Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853)

by Roberts, J. R.

  TWENTY

  Clint considered finding Hickok and thanking him, but then recalled the way the man had treated him when he’d simply tried to introduce himself.

  On the other hand, how many other people had tried the same thing? There were probably a lot of people who wanted to meet Wild Bill Hickok.

  And why thank him? He did his civic duty by telling the sheriff what he had seen.

  Pleasantly exhausted from his time with Katherine, and refreshed after being released from jail, Clint decided to go for a walk. After all, he’d been looking at the people and the square for two days from a jail cell window. Time to get some fresh air.

  * * *

  “They let him out,” Paul McQueen said, walking into the Straight Flush Saloon.

  “Who?” his friend, Buck Williams, asked.

  “That fella who gunned Leo and them others,” McQueen said. “They let him out.”

  “You sure?” Eddie Gant asked.

  “He’s on the street.”

  The three friends exchanged a look.

  “We gonna let him get away with comin’ into our town and killin’ our friends?” Gant asked.

  “No,” McQueen said, “we ain’t—but we already know he can take three men with a gun.”

  “That means we need more,” Williams said. “A lot more.”

  “So what do we do?” McQueen asked.

  “You,” Williams said, “keep an eye on him.” He pointed to Gant. “You find Levi.”

  “Levi?” Gant shivered. “I don’t mind tellin’ you, he scares me.”

  “Yeah, well,” Williams said, “just tell ’im I wanna see him here. Don’t do anythin’ to get him mad at you.”

  “I won’t,” Gant said.

  He and McQueen both headed for the door.

  Williams sat back and poured himself another drink from the bottle. Wild Bill Hickok was in town. Maybe there was some way they could get Hickok to take care of the stranger for them. But then, Levi should be able to do that. Levi Rawson fancied himself a fast gun—faster than Hickok even. Now that would be an interesting showdown, but Hickok was having his own problem with Dave Tutt. That was coming to a head, too.

  There was going to be a lot more lead flying in Springfield, probably before the week was done.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Clint walked around Springfield, breathing in the air. It was no fun being locked in a cell for two days. He didn’t know how convicts did it in prison. The air smelled so sweet to him, he wondered what it was like for them when they got out after five, ten, even twenty years inside?

  He crossed the street, decided to stop into a small saloon there, which he hadn’t yet been to in Springfield.

  He also wanted to see if the man behind him would follow him in, or wait outside.

  * * *

  Dave Tutt was fuming. The word had come to him that Wild Bill Hickok had said he had better not see Tutt wearing the Waltham watch in public. Tutt decided it was time to resolve the issues between himself and Hickok, and the watch was as good a way as any to make it happen. He put on a vest, and tucked the watch into the pocket so that the chain was plainly visible.

  “Where are you going?” Susannah asked as he walked through the living room.

  “Out.”

  “What’s that?”

  He turned to face her.

  “You’re wearing the watch?”

  “Why not?” he asked. “I won it. It’s mine. Why shouldn’t I wear it?”

  “Because you might as well draw a bull’s-eye on your chest.”

  “If Hickok wants to try me, I’m ready,” he said.

  “You really think you can outshoot Wild Bill Hickok?” she asked.

  “Why not? It ain’t like he’s a god or somethin’. Or do you think he is?”

  “No, of course not,” Susannah said.

  “Maybe you’re worried I’ll kill him,” Tutt offered. “Maybe ’cause you still love him?”

  “I don’t love Bill Hickok, Dave,” she said. “I’m with you. Don’t go out there and kill him, or get killed, out of jealousy.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tutt said, “I won’t.”

  He started for the door. She grabbed his arm and said, “Dave!”

  He shook her off and said, “I’ll be back in time for supper.”

  He went out the door.

  * * *

  Hickok sat in the Straight Flush Saloon, an empty beer mug in his hand. He was wondering if he should have another or go out and get some air. But he knew that if he saw Dave Tutt in the street, and he was wearing his watch, something bad would happen.

  On the other hand, if he stayed inside, people might start to think he was afraid to walk the streets. He couldn’t have that. At the first sign of weakness, gunnies would be coming from all over to take their shot at Wild Bill Hickok.

  So he decided against the beer, and for the walk.

  * * *

  Levi Rawson entered the saloon and joined Buck Williams at his table. Rawson wore a blue shirt, a vest, a black hat, and black leather gloves to match.

  “Heard you wanted to see me.”

  “You hear about Leo Worthy?”

  “Some stranger came to town and gunned down him and his friends,” Levi said. “Why should I care about that?”

  “Well, they say he was pretty fast, gunned down all three of ’em before they could clear leather.”

  Levi looked interested.

  “Is that a fact?”

  “I know some said they never saw anythin’ so fast.”

  “What about Hickok?”

