The Killing Blow

by J. R. Roberts

  “What’s the matter?” Allison asked.

  Clint dug in his saddlebag and found his spyglass. “Might be nothing,” he said. Unfortunately, he couldn’t put much faith in those words once he got a look at the faces of those riders. “Still, you might want to head for those trees and wait for them to pass.”

  Although there were a couple bends in the trail ahead, the riders cut across them to charge directly at Clint and Ordell.

  “All right,” Allison said. “We’ll go and wait.”

  Clint listened to make sure that she headed far enough away, but he didn’t watch her go. Instead, he kept his eyes on the approaching riders. He also patted the side of Eclipse’s saddle to make sure that his rifle was where it should be.

  “You know these men?” Clint asked.

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing. Is my rifle ready to fire?”

  “Sure, so long as you don’t mind blowing your hands off when the first round gets jammed in the barrel.”

  Ordell let out a snorting laugh. “Perfect.”

  “Any reason why they might be so anxious to greet us?”

  Shifting in his saddle, Ordell replied, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  They didn’t have to wait long.

  The riders charged straight for them and didn’t slow down until they were about to stampede over both Clint and Ordell. As they pulled back on their reins, the riders circled around to close them in. All three of them had dirty faces and several day’s stubble on their chins. They also had plenty of guns strapped to their saddles as well as their hips.

  Although the men were dressed similarly to Ordell, their eyes were wilder and their faces were much smoother. All three of them were breathing almost as heavily as their horses and did so through slackly hanging jaws.

  The rider who’d come to a stop in front of Clint and Ordell was the first to speak. He did so through a mouth that was only slightly marred by a harelip. “Looks like you two’ve been busy.”

  “Do I know you men?” Clint asked.

  “All you got know is that we’re the ones looking to cash in on the reward offered for that bear’s skin.”

  Ordell didn’t even blink. Instead, he gazed around as if in a daze and asked, “What bear?”

  NINE

  Scowling, the first rider grabbed for the pistol that was tucked under the front of his belt. His two partners were quick to arm themselves within the next couple of heartbeats.

  “You wanna play dumb with me?” the first rider snarled. “Then it’ll be the last mistake you ever make. That bear’s worth six hundred dollars, so unhitch it from your damn horse and ride away.”

  Clint turned slightly to look over at Ordell. “Six hundred dollars? Did you know that?”

  “I heard it was eight hundred. This little pecker must be out to pull one over on his friends, here.”

  “That true?” asked one of the other riders.

  “Whatever we get, we’ll split,” the first rider snapped. “But we don’t get nothin’ unless we get that skin.”

  “Why don’t you boys go into those woods and find a bear of your own?” Ordell asked in something of an innocent voice. “Or would you rather take yer chances with an old man instead of something like what used to fill that skin behind me?”

  “Don’t test me, Mark,” the first rider snarled. “Or I swear I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Ordell barked. “You rode all this way to talk tough? You either jump or get the hell out of our—”

  Ordell’s words, combined with the vicious tone in his voice, was more than enough to make the first rider bring up his pistol and aim at the older man.

  Ordell responded by snatching an old Navy model Colt from under his buckskins and thumb back the hammer.

  When he saw the tempers flare up past the boiling point, Clint’s first reaction was to check on the riders who’d gotten around behind him. Sure enough, those men were more than ready for a fight and already had their guns up and pointing at Clint’s back.

  With a quick, backward sweeping motion of his right arm, Clint took his modified Colt from its holster and aimed it at the rider directly behind him. Just as his arm straightened, he pulled the trigger and sent a round into the rider’s chest. The lead thumped home and knocked the rider clean out of his saddle.

  Before that rider could hit the ground, Clint shifted his aim and fired at the other rider who’d tried to get around behind Ordell. That shot had to be taken from memory and flew wide since that rider had had the sense to move from his previous spot.

