Clint drew his gun and fired one bullet into the horse’s head.
Just a couple of miles up ahead Castillo heard the shot. He might have been in prison for a long time, but he could still tell where a shot had come from. It was fired from behind him, not ahead, so it hadn’t been fired by Jessup.
They had pursuers, and they were getting close. If Jessup did not return with fresh mounts soon . . .
“Did you have to shoot it?” Starkweather asked as Clint remounted. “It didn’t have a broken leg or anything.”
“That horse had worse than a broken leg,” Clint said. “Somebody had just ridden it to death. Once they go down on their side like that, they’re done in.”
“He’s right, Dan,” Dockery said. He looked ahead. “Well, now we got two men with one horse. You know what that means.”
“They’re riding double?” Starkweather asked.
“Not a chance,” Dockery said. “First of all, Jessup is about six-four. If Castillo has any size at all, they couldn’t ride double. They’d kill the last horse for sure.”
“Then what?” Starkweather asked.
“One of them is on foot, probably carrying a rifle they got from the Simmons place,” Dockery said.
“The other one has probably ridden ahead, scouting for more food, fresh horses . . .”
“Right,” Dockery said. “We might just catch up to one of them alone.”
“Yeah,” Starkweather asked, “but which one?”
“My money says Jessup kept the horse,” Dockery said. “If I know him, he’s got no intention of comin’ back for the other man.”
“Maybe not,” Clint said. “I’ve seen even hard men bond in prison.”
“Well,” Dockery said, “either way, we’ll probably come up on whoever’s on foot first.”
“After that shot,” Clint said, “he’ll probably take cover and wait for us.”
“Tell you what,” Dockery said. “I’ll scout up ahead of the path here, and you two just keep going. If he’s layin’ for us, I’ll be able to tell.”
“Okay, Dock. Watch your back.”
“You, too,” Dockery said, “and watch each other’s back.”
Castillo knew there was somebody hot on their trail. He had two choices, keep walking or stop and wait. If he’d had a better rifle, one he was familiar with, he would have decided to wait. But with this weapon, and with Jessup due anytime with fresh horses, he decided to keep walking, stay on the go, and keep an eye peeled both ahead and behind.
When he’d left, Jessup had every intention of returning to Castillo with fresh horses. He really did. But he’d left the Mexican a rifle, left him able to defend himself. More importantly, Castillo would be able to hold off any pursuers, giving Jessup more time to get farther away.
So yeah, he’d had every intention of finding fresh horses and returning . . . but he wasn’t going to.
THIRTY-TWO
“It’s too quiet,” Starkweather said.
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s been too long,” Starkweather complained. “I don’t like it.”
“Look, Dockery’s got to travel quietly. Lawmen have to travel quietly, that’s why you see very few wearing spurs, or any kind of baubles or . . . whatever.”
“The badge is bauble enough, right?” Starkweather asked.
“Right.”
“Right,” Starkweather said. “I still don’t like the quiet—”
He was interrupted by a shot, then a second.
“Okay,” Clint said, urging Eclipse into a run, “how’s that?”
Starkweather tried in vain to keep up.
It didn’t take long for Castillo to realize what a fool he’d been. Jessup wasn’t coming back. He may or may not have intended to, but he wasn’t.
The Mexican looked around for cover, spotted a big enough boulder, and made for it. He only hoped that when he fired the rifle, it wouldn’t blow up in his hands.
If he managed to get out of this, he’d start hunting Jessup—even though he’d never really expected him to come back.
Because he knew he wouldn’t have.
Dockery spotted the big man, on foot, carrying a rifle. Had to be Castillo. He dismounted, grounded his horse’s reins, and crept forward. He knew the Mexican hadn’t spotted him, but he was looking for cover anyway. Maybe it had finally occurred to him that Jessup was not coming back for him.
Dockery had been sitting in an office too long. He knew that because he stepped on a stone, twisted his ankle, and announced his presence to Castillo, who fired—twice.
Damn!
It took Castillo two shots to figure out the rifle was pulling to the left. He saw the glint of sun off the lawman’s badge, watched him stagger as he fought to keep his balance. He sighted down the barrel, allowed for the pull, and squeezed the trigger . . .
Everything was laid out in front of Clint as he galloped up. Castillo was pointing his rifle at Dockery, who had apparently injured himself. Dockery was trying to keep his balance and get his gun out at the same time, and the big man with the rifle had a bead on him.
Clint drew and fired in one swift motion.
When the bullet struck Castillo, he had no idea where it had come from. His finger squeezed the trigger of the rifle he was holding, but the shot went wide.
At that moment Dockery regained his balance and drew his gun, but he had no need to fire. He watched as Castillo spun, dropped his rifle, and fell. Then Dockery turned and saw Clint riding down toward him.
“You okay?” Clint asked.
“I’m clumsy,” Dockery said. “Stepped on a stone, twisted my foot.”
“Bad?”
Dockery put some weight on the foot. “Not so far.”