  “He’s playin’ poker and drinkin’ beer,” Williams said. “And pretty soon him and Dave Tutt are gonna slap leather. You don’t wanna get in the middle of that.”

  Levi didn’t respond.

  “I got some help for ya,” Williams said. “We don’t want him to get away with this, Levi. We can’t have his kind comin’ in here and shootin’ our people.”

  “His kind?”

  “A gunman.”

  “You mean, like me?”

  “You live here,” Williams said. “That’s different.”

  “What’s this Jasper’s name?”

  “Clint Adams. Ever hear of him?”

  “No,” Levi said, “but that don’t matter.”

  “You take ’im,” Williams said, “and maybe Hickok could be next.”

  “Yeah,” Levi said, “maybe.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, Williams giving Levi time to think.

  “You want a beer?” he asked.

  “Where is this Adams now?”

  “Gant is tailin’ him.”

  “Gant?”

  “Yeah,” Williams said, “him and McQueen will back your play.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Me, too,” Williams said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Then let’s go and find him, and get it done,” Levi said.

  “Now?”

  “Right now,” Levi said, getting to his feet. “Why waste any time?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Williams said. He finished his beer, stood up. “Let’s go.”

  “McQueen’s outside,” Levi said.

  When they got outside, McQueen straightened up from the post he’d been leaning against.

  “Where’s Gant?” Williams asked.

  “Keeping an eye on Adams.”

  “Where?”

  “How am I supposed to know?” McQueen complained. “I was gettin’ Levi.”

  “Take it easy,” Levi said. “We’ll find ’im. Let’s check the saloons.”

  “Good idea,” Williams said, looking at McQueen. “We’ll check the saloons.”

&
nbsp; Levi took the lead, and the others followed.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Clint entered the small saloon, which was almost empty, and ordered a beer from the sleepy bartender.

  “Not much going on, is there?” Clint asked.

  “Not here,” the bartender said. “Not ever here.”

  Clint turned to glance at the door, waiting for the man who had been following him to come in. He didn’t.

  He never did.

  * * *

  Gant saw the three men walking down the street and waved at them.

  “Where is he?” Williams said.

  “In the Empty Holster Saloon.”

  “That place is always empty,” Levi said.

  “Good thing you didn’t follow him inside,” Williams said.

  “Why would I?” Gant asked. “I wouldn’t wanna face him alone.”

  “That was smart,” Levi said.

  Williams and McQueen exchanged a glance. Neither of them had ever said that about anything Gant had done before.

  “So what now?” McQueen asked.

  “We know he’s in there, right?” Levi asked.

  “That’s right,” Gant said.

  “Then we’ll just wait for him to come out.”

  * * *

  Hickok left the Straight Flush Saloon and started walking down the street toward the public square. Getting out of the saloon into the open air, he realized that he was antsy to be on his way. Springfield had fulfilled its purpose as a place for him to wind down after the war ended.

  All he had to do was get his watch back.

  * * *

  Dave Tutt and Wild Bill Hickok were heading for their showdown. It was as if each knew the other would be waiting for him, so they both walked to the public square.

  Each of them drew observers with them, but one of those was not Clint Adams. He was still in the saloon, finishing his beer and wondering about the man who had followed him.

  He was heading for his own showdown.

  Again.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Clint walked to the batwing doors and looked outside. His man had been joined by three more. So it was to be four this time.

  “Friends of yours?” the bartender asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “You’re the fella who gunned down Leo Worthy and two others in the square, right?”

  Clint turned and looked at the man.

  “Hey, I got no beef with you,” the man said. “I’m just sayin’.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “I did that.”

  “So these are friends of theirs, then.”

  “Apparently.”

  “There’s a back way,” the bartender said.

  “I can’t do that,” Clint said. “If word got out that I ran, I’d never be able to show myself in a town again.”

  “I guess I can see that,” the bartender said. “You took three. Do you think you can take four?”

  “I guess we’re going to find out,” Clint said, and stepped through the batwing doors.

  * * *

  Dave Tutt reached the public square, which was empty. Word had gotten out that he was heading that way. Unbeknownst to him, word had also spread that Hickok was on his way as well.

  All he knew when he reached the square was that no one was there . . . until Hickok appeared.

  * * *

  As Hickok approached the square, he also noticed the empty streets. When he got there, he saw Dave Tutt standing about fifty yards away from him. The sun glinted off the chain hanging from his vest.

  The watch.

  * * *

  As Clint stepped through the doors, the four men across the street spread out. But Clint could see that they were favoring one man as the leader. They wouldn’t move until he did.

  The street was empty, and nobody seemed to be watching from windows. Something else must have been going on that had the people’s attention. Clint didn’t care. He didn’t crave an audience anyway.

  * * *

  Levi was concerned.

  The streets were empty. That was okay. But normally you’d see people watching from their doors or windows, or from an alley, or from cover. There was nobody here. What was going on?

