Clay Nash 3

by Brett Waring

  But there was one more killer to take care of before Nash could find out what in hell had happened on the other side of the trail where Dakota was. The wounded man continued to scream and yell for someone to help him and then there were five fast hammering shots from ahead and below that almost cut Nash down. He had stepped into a thinner part of the timber that gave the hidden gunman a clear shot and he dropped flat as lead peppered trees and ground all around him.

  He spotted his man, got off a shot, caught his gun barrel in a low branch of a bush as he tried to bring it around and swore as he released his hold. The foresight was caught solidly in the fork of the branch and he didn’t have time to fight it. Shoving back hard with his heels as the ambusher got off two more shots, Nash palmed up his Colt Peacemaker and thumbed back the hammer, triggering as soon as the brass blade of the foresight was laid across the killer. His lead ripped a deep white line in the bark of the tree that sheltered the man and hard on the heels of the shot he heard a gun hammer click as it dropped onto an empty chamber. He figured the tubular magazine in the dry-gulcher’s rifle was now empty and the man flung it in his direction as Nash snapped off a second shot. He didn’t see or hear where the lead went but the killer had a six-gun in his hand now and blazed two fast, fanning shots at Nash, hand chopping wildly at the hammer even as he backed off. Then he turned and leapt across a deadfall and started running.

  Nash ran forward to get clear of the trees so that he could get off a shot at the man but deliberately held his fire when he saw the line of metal conchas down the man’s chaps. This had to be Frank Hess himself. Nash put on a burst of speed, skidding and stumbling as he cut down the slope directly above Hess, weaving around rocks and tree stumps. Hess fired once over his shoulder but it was a frantic, wild shot that he must have known would have little hope of finding its mark. Nash put a bullet close to the man’s boots and Hess stumbled, fell headlong and crashed and rolled down the grassy slope, his gun flying from his hand. At the same time, Nash tripped on the uneven ground and went down hard, rolling on the slippery grass. He felt his gun spin loose and then he was crashing headlong into Hess just as the man was thrusting to his feet.

  Nash instinctively wrapped his arms about the man and Hess managed to slug him in the face. The Wells Fargo man got his legs under him and thrust upright, ramming his shoulder up under Hess’ chin and sending the man rocking on his heels. Nash slammed him in the ribs, hooked him on the side of the jaw and, as the man reeled, followed through with a straight right that put Hess down.

  Clay Nash threw himself forward but Hess rolled, managed to get his boots up, and they caught Nash squarely in the chest. Hess straightened his legs abruptly and hurled Nash back six feet. The Wells Fargo man stumbled putting down a hand to steady himself and stop from falling completely. Hess bounced up, came back slugging and kicking, not giving Nash a chance. The agent covered his head with his arms and Hess started swinging his boots into Nash’s ribs. The breath jarred from him and his body jolted as the kicks landed and pain knifed through his side, driving involuntary grunts from him.

  Then he caught one of the stomping boots in his hands and he pitted his strength against Hess, making the man hop around on one leg as he fought to keep his balance. Grunting with the pain of the effort, Nash heaved and dug his heels into the slope, thrusting upwards as he lifted his hands violently. Hess was hurled back several feet but he somehow managed to stay on his feet, arms flailing for balance. He brought up with a jolt against a tree and as he bounced forward Nash lunged in, hooked a low one into his mid-section and followed through with a knee in the face, the point of an elbow into the side of his neck and, finally, a looping right that slammed into Hess’ jaw and twisted his head on his shoulders so sharply that Nash wondered for a moment if he had broken the man’s neck.

  Hess dropped like a pole axed steer and didn’t move. Panting, staggering, Nash went back and got his six-gun, lifting Hess’ weapon, too, and ramming it into his waistband. He grabbed the man’s shirt collar and started to drag him across the face of the slope to where he could see four tethered horses and, through the bushes, Dakota Haines standing over the now-sobbing man whose legs had been shot out from under him.

