“You got him,” declared a rider with wild eyes and close-cropped, dark blond hair. “Nice work, Henry.”
“Hold on for a moment, Talman,” Henry said. “This may not be the fella we’re after.”
Talman looked at Henry as if he’d just been told the sky was filled with polka dots. The grimace on his face twisted his patchy beard and revealed a gap where one of his front teeth should have been. Finally, he swung down from his saddle and spat a juicy wad of chewing tobacco onto the ground. “You found him right here, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“And this ain’t but a mile or so from the spot we found that shed.”
“That don’t mean this is the fella we’re after,” Henry said as he shook his head. So far, he had yet to take his eyes off Clint.
“Then why is your gun skinned?” Talman asked, looking around to the four horses and riders that had arrived alongside him. “Last time I checked, an innocent man ain’t gonna pull his gun on a lawman.”
“Lawman?” Clint asked.
Letting out a grunting laugh and then spitting another brown wad onto the ground, Talman said, “Too late to play dumb now, asshole.” With that, he reached for the gun holstered at his side. Before he could clear leather, Talman was stopped by a sharp, barking voice.
“No!” Henry snapped. “Any of you men that draws your guns will answer to me, you hear? Any of you!”
There was plenty that Clint wanted to say. He had questions that needed answers and a few names to drop that might just carry some weight with lawmen. But Clint didn’t say any of those things. Henry Arnold seemed to be doing a hell of a job on his own.
The four riders were a mix of young men and a few who’d seen more than their share of winters. All of them had their hackles up, but they weren’t half as riled as Talman.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Henry?” Talman asked. “We’ve been looking for this murderous bastard and now we found him.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Henry asked.
“There ain’t another soul for miles around that shed, and we find this one sitting here pretty as you please, downwind from those folks he cooked! Just look at him, for Christ’s sake! He pulled a gun on you!”
Henry fixed his eyes on Clint and gave him an intent stare that was full of unspoken words. Even though Clint was fairly good at reading other people’s faces, he didn’t need years of experience at the poker table to know what Henry was after.
“I’m putting my gun down,” Clint said. “See?”
Despite announcing his intentions, Clint still saw the other men flinch when he moved his gun arm. Talman snapped his gun toward Clint, while the four riders drew their weapons and took aim. Henry flinched as well, but he was mostly reacting to the other five.
Gritting his teeth and hoping for the best, Clint continued lowering his gun until the modified Colt touched against the ground. “There,” he said after releasing the pistol from his grasp. “You see? We’ve got an honest mistake here, gentlemen. That’s all.”
Henry kept his stony expression more or less intact, but seemed plenty relieved as Clint lifted his arms into the air over his head.
Talman scoffed. “So he knows how to show us what we want to see. That don’t prove a damned thing.”
“Check his hands,” Henry said. At the first sign of Talman moving toward Clint, Henry added, “Not you. Barkley. You check him.”
Talman apparently knew better than to say anything, so he shook his head and muttered his comments to himself.
Barkley wasn’t one of the younger riders, but he wasn’t an old man. Looking to be in his late forties, he had dark hair that was graying along the temple and sides of his head. He showed some experience with his job when he climbed from the saddle, walked over to Clint and began searching him without taking his eyes or his aim away from Clint for one second.
“He doesn’t have any more weapons on him,” Barkley said.
“The man we’re after is a killer and he started a fire recently,” Henry announced. “We know he stood by to watch it, so he’d have some trace of smoke on him or at least the smell of it sticking to him like glue.”
“Could’ve changed his clothes,” Talman added.
“Sure,” Henry said with a nod. “Bower will check for that.”
One of the younger riders responded to that name. A kid who couldn’t have been more than a stone’s throw from his twentieth birthday one way or another climbed down from his horse and rushed over to Clint’s saddlebags. Once there, he rummaged through Clint’s belongings.
Barkley took a closer look at Clint’s face and hands. He even went so far as to look him straight in the eyes while pulling in a long breath. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t think this one’s been around a fire as big as the one we’re asking about.”
“What about you, Bower?” Henry asked. “Find anything?”
Since Clint wasn’t traveling with much, it hadn’t taken the kid very long to sort through his things.
“There’s some clothes and such, but they don’t look like they been around no fire,” Bower said.
The remaining two riders eased back into their saddles, but kept their guns aimed at Clint. Talman, on the other hand, wasn’t so quick to lower his defenses.
“Could a buried his clothes,” Talman said. “Could a washed up. Could a—”
“Could be he’ll have more to say when we take him along with us,” Henry interrupted. “Collect that gun of his and tie his hands, Barkley. Let’s get moving. Don’t forget we may still be looking for another killer.”
Letting out a breath, Clint allowed his wrists to be tied together and his belongings to be taken. For the moment, he really didn’t have another choice.
FOUR
Clint had been riding south through New Mexico for the last several days. Part of him had been enjoying the cool nights and the warmth of the sun on his face during the days. Another part of him had been relishing the fact that he’d escaped a nasty bout of snowstorms farther north. The last thing he’d expected was to find himself with his hands tied behind his back and surrounded by a bunch of supposed lawmen with twitchy trigger fingers.