  * * *

  Dave Tutt stopped walking, but didn’t say a word. He knew they were being watched from all around them. Plenty of witnesses.

  The time had finally come.

  * * *

  Hickok spotted Tutt and stopped.

  “Dave,” he called, “I told you not to wear that watch around town.”

  “Why not?” Tutt called. “It’s mine.”

  “You’re pushin’ this, Dave,” Hickok said, “not me.”

  The two men glared at each other.

  * * *

  After Tutt had left home, Susannah had run to the livery, where a man named Hal Jayson worked.

  “What’s wrong?” Jayson asked when he saw her.

  “It’s Dave,” she’d told him. “He’s going after Bill.”

  “Hickok will kill ’im,” Jayson said.

  “You’ve got to stop them!” she said.

  “You stay here,” he told her. “I’ll get the boys.” By “the boys,” he meant some of Dave’s friends. Tutt had friends in town; Hickok didn’t.

  He only hoped they weren’t too afraid of Hickok to help.

  * * *

  Clint stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.

  “Just stay right there, friend,” the spokesman shouted.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “You gunned down some friends of ours,” the man said. “We ain’t gonna let you get away with that. Not in this town.”

  “What’s your name?”

  The man hesitated, then said, “Levi Rawson.”

  “Mr. Rawson,” Clint said, “you and your friends are making a mistake, the same mistake your other friends made. They paid the price. I don’t think you want to pay also.”

  “You’re the one’s gonna pay, mister,” Levi said, hiking up his gun belt.

  “You fancy yourself pretty good with that shooting iron, huh?”

  “Damned good.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  If Levi and the others thought he was afraid, they were wrong. What he was afraid of was that a man who thought he was good with a gun was hard to talk out of using it.

  “Okay,” he said, “the play is yours.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Hal Jayson and three other men, all armed, reached the square before any shooting could start. They stood off to one side. Both Tutt and Hickok knew they were there.

  “What do we do?” one of them asked Jayson.

  “We wait,” Jayson said. He knew Susannah wanted him to stop what was going to happen, but he knew Dave Tutt would not appreciate that. So he was just there to back his friend’s play.

  * * *

  Tutt saw his friends, but knew they wouldn’t interfere. He also knew he and Hickok were too far apart. He had to close the gap, so he started walking.

  * * *

  “Don’t do it, Dave,” Wild Bill Hickok called. “Don’t start walkin’ toward me. Not with bad intentions.”

  But Tutt kept coming.

  Forty yards.

  Thirty.

  “Dave . . .” Hickok said warningly.

  At twenty-five yards, Tutt reached for his gun.

  * * *

  Clint watched Levi Rawson carefully. When the man went for his gun, he realized that Rawson was right. He was very good—fast anyway. Clint didn’t know how really good he was because he didn’t allow the man to get off a shot.

  He cleanly outdrew Le
vi Rawson and shot him in the chest. Then he turned his attention to the other three, who were clawing for their guns.

  Fanning the hammer of a gun is a very inaccurate way of firing. Every time you slap the hammer with your palm, you jerk the barter of the gun up—that is, unless you’re good at it, and you compensate for the movement.

  Clint Adams was good at it. He fanned the hammer of his gun with his left hand, firing so quickly and accurately that none of the three men was ever able to get off a shot.

  The silence was deafening after all the firing. Clint had two shots left in his gun, just in case, but he knew the four men were dead.

  The only witness to the event was the bartender from the saloon, whose mouth dropped open in awe. He had never seen anyone move so fast in his life.

  And then, from the center of town, Clint and the bartender heard two shots.

  Two shots almost fired as one.

  * * *

  In the square, Dave Tutt went for his gun, figuring twenty-five yards was close enough. It was, in fact, very difficult to make an accurate shot from that distance.

  But Wild Bill Hickok drew his gun and fired one shot.

  Dave Tutt fired as well, but no one knew where his shot had gone, or if it had come a split second before Hickok’s, or after. All anyone knew was that Dave Tutt was left sprawled in the dirt.

  Hickok wasted no time. He quickly turned and covered Tutt’s three friends with his gun.

  “Are you satisfied, gents?” he asked. “Keep your hands away from your guns or there’ll be more dead bodies in the street.”

  Hal Jayson and his two friends put their hands in the air, away from their guns. Hickok’s shot had been amazing, and they weren’t inclined to try him.

  Hickok walked across the square and reclaimed his Waltham watch from Dave Tutt’s body. Then he paused to wonder what all that other shooting had been about.

  * * *

  Because of the number of shots, the sheriff responded to the site of Clint’s shooting, not Hickok’s.

  “Not you again?” he said to Clint.

  “It was their choice,” Clint said. He’d already reloaded his gun and holstered it.

  The sheriff walked to the dead men, then looked at Clint again.

  “Four this time?”