” she said. “You’re the only one I’ve ever known who’s worth anything.”

  “What about your father?” he asked.

  “My father used to beat me and my mother,” she said.

  “Then why are you so determined to avenge his death?” Clint asked.

  “Because he was my father,” she said.

  Oddly, Clint thought that he probably understood that.

  Clint woke first the next morning. Gloria had stayed the night with him, instead of going back to her own room. It wasn’t yet light out, but it was close to first light.

  He slid his arm out from beneath her, got out of bed, and walked to the window. The street was quiet, but he knew the posse would soon be forming. He wondered how many men Walter Deadly had managed to gather.

  “Is it time?” Gloria asked from the bed.

  “Close,” he said.

  “I should go back to my room and get ready.”

  He swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed, naked.

  “Unless you’ve got a reason why I should stay?” she asked.

  “I’ve got a lot of reasons,” he said, “but if we’re going with that posse, we’d better start getting ready now.”

  “Okay,” she said, standing up. “Your loss.”

  He stared at her as she padded naked to the door.

  “I know it is,” he said.

  She smiled, put on her robe, and slipped out the door.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Clint met Gloria in the lobby of the hotel. As they stepped outside, the first beam of sunlight broke through and lit their way to the livery stable, where they saddled their horses. When they rode their horses over to the sheriff’s office, they saw a group of men and horses gathered out front.

  “It looks like the sheriff got a few men to go with him,” Gloria said.

  Clint nodded. It looked like almost a dozen men milling about in the street.

  As they reached the group, the door to the sheriff’s office opened and Wal
ter Deadly stepped out. The attention of the posse members was split between Deadly and Gloria Mundy.

  “What the hell—” one of them said, and others screwed up their faces in puzzlement.

  “A woman?” one of them said aloud.

  “Sheriff, what the hell—”

  “What’s a woman doin’ here?”

  “Settle down,” Deadly called out. “This lady has more of a right to be a member of this posse than the rest of you. The Pettigrews killed her whole family in Kansas.”

  “That might be,” a man said, “but I don’t wanna get killed because some girl is not pullin’ her weight.”

  “Don’t worry, mister,” Gloria said. “I’ll pull my weight. I’ve already killed one of them.”

  “Is that true?” another man asked.

  “Yes,” the sheriff said. “She’s been tracking this gang and has killed one of them. Also, Clint Adams has killed one.”

  “Adams!” someone called out, shocked.

  “That’s me,” Clint said.

  “The Gunsmith is ridin’ with this posse?” the first man asked.

  “Mr. Adams has agreed to ride with us, since he’s already had experience with one of the gang.”

  “And what about you, Sheriff?” another voice asked. “Ain’t you the undertaker from over ta Bedford?”

  “I am the undertaker,” Deadly said, “but I’m also the sheriff.”

  “Sheriff named Deadly?” someone said, laughing. “I hope you live up to your name.”

  “Well, that just means we can kill ’em and bury ’em at the same time.”

  The posse started to laugh, all but Deadly, Clint, and Gloria.

  Clint looked over at Deadly. If the man lost control of the posse now, he’d never be able to regain their respect. He thought about stepping in, but that wouldn’t have been helpful.

  He watched as Deadly drew his gun and fired a round into the boardwalk at his feet. The laughing abruptly stopped.

  “This is no laughing matter!” he snapped. “Anybody who thinks this posse is gonna be fun can leave right now!”

  The ten or twelve men exchanged glances, but only two of them—right upfront, side by side—laughed and elbowed each other. To Clint, they also looked drunk.

  “What’s your name?” Deadly asked one of them.

  “Me? I’m Ed Winston.”

  “And you?” Deadly asked the other.

  “Paul Nichols.”

  Deadly walked up between their horses, inspected their saddlebags, then suddenly reached into one.

  “Hey!” Nichols shouted.

  Deadly came out with a bottle of whiskey that was about half-full.

  “Seems to me you both been nippin’ at this,” Deadly said. “Clint, you think you can take care of this for me?”

  “I think Gloria can, Sheriff.”

  Deadly looked at Clint to be sure he’d heard right, then shrugged and tossed the bottle into the air. Gloria drew and fired. At its apex the bullet caught the bottle and shattered it. Glass and whiskey rained down over the men.

  In that split second both Walter Deadly and Gloria Mundy earned the respect of the men.

  “You two are out,” Deadly said to Nichols and Winston.”

  “You can’t do—” Ed Winston started, but Deadly cut him off.

  “Anybody here want to ride after the Pettigrew gang with a couple of drunks?”

  The other men shook their heads, and several of them shouted, “No!”

  “That’s it,” Deadly said to the two men again. “You’re out. The rest of you, we’ll be leaving in ten minutes. You.” Deadly pointed to the youngest member of the group, a man in his early twenties who had been staring at Gloria the whole time. “Go over to the livery. The fella there will show you my horse and saddle. Saddle ‘im up and bring him over here for me.”

  “Yessir.”

  The young man tossed one last look at Gloria and then rode to the livery.

  The two men ousted from the posse turned their horses and grudgingly rode away.

  “Clint? Can I see you inside?” Deadly asked.