At the moment, Clint rode on the back of one of the younger men’s horses. The reins were being held by the horse’s owner, who rode Eclipse directly in front of Clint. Actually, the younger man wasn’t so much riding Eclipse as he was simply trying to keep moving while avoiding getting thrown by the Darley Arabian. Despite Clint’s occasional words of comfort, the stallion wasn’t any more happy with the situation than Clint was.
Although he was normally happy to oblige where the law was concerned, his patience was wearing thin. Having Talman eye him like he was a mangy dog didn’t make Clint feel any more hospitable.
“Is anyone going to tell me what I’m supposed to be guilty of?” Clint asked. “Or should I guess?”
When no answer seemed to be forthcoming, Clint muttered, “Or perhaps I should just wait to be hanged?”
“There’s the best notion I’ve heard all day,” Talman grunted.
“Shut it,” Henry warned.
Talman spat to one side and fixed his eyes on Clint. His hand rested on the grip of his pistol, and he made no attempt to hide the fact that he was aching to draw the pistol and put it to work.
With everyone trying to watch Clint while also trying to keep their eyes on their surroundings, it wasn’t an easy ride. Fortunately, they weren’t riding for long before Clint got an idea of what had brought them all to this spot in the first place.
His first hint was the scent of pungent smoke drifting through the air. Clint had smelled plenty of different kinds of fires, and most of them led to good things. Mostly, smoke told a man he was getting close to hot food, a warm room or at least a cup of hot coffee.
If the scent of smoke was too thick, it could mark a bad turn of events for a house or a section of town.
And then, every so often, the smell of smoke was mixed in with something th
at put a knot in a man’s stomach.
When he’d sniffed that first trace of smoke, Clint had reflexively pulled some more of it into his lungs. Halfway through the second, deeper breath, Clint caught the distinctive odor of burning hair. It wasn’t as powerful as the scents of charred wood, but the unmistakable odor stuck to the back of Clint’s throat.
The scent of burned meat soon followed, and it was enough to make Clint happy he’d been captured before he’d eaten any breakfast.
“Jesus,” Clint said. “Where the hell are you taking me?”
Talman turned around in his saddle to look at Clint. It was the first time he’d smiled. “We’re downwind from your handiwork. Ain’t so good from here, is it?”
“Shut up,” Henry said. “Circle around before we trample any of those tracks we found.”
The men obeyed without question. Even Talman took Henry’s lead and came to a stop as soon as Henry gave the signal. Henry was the first to dismount, and the other men followed suit. Only Talman stayed in his saddle, so he could watch Clint over the barrel of his drawn pistol.
Walking directly over to Clint, Henry placed one hand on his holstered gun and his other on his hip. “What’ve you got to say for yourself?” he asked.
Clint couldn’t take his eyes off the smoldering remains of the shed no more than twenty yards in front of him. The stench in the air seemed to grow thicker by the second, and the only thing that made him feel sicker was the thought of what could be causing it.
Shaking his head, Clint replied, “I don’t know what to say.”
After a few quiet seconds, Henry nodded. “Good enough for me.” With that, he drew a knife from a scabbard at his belt and made a quick swipe at Clint.
Although Clint saw the blade flicker through the air, he barely even felt it touch his wrist. The only way he knew for certain the blade had made contact was the fact that the ropes binding his arms together were now severed.
“What in the hell?” Talman groused.
Placing the knife back into its sheath, Henry stepped back from Clint and said, “I told you once to shut up, Talman. I ain’t about to tell you again.”
“But for all we know he could be—”
“If he was the man we were after, he would’ve tried to make a move by now. He would’ve said something to tip his hand. Hell, he could have pulled his trigger on me before the rest of you got here and he would’ve been in the wind by now.”
Shifting his gaze to the riders other than Talman, Henry said, “You men are all a part of this. Which of you still think this is the man who did this?”
The men glanced back at the smoking remains of the little building and then looked at Clint. Not one of them raised a hand or even gave half a nod.
Although Talman wasn’t speaking up to defend himself, he still didn’t look happy. “If he ain’t the one, then that means we wasted all this time and let the other man get away.”
Henry let out a slow, controlled sigh. His eyes were locked upon the charred shed. “Whoever did this was already long gone before we got here.”
FIVE
Clint was on his feet, out of the ropes and not at the wrong end of anyone’s gun. It felt good, but not half as good as when Henry stepped up to him and handed over Clint’s modified Colt.
“Here you go,” Henry said.
As Clint took the pistol, he could feel the eyes of all those other men upon him. Even though he was smiling and seemed genuine enough, Henry was showing some caution as well by keeping his other hand on the grip of his pistol.
Making sure to keep his movements slow, Clint took his gun and holstered it. Only after he’d moved his hand away from the Colt did he see some of the others relax a bit. Not only was Henry one of the ones to relax, but he was smirking and offering his open hand.
“Sorry about the trouble we caused you,” Henry said. “It was an honest mistake.”
When Clint started laughing at that, it was almost as much of a surprise to himself as it was to the rest of the men watching him. He shook Henry’s hand and asked, “So is anyone going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Guess you’ve got a right to that. See that house there?”