  Although he was startled at the sudden turn of the tables, the rider behind Ordell pulled his trigger and sent a shot whistling past Ordell’s horse’s ear. The animal barely seemed to notice and merely shifted from one hoof to another.

  Ordell and the first rider were staring each other down, giving Ordell enough time to take aim.

  The rider wasn’t so anxious to catch any lead, so he fired a quick shot at the older man. His horse had already been fidgeting and this was enough to get it stumbling backward with a few short steps. The movement wasn’t enough to shake the rider from his saddle, but it seemed to be enough to throw off his aim. His shot blazed through the air and only clipped a bit of skin from Ordell’s chin.

  Barely twitching at the sting of the passing round, Ordell hunkered down low and fired a shot at the rider directly in front of him. The younger man buckled and stared wide-eyed at Ordell as he quickly lost the strength to hold up his gun.

  The rider behind Ordell had pulled back on his reins to try and put some distance between himself and Clint. He shifted his eyes wildly between his two former targets and waved his gun in front of him.

  “Don’t do it, kid,” Clint shouted. “Just toss the gun and ride away!”

  Looking at Clint, the rider seemed to consider taking his advice. Then, his eyes glazed over and steely resolve imposed itself upon his face. With that, he lifted his gun and sighted along the barrel at Clint.

  Clint waited for a split second more than he should have before aiming and firing. His shot caught the kid in the forehead and pitched him to the ground faster than if he’d been kicked by a mule.

  “Goddamn it,” Clint whispered as he saw the kid land in a heap and his horse bolt away from the trail.

  Ordell was still looking at the face of the first rider. When Clint turned to see how the older man was faring, he saw a look in Ordell’s eyes that was similar to the one that had been there when he was studying the face of the rampaging bear.

  The first rider had lowered his gun and used that hand to press against the wound in his chest. He sucked in a breath and wheezed, “You didn’t—”

  He was cut off by another shot from Ordell’s pistol, which bored a hole straight through his heart.

  TEN

  Clint felt a jolt of panic when he wasn’t able to find Allison or Joseph. He’d ridden to the spot where they’d gone and all he saw was a patch of empty woods bordering on even thicker trees. After calling their names one time, he heard them answer back. Only after he saw her horse emerge from those thicker trees did Clint finally take an easier breath.

  Since they were already deep in the woods bordering the trail, Clint led them in just a bit deeper before leading them out again.

  “The trail’s that way,” Joseph said as he pointed to his left. “We’re not going the right way.”

  “I know, Joseph,” Clint said.

  “Was there gunshots?”

  “Yes, Joseph. There were.”

  “How come we’re not going back the same way?”

  Having no trouble putting the pieces together for herself, Allison patted Joseph’s head and said, “This is a shortcut. That’s all.”

  “We’re still going into Westerlake?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “I want to see where the gunfight was.”

  “No, you don’t, Joseph,” Allison said sternly. “No, you don’t.”

  Clint emerged from the tre
es a good distance from where the bodies of those riders were lying. Ordell was waiting in that general area, but spotted them quickly and rode to meet them.

  Westerlake could be seen after they crested the next big hill. It was a good-sized town with a lumber mill on one edge and a small dock giving boats access to Snake River. Joseph’s ears perked up when he heard the lively tolling of a school bell and he began anxiously fidgeting in the saddle.

  “Is that where my cousins go to school?” the boy asked.

  “I believe so,” Allison said. “We’ll see it soon enough.”

  “Why not go see it now?” Clint asked. “We’ve got business to take care of, but it’s nothing Ordell and I can’t handle alone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Clint nodded. “Go on ahead.”

  “You’ll be staying on for a little while, won’t you?”

  “Sure. If you can recommend a good place for supper, I can meet you there.”

  “I can do one better,” she said. “I can make you a supper better than any restaurant in town.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Clint did his best to keep a friendly smile on his face as he got directions from Allison of where she would be. Her family had a house on the river side of town not far from the mill. Even though her instructions were quick and concise, she still had to hurry and spit them out before her son jumped out of his skin.