  Clint nodded, dismounted, and handed his reins to Gloria. As he followed Deadly into the office, he heard someone say, “That was mighty good shootin’, little lady,” and a few others agreed.

  Inside the office Deadly turned to Clint and expelled a breath he might have holding the whole time.

  “Did you know she’d make that shot?” he asked.

  “I was hoping.”

  “Hoping?”

  “I had a pretty good idea she would,” Clint said. “It’s a good thing you can spot a drunk.”

  “That wasn’t hard,” Deadly said. “Half the folks at a funeral are already liquored up.”

  “Well, I think you managed to get some respect, for now.”

  “There were ten men out there. Now we got eight.”

  “Eleven when you add us in.”

  “That a good size for a posse?”

  “I’d say it’s a little big,” Clint said. “By the end of the day, though, some of them will turn back. Others will stay with you for a couple of days. In the end we might end up with half a dozen of us, but they’ll be men—and one woman—who want to do the job.”

  “You should know the Pettigrews have about a four-day head start on us,” Deadly said.

  “They could be across the state line already, Sheriff,” Clint said. “What happens then?”

  “I intend to chase them until I catch them,” Deadly said.

  Clint had to admit that when he met Walter Deadly, the undertaker, he had not expected to ever find this kind of determination in him.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Deadly said, “but like I told you, Zack Poulson was my friend. He’d been the sheriff here for three years.”

  “How did he get killed?”

  “From what I hear his deputy, Mike Hogan, went for his gun and got both of them killed. Then they killed the bartender for good measure.”

  “Any idea which way they headed after they left here?” Clint asked.

  “Somebody said they heard them talkin’ about goin’ south, to get out of the cold.”

  “Can’t say I blame them for that.”

  “Due south of here is the town of Cottonwood. According to the sheriff there, the Pettigrews passed through a day ago.”

  “One day?” Clint said. “I thought we were three days behind them?”

  “Cottonwood’s fifty miles from here,” Deadly said. “They must’ve found some trouble between here and there that held them up.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I guess a one-day head start could be worse.”

  “There are some homesteads, and some small towns—mud puddles really—between us and Cottonwood,” Deadly explained. “We should be able to find out something between here and there.”

  “Only if we get going,” Clint said.

  Deadly walked to the gun rack, grabbed a shotgun, and said, “I’m ready.”

  Clint hoped Walter Deadly really was ready.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Halfway between Cold Creek and Cottonwood the posse found out what the Pettigrews had been up to.

  Clint and Deadly had decided they had one man in the posse who might have been worth the posse fee he was getting. His name was Miller Lastings, and he seemed to have some tracking abilities. Unlike the other members, he was not a shopkeeper looking to get away from his business for a while, or a husband looking to get away from his wife.

  Deadly had sent Lastings on ahead to scout. They expected the Pettigrew gang to be south of Cottonwood by now, and probably in the state of Iowa, but they didn’t want any surprises.

  Lastings had been riding ahead of them for about three hours when he appeared in the distance, riding hell-bent-for-leather back to them.

  “Hold up,” Deadly said, raising his hand. “Let’s see what Lastings is so excited about.”

  The riders stopped and waited for Lastings to reach them.

  “What’s the matte
r?” Deadly asked.

  “There’s a ranch up ahead,” Lastings said. “You better come.”

  “What is it?” Deadly asked again.

  “Looks like the Pettigrew gang burned these people out—and killed everyone. From the looks of things, they took their time about it.”

  “Oh God,” Gloria said.

  “Maybe the lady would like to skip this part and head back—” Lastings started.

  “Don’t start that!” Gloria snapped, pointing at the man.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Okay, Lastings,” Deadly said. “Lead the way.”

  Lastings turned and started off at a gallop, and the posse followed.

  Lastings had a good pony, which started to put some distance between him and the posse—everyone but Clint. Eclipse was able to easily keep up with the animal, and could have passed it if need be. But Lastings was leading the way, so Clint stayed right with him.

  Soon enough they came within sight of the burned-out ranch. As they got closer, Clint spotted a couple of bodies lying on the ground.

  Lastings and Clint reined in their horses and dismounted. The rest of the posse would be there in minutes.

  “See what I mean?” Lastings asked.

  Clint walked to the two bodies. They were both men, and they had been shot, not burned to death. There was a corral nearby with two horses in it.

  “Near as I can figure from the tracks, there were four riders. Looks like they rested their horses. In fact, I think the two horses in the corral belonged to them. They must have taken two fresh mounts.”

  Clint walked over to the corral to have a look. One of the horses was limping.

  “Doesn’t figure they’d have to rest their horses after riding here from Cottonwood,” he said. “But that one looks lame.”

  “There’s also this,” Lastings said, pointing toward the house.

  “What?”

  “There are bodies in the rubble.”

  “How many?”

  “I took a quick look,” Lastings said. “I found two women.”

  “Women?”

  “Well, maybe a girl and a woman.”

  “Christ,” Clint said, as the rest of the posse reached them and reined in.

  “What do we have?” Deadly asked.

  “Bodies,” Clint said. “Two men shot to death, at least two females in the fire. I was just going to take a look.”