  Haines looked around, still grasping his shotgun, as he heard Nash hauling the half-conscious Hess across. The man on the ground was Whip and he was sobbing, clawing at his blood-soaked trousers.

  “Guess that’s all of the polecats,” Haines said. He gestured to the horses. “We can account for four.”

  Nash nodded, breathing hard, as he dropped Hess on the ground and took out a kerchief to dab at blood oozing from his nostrils and a cut on his chin.

  “Figured he must’ve been gut shot, the ruckus he was makin’,” Nash said, gesturing at the wounded Whip.

  “I just kinda hauled rein on him some. We’ve been havin’ a talk while you were fightin’ your man there. He reckons he don’t know anythin’. Guess I’ll make sure.”

  He pressed down with the shotgun butt on the man’s legs and Whip started to scream before the weight of the gun was really on him. Haines eased up, looking quizzically at the wounded man.

  “You got somethin’ to tell me after all, pard?”

  Whip, sweating, panting, shook his head fast. “Honest! I dunno nothin’! Clint hired us, paid us off, that’s all I know.” He glanced across at the slowly stirring Hess and vindictiveness showed through the pain in his eyes as he pointed to the man. “He knows about Clint! Ask him! He knows where he’s holed-up!”

  The words brought Hess back to full consciousness abruptly and he took a shaking hand down from his bleeding face and smeared blood and dirt across the cheek as he wiped the hand backwards towards his ear. He glared at Whip.

  “Shut your lyin’ mouth!” he gasped.

  “I ain’t lyin’!” Whip said, looking up at Haines earnestly. “He made all the arrangements. He’s waitin’ to hear from Clint now!”

  “Shut up!” yelled Hess, his voice breaking with the intensity. He launched himself at Whip, hands clawed as he tried to get at the wounded man.

  Haines lashed out almost casually with a boot and caught Hess under the armpit. The man fell, moaning. Haines trod on one of the man’s hands and pushed the sawn-off shotgun barrels against Hess’ head. He waited until the dazed look had passed from Hess’ eyes, then slowly notched back the hammer on the right barrel to full cock. He saw Hess flinch. Haines’ face was deadpan as he notched back the hammer on the left-hand barrel, deliberately slowly. It clicked into the final ratchet and Hess closed his eyes tightly, teeth clenched. Haines did nothing more, simply stood there silently, holding the gun muzzles against Hess’ head.

  Slowly, fearfully, Hess opened his eyes and when they were fully opened and he started to relax slightly, Haines bared his teeth in a cold grin and pulled the trigger for the right-hand barrel. The hammer leapt forward and snapped on an empty chamber with a clash of metal on metal that sounded almost as loud as the explosion of a shot shell to the terrified Hess. The man jumped and threw himself backwards, an involuntary scream choking in the back of his throat. He lay there full length, his whole body quivering, chest heaving, eyes bulging as he stared up at Haines, shocked that he was still alive. Haines made a tutting sound and glanced at the silent Nash.

  “Well, doggone! Must’ve forgotten to load that barrel. Recall I put a fresh shell in one of ’em. Must’ve been the other. Let’s try it out and see.”

  He stepped forward and planted his boot squarely in the middle of Hess’ chest, holding the man down as he pushed the sawn-off’s barrels against his head again and curled his finger around the trigger for the left-hand barrel. Hess’ eyes looked as if they would pop from his head as he watched the knuckle whiten.

  “No! Don’t!” he screamed like a demented child.

  Nash frowned, not liking to see any man reduced to this. Haines took out a fresh shell, thumbing it into the right-hand breech. He snapped the gun closed and glanced across at his taut-faced companion.


  “What d’you know? It was the left-hand barrel I reloaded.” He nudged Hess roughly with the gun barrels in the back. “Lucky you yelled when you did, feller, or you’d be minus a head by now. This time I got both barrels loaded. And it’s time for us to have a talk again.”

  He reached down, grabbed Hess’ shoulder and flung the man over onto his back. Hess threw an arm across his face but Haines knocked it aside, shoved the gun barrels to within an inch of his eyes and looked coldly down at the man along the short length of the twin cylinders of blued metal.