  “I’ll be there tonight,” Clint said. Leaning down to Joseph, he added, “Try not to scare all those kids with talk about gunfights and bears. Save something for the next day.”

  “I will, Mr. Adams.”

  Allison waved over her shoulder as she steered her horse toward the schoolhouse. Clint watched them leave just long enough to make sure they were on their way. When he looked over his shoulder, he found Ordell waiting there with a pleasant look on his face.

  “They’re good folks,” Ordell said.

  Clint nodded and flicked his reins to follow Ordell down the street. “Too bad they had to go through hell and back just to get here.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a tough world. Even staying home don’t guarantee you a day’s peace.”

  “Especially when you’ve got cowboys gunning for you the moment you get within spitting distance of town.”

  “It looked to me like you had some experience in dealing with that sort of thing.”

  “And it looked to me like you knew those boys that rode up on us.”

  Ordell smirked as he swayed back and forth in his saddle. They rode down a street that took them to the end of town that faced the woods rather than the river. Already, the sounds of children had been replaced by the clanging of metal and the grinding of saws.

  “I don’t spend a whole lot of time in town,” Ordell said. “That means this here horse is the best friend I got.”

  “Then how did that one boy know your name?”

  “Did he?”

  “I heard him call you Mark, so he either knew you or he took an awfully good guess.”

  Tapping his heel against his horse’s side, Ordell made a clicking sound and got the horse moving a bit quicker. “Come along here, Clint. Let me show you something.”

  Clint followed Ordell to a long building with a wall that faced the street and was opened by a series of awnings propped up with wooden poles. Skins of all shapes and sizes were piled up under the awnings and the smell of fresh meat hung heavily in the air.

  The older man brought his horse to a stop and swung down from the saddle to land heavily on both feet. His steps were just as heavy as he stomped toward the front of the building and pointed to a notice tacked to the wall.

  “You see that?” Ordell asked.

  Clint swung down from his own saddle and walked up to the notice. As he did, he could see many of the men working in the building eyeing the sled hitched to the back of Ordell’s horse. Soon, those same men were whispering among themselves and pointing at the huge bear skin.

  The notice Ordell was pointing at resembled a poster declaring the price put on the head of an outlaw. Instead of a picture of a man, however, there was a drawing of a black bear with a few distinguishing features marked for reference.

  Some of those features included things such as a notch chipped from one ear, a discoloration at a spot on its neck and a few cracked teeth. They were characteristics that Clint hadn’t even noticed when the bear was alive. After taking a moment to think it over, Clint still had to look back at the bear skin to check if those features were there.

  “It’s him all right,” Ordell said proudly. “But that’s not the part I wanted you to see.”

  Clint then looked at the spot where Ordell’s finger was tapping against the wall.

  The notice read:

  $800 REWARD FOR SKIN OF BLACK BEAR. KILLED MEN AND CHILDREN. BRING HIDE HERE FOR PAYMENT.

  “That there’s a lot of money and it’s why those boys were after us,” Ordell said.

  “And that’s how those boys knew you?”

  “I been a hunter all my life, Clint. I do most of my trading here, so I suppose some of these men know me. You were there. You saw them ride up on us with their guns drawn. By my count, you killed two to my one.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

  “You know what’ll make me happy?” Ordell asked with a smirk. “Eight hundred dollars. Let me cash this in and I’ll give you your cut.”

  “Just hand over that rifle,” Clint replied. “I passed a blacksmith on the way over here.”

  ELEVEN

  Clint walked into the blacksmith’s shop carrying Ordell’s rifle. By the time he finally made it into the cramped little shop, Clint actually felt as if he might need to lean against the rifle before he fell over. The gun was heavier than a pickax and twice as difficult to manage.