Starkweather came riding over the hill. “Did I miss everything?”
“Pretty much,” Clint said. “Wait here, I’ll check and see if he’s dead.”
Clint dismounted, and handed Eclipse’s reins to Starkweather. He walked down and checked on Castillo. Even though he knew his shot had gone straight and true, he turned the body over and checked. Castillo had been a big man, but even a big man will always succumb to a bullet in the heart.
He went back to Dockery and Starkweather.
“He’s dead,” he said. “I guess Jessup went ahead with the horse, like we figured.”
“And he probably never intended to come back,” Dockery said.
“So he’s still ahead of us,” Starkweather said.
“Hopefully,” Clint said. “He might have changed direction again.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dockery said. “I can track him.”
He stood up, then almost fell. “Ow! Damn, my ankle.”
“If you twisted it,” Starkweather said, “it’s going to swell up.”
“Should we take his boot off?”
“No,” Starkweather said, “the boot will hold the swelling down. We might have to cut if off, eventually, but right now we better leave it on.”
“I can ride,” Dockery said. “That’s not a problem.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “but what do we do with him?” He pointed toward Castillo’s body.
“Can’t take the time to bury him,” Dockery said. “Besides, we left the shovel behind. Cover him with rocks so the animals can’t get to him. We’ll pick his body up on the way back and take them both back to Yuma.”
“You’re so sure we’re going to catch him?” Starkweather asked.
“Oh yeah,” Dockery said. “We’re gonna catch him, because we’re not gonna stop until we do.”
“But your ankle—”
“Like you said, I’ll just leave my boot on until we catch him. We better get moving.”
He started for his horse, then stopped.
“I’m gonna need help gettin’ on my horse.”
THIRTY-THREE
Jessup bypassed several homesteads. He was alone, and there were too many people. He needed another place like the Simmons place—down on its luck, just the family. And he needed it f
ast. He had to have some more food, a better gun, and a better horse.
That was when he saw the lone rider.
They rode hard, but as someone had said earlier, they could only go as fast as their slowest horse.
“Clint,” Dockery said, reining his horse in, “you better go on. That horse of yours is beggin’ to run.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “If I catch up to Jessup, I’ll take him.”
“Dead or alive, I don’t care.”
“But Clint’s the only one without a badge,” Starkweather said. “If he kills him—”
“I’ll testify that I deputized him—in fact, that I deputized both of you. Your badge is no good here.” He looked at Clint. “Go!”
“I’m going.”
As Clint rode off, Starkweather asked Dockery, “How’s your ankle?”
“It feels like it’s on fire,” Dockery said. “I think I’m gonna need a doctor.”
“Is there a town we could stop in?” Starkweather asked.
“We could veer off and go to—No,” he said, changing his mind. “We’ve got to keep going.”
“Clint and I could keep going, as soon as we take you to a doctor,” Starkweather said. “Your ankle might be broken.”
“Damn it!” Dockery swore. “It feels like it’s filled with broken glass.”
“We should have had this talk before Clint took off,” Starkweather said. “Look, I’ll take you to the nearest town and then I’ll try to catch up with him.”
“With that horse of his? You’d never catch him. Look, Pixly is just a few miles east of here. It’s a stupid name, but they have a doctor. I can get myself there. You go after Clint.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Dockery said. “I’ll feel a lot better once I know Jessup’s not running free anymore.”
Starkweather could see how much Dockery was sweating, and it wasn’t from the weather or exertion.
“Okay,” he said. “You head over there and see the doctor. When we’re done, we’ll come there and get you.”
“That’s good,” Dockery said. “Thanks, Dan.”
“Sure, Sheriff.”
The two men started off in separate directions.
Clint knew when he saw the house that this would be Jessup’s choice. An isolated house with no sign of working hands. He’d already passed up a couple of ranches that were just too busy.
Jessup’s tracks led right to it. Clint just hoped he could get down there in time.
THIRTY-FOUR
Jessup only had to knock on the door. When the man answered, Jessup clubbed him with his gun and forced his way in. The man’s wife turned from the stove and screamed, putting her hands to her face. She was younger and prettier than the Simmons woman. Castillo would be upset that he’d missed this.
“Shut up!” he told her, stepping over her fallen husband. “Is there anyone else here?”
“N-no,” the frightened woman said.
“Don’t lie to me. You got any kids?”
“No, no . . . no children. We don’t have any.”
“That’s good. What’s that on the stove?”
“Beef stew.”
Jessup’s eyes lit up. He could kill them later.
“I picked the right place after all,” he said. “Dish me up some of that stew right now! You got any bread?”
She nodded. “Fresh baked this morning.”
She looked over at her husband. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll wake up sooner or later—sooner if he’s got a hard head.”
Jessup sat down and smiled. “Let’s eat.”
Having left Eclipse far enough behind that he wouldn’t be seen, Clint approached the house carefully. He ducked down and moved up to one of the two windows in front. When he peered in, he could see a man seated at a table with a woman putting a plate of food in front of him. They could have been a husband and wife if it weren’t for the prison grays the man was wearing, and the man’s body that was on the floor.