“Doesn’t look like it was big enough to be a house,” Clint replied, “but yeah. I see it.”
“That’s the work of a man we’ve been after for a while.”
“Not just one man,” Talman added.
Henry nodded and said, “He’s the one who figured that out, so he’s also gotta remind everyone about it any chance he gets.”
“And who are you men?” Clint asked. “Some sort of posse?”
“Not hardly,” Henry replied. “We’re Texas Rangers.”
“Then I either got really lost or we were riding for a lot longer than I thought, because I thought this was New Mexico.”
“It was. Still is, as a matter of fact. But the animal who set this fire started off in Texas. He’s burned down plenty more homes in Texas. He’s killed plenty of Texans. That means his hide belongs to us.”
Clint wasn’t exactly certain on the loopholes in the rules governing jurisdictional matters, but he wasn’t about to second-guess Henry. The stern glare in Henry’s eyes was mirrored in the eyes of all the other men, so Clint decided to let the matter be.
“Clint Adams,” Henry said. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Hopefully what you heard was favorable,” Clint said with a friendly grin.
“Mostly.”
After spitting out a messy clump of tobacco, Talman said, “I heard of him, too. Heard he was a gunman and a killer.”
Clint shifted his gaze to Talman. Although the Texas Ranger managed to lock eyes with Clint, he wasn’t able to bear the full brunt of his stare for very long. When he looked away, Talman did so under the guise of spitting.
“I’ve gotten into more than my share of scrapes,” Clint said evenly. “But I’ll have words with any man who says I’m not allowed to defend myself if the situation arises.”
Talman shifted on his feet and then looked at Barkley. “Plenty of men claim to be someone like the Gunsmith. That don’t make it so.”
“I don’t know,” Henry mused. “I’ve heard some good things. Namely from a saloon owner named Nick Hartford.”
Clint smirked. “You’re probably thinking about Rick Hartman. He owns a place in Labyrinth. He may not be the only one in Texas to vouch for me, but he’d do it the loudest.”
“That he would, Mr. Adams,” Henry said.
“Now, if we’re through with this song and dance,” Clint grumbled, “I’d like to hear some more about the man you say set this fire. It smells like death around here. That means this place wasn’t empty when it went up.”
“That’s right.”
“I take it you or your men have already been inside?” Clint asked.
Henry found himself staring at the burned heap and then nodded. “Yeah. I been in there. Believe me when I tell you you don’t want to see it for yourself.”
Clint closed his eyes and bowed his head. “How many were inside?”
“Near as we could figure, there were three. We think they were women. Well, at least two of them were women. The other . . . well . . . there wasn’t enough left to be certain.”
Walking slowly toward the smoldering shed, Henry stared at the rubble as if he wasn’t truly taking it in. Clint walked beside him, doing his best not to choke on the combined scents of smoke and the things that had been consumed by the flame. There was another scent in the air, which became more obvious the closer they got.
“Smells like kerosene was used,” Clint said. “Lots of it.”
“It was used here just like all the others.”
“Jesus. And you say this has happened before?”
Henry nodded. “First one was outside of San Antonio. There was another a few miles east of Dallas. A few more a little closer to your neck of the woods in West Texas.”
It took a moment for Clint to remember that they’d been talk
ing about Rick Hartman’s place in Labyrinth a few minutes ago. Rick’s Place was in West Texas, but that seemed like a whole other world right about now.
“I’ve heard more than a few good things about you, Adams,” Henry said. “And it came from more than just Rick Hartman. I know it’s not my place to ask, but I’d be obliged if—”
“If you’re asking if I could lend you a hand in tracking down whoever set these fires,” Clint interrupted, “you don’t need to ask. The animal who did this needs to be found, and I want to take part in it.”
“And what if we don’t need your help?” Talman asked.
Clint turned to once again stare down the man with the tobacco-stained smirk. “Then you’re going to have to get me to leave. I promise it won’t be as easy as when I let you handle me before.”
Talman steeled himself, but he still wasn’t able to keep his chin up for long.
Rather than push his advantage too far, Clint looked away first. “So who do you think did this?” he asked after glancing toward Henry.
The leader of the Rangers slowly shook his head and muttered, “Whoever it was, he’s a goddamn monster.”
SIX
A woman lay upon a bed with her blouse pulled open and her legs spread wide. Her hair was splayed out behind her and her eyes were glimmering like two jewels embedded in her head. She kept her arms out to her sides and her wrists pressed against the mattress well before they were pushed down by a pair of thick, scarred hands.
The man who climbed on top of her already had his shirt off and his belt unbuckled. After straddling her waist, he rubbed his groin between her legs and showed her a wide, glistening smile.
“That’s right, baby,” the woman said. “Just like that.”
His name was Voorhees. Although he’d come from a family using that same name, he didn’t need to use his first name. There wasn’t much confusion since he’d killed off the rest of his family several years ago. But Voorhees wasn’t thinking about his family. He was more preoccupied with the soft breasts he was fondling and the warmth pressed up against his growing erection.
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