  The blacksmith’s shop was the shape of a barn, but about half the size. Outside, there were stray bits of iron and rods of all lengths propped against the wall. Inside, there was a similar mess, but combined with a few anvils and buckets of water scattered in different spots on the floor. In the middle of it all was a stout man with a thick black mustache. He was bald, except for a ring of hair that connected the back of one ear to the back of the other. He wore a dirty shirt with the sleeves torn off and a thick apron stained the same color as the charred floor.

  When he saw Clint walk into his shop, the stout man immediately squinted at the rifle he was carrying. “Hey, there. What’re you doing carrying Mr. Ordell’s gun?”

  Clint held the rifle out and blinked in surprise. “You know whose gun this is?”

  “Sure I do. I made that barrel.”

  “Then perhaps you could help me straighten it.”

  The stout man had his hands full with a large pair of tongs and a hammer. He dropped both of those and rushed over to Clint the moment he heard those words. “What’d you do to that gun? Where’s Mr. Ordell?” Rather than wait for an answer, he stopped as if he’d been smacked and started shaking his head. “Oh, Lord. This isn’t good at all.”

  “I know,” Clint said. “The barrel’s bent, but—”

  “Bent?! That barrel’s nearly twisted in half!”

  Clint looked down at it and said, “It’s not that bad.”

  “What’s this?” the man asked as he squatted down to get a closer look at the hammer. “This wasn’t there before.”

  “I know. I fixed that up a bit.”

  “You?”

  “The name’s Clint Adams. Before you ask, I do know what I’m doing. I’m a gunsmith.”

  “A gunsmith, huh? I suppose you have some little tools and such to straighten out that iron?”

  “No. That’s why I came here.”

  The stout man blinked and straightened up. He used both callused hands to rub his face. When he lowered his hands, he revealed a wide grin and a bit of color in his cheeks. “Sorry about that, mister. I’m just awfully proud of that rifle. It’s not often that I get to put together something like that. My name’s Aldo.
”

  “You’re the one that built this gun?”

  “Parts of it, yes. Mr. Ordell designed it, but I had to make the barrel and a good amount of the pieces. It sure was a nice change of pace from all the horseshoes and pots I have to fix.”

  “I knew these parts were custom-made, but I figured they were put together from parts of other old guns.”

  “No, sir,” Aldo said proudly. “Most of those were made here in my shop. I still got the molds for when Mr. Ordell needs something replaced.”

  “And how often is that?” Clint asked, knowing that the blacksmith was busting at the seams to answer.

  “Never. Not once.”

  “You wouldn’t have another barrel lying around, would you?”

  Aldo took the rifle from Clint’s hands and looked along it from every angle. “No and I don’t need one. Besides, it’d be easier to straighten this one out than to bore out a new one. Mr. Ordell makes his own ammunition, so it takes something extra special to keep them slugs in the air. What happened to this beauty, anyway?”

  Clint couldn’t help but wince at the thought of what Aldo would say when he heard his pride and joy had been used as a lever. “Just an accident while out hunting. You know how things happen.”

  “Was it a good hunt?”

  “You heard about that bear that’s got the price on his head?”

  “That black bear that killed them folks?” Aldo asked. “Everyone’s heard of that bear.”

  “Well, it won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

  Aldo looked down at the rifle in his hands the way a proud parent would look at their baby. “Well, then, I guess I can’t be too upset if she’s just a little bent. I’ll get her straightened out in no time.” While making his way toward the small furnace at the back of his shop, Aldo said, “If you’ve got some time to spare, I wouldn’t mind hearing about what you did to this here gun.”

  At first, Clint tested the waters with a few bits and pieces of the basic things he did to spruce up Ordell’s weapon. When he saw the blacksmith responding with genuine interest, Clint slipped right into telling some of the more technical details.

  Aldo listened intently as he heated up the rifle’s barrel. “That ought to make this here weapon a real work of art. Before you know it, Mr. Ordell’s nephew will be coming around trying get one like it for himself.”