He watched long enough—examined as much of the house as he could from his vantage point—to determine that there was nobody else there.
Jessup had made a huge mistake. He was sitting with his back to the door. He had also put the gun down on the table so he could eat. The bad thing was he had made the woman sit across from him. If Clint kicked in the door, there was a good chance he’d get the jump on Jessup, but the escaped prisoner might grab the gun and point it at the woman. Then there would be a standoff.
He decided to keep watching. If the woman got up to go to the stove, he could make his move.
He wondered if the man on the floor was dead.
“Damn,” Jessup said, “this is good, woman. I been eating prison gruel for five years.”
“Y-you’re an escaped prisoner? From Yuma?”
“That’s right,” Jessup said, “and there’s two things I’ve missed in those five years—good food and the smell of a pretty woman.”
“Oh God,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he said, “it ain’t gonna hurt. I’m sure what you been needin’ out here is a real man.” He looked over his shoulder at her husband, who had started stirring.
“What is he, about six feet?”
“What? Oh, yes . . .”
“Good,” Jessup said, “then I might find some clothes to fit me.”
“Please,” she said, “we have no money. Take what you need—clothes, gun, a horse—and leave us alone.”
“Honey,” he said, “the way you cook and the way you smell, I should take you with me. Well, I guess that’ll depend on what kind of ride you give me.”
“Ride?”
“Yeah,” he said, leering at her, “ride. You know . . .”
“Oh God . . .”
“But first,” he said, pushing his bowl at her, “get me some more of that beef.” He grabbed his gun. “I’ll just make sure your hubby don’t interrupt us.”
When Jessup grabbed his gun, Clint knew he had to move now or the other man was dead. At least the woman was at the stove.
He ran to the door, drew his gun, and kicked it in.
As the door slammed open, the woman screamed. Jessup looked up and saw the man in the doorway. He lifted his gun, but suddenly he felt a pain in his chest, and the man in the doorway lifted his gun . . .
. . . or was that the other way around . . .
Clint fired one time. The bullet hit Jessup in the chest. The man staggered, frowned at Clint, and then fell over, landing on the other man.
The woman kept screaming.
THIRTY-FIVE
Clint was dragging Jessup’s body out of the house when Starkweather rode up.
“I keep missing all the action,” he said to Clint.
“You’ve got to get a better horse.”
Starkweather dismounted. “Dead?”
“Yup.”
“Inside?”
“Husband and wife,” Clint said. “They’re okay. Where’s Dock?”
“His ankle was pretty bad. I convinced him to go to a doctor.”
“Where?”
“A town called Pixly?”
“What a stupid name for a town.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Okay,” Clint said, “we might as well take Jessup to Pixly and dump him in Dockery’s lap.”
“And then what?”
“And then we go back to town and see if any of those telegrams he sent panned out.” He put his hand on Starkweather’s shoulder. “We go back to looking for your father.”
When they got to Pixly, Dockery was hobbling around with a crutch.
“The doctor says it’s not broken,” he said. “And yeah, he had to cut my boot off.”
Pixly was a small town that had come to terms with that fact. They didn’t have a lawman. Sheriff Dockery was who they went to for that. But they did have a telegraph key.
“I already sent a telegram back to town,” Dockery said. “I heard from a friend of mine, Ray Crocker. He�
�s the law in Chandler.”
“Was it about Nate?” Starkweather asked.
“Yeah,” Dockery said. “He’s sure the gang passed through there.”
“Does he have any idea where they were headed?”
“He gave me an educated guess,” Dockery said. “He knows of a bank with big deposits. He says any gang worth its salt would want to hit it.”
“And where is that?” Clint asked.
“Apache Junction.”
“How far is that from here?”
“Chandler’s about a hundred miles. Apache Junction’s a little further east.”
“About a hundred miles,” Starkweather said. “That’s going to take us three days, even if we push. Can’t he hold them there?”
“They’re gone already.”
Starkweather looked at Clint.
“If they’re going to hit a bank in Apache Junction, they’re going to have to case it first. That’ll take some time,” Clint said. He looked at Dockery. “He say when they left?”
“Yeah,” Sheriff Dockery said, with a smile. “Yesterday.”
“Kid,” Clint said to Starkweather, “we’re four days behind them.”
“We better get mounted, then,” Starkweather said. “We have some hard riding to do.”
“Oh, no,” Clint said. “First, you need a better horse.”
THIRTY-SIX
Vail was getting tired of placating Evans, Ryan, and Walker. On the one hand, he blamed Nate Starkweather for taking so long to come up with a plan to hit the Apache Junction bank. On the other, these three should know by now that Starkweather always comes up with a plan.
“What’s he waitin’ for, Leo?” Walker complained.
“Yeah,” Ryan said, “it’s just another bank.”
The Man with the Iron Badge Page 9