  “By the way, mister,” Haines told him without emotion, “Pop Moran was a friend of ours.”

  He thumbed back the hammer on the right-hand barrel and Hess convulsed. Haines’ thumb started to notch back the left-hand barrel hammer and Hess said, “Don’t kill me! Please! Listen, you kill me, you won’t find out anythin’!”

  “There’ll be others,” Haines said, continuing to notch the hammer back to full cock. “We’ll catch up with ’em, make ’em talk.”

  Hess actually groveled and Clay Nash moved in and gently pushed Haines’ gun barrels aside, looking the man straight in the eyes.

  “I think he’ll talk now, Dakota. No need to carry it too far.”

  Haines shrugged but his eyes remained deadly as he poked Hess in the chest with the sawn-off. “The man says you’re ready to talk. That better be right.”

  Hess nodded emphatically several times. “Dunno much.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Nash said curtly.

  “Well, Clint shared out the loot and told us to hole-up around Tombstone somewheres. He said he’d be in touch with us again, that he liked the way we worked, and he figured we could hit other trains ... because, well—I knew a lot about ’em, havin’ worked for Arizona and Western ... ”

  Haines swiveled his cold gaze to Nash. “Believe him?”

  “It’s the truth! Honest Injun!”

  “Sounds all right,” Nash told Haines. “Except for one thing. We figured the haul was so big that this was going to be Christian’s last job, that he was going to drop from sight after it. Now Hess is talkin’ about Christian maybe usin’ him and his men again.”

  “That’s what he said,” Hess put in fast. “You’re right. It was to be his last job. But it went off so smooth, usin’ that michauca weed, that Clint figured he should’ve thought of that method long ago. He reckoned he might be able to make a couple more big hauls usin’ the stuff before the railroads or Wells Fargo came up with somethin’ to stop it.”

  “What d’you think?” Nash asked Haines, who shrugged and shoved the sawn-off’s barrels hard into Hess’ chest.

  “We gotta figure he’s lyin’, ’cause he ain’t told us anythin’ worthwhile yet. Mebbe if I just blow a few toes or fingers off he might squawk louder.”

  “God help me!” Hess almost screamed. “What—what else do you want to know?”

  “Where Christian is holed-up, for one,” Nash said.

  “No one knows that! He don’t tell anyone!”

  “Yes he does,” put in the wounded Whip where he still lay bleeding on the ground.

  The others swung towards him and Hess glared his hate at the man. Whip said:

  “Clint tells that Chinese gal!”

  Haines and Nash looked at Whip and then glanced down at Hess. It was obvious the man would have killed Whip if he could have gotten his hands on him. The Wells Fargo men turned their gazes back to the wounded man.

  “What Chinese gal?” Nash asked quietly.

  “Clint’s gal ... ” Whip gestured to Hess. “He told me Christian sends for her after every job he pulls, once things’ve cooled down a mite. I dunno who she is, but Hess knows her. He told us she was a looker, said he saw her with no clothes on once ...”

  “Goddamn liar!” Hess croaked but Haines’ boot drove into his chest and slammed him hard against the ground. The shotgun barrels moved around slowly and Hess cringed back as he looked up into the deadly tubes. He seemed to make a powerful effort to get his eyes away so that he could look up at the implacable Haines. “I—I was just makin’ up them things. Just talkin’ to make the boys think I was—was pretty big with Clint Christian, is all. I ain’t never seen his Chinese gal ... ”

  “But he does have one?” Nash asked.

  Hess nodded, jerkily.

  “There’s more,” Haines said flatly.

  Hess swallowed, finally nodded, closing his eyes briefly as if to shut out the image of those two yawning gun barrels. “Her name’s Maxine. Maxine Chan. I dunno where she’s from. I think ... I mean, I’m guessin’ really, but I think she works in a gal parlor some place.”

  “Which place?” Haines growled.

  “I dunno ... No! Don’t! Honest ... I only sort of put things together a little from what Clint let drop from time to time. But I figure she’s likely around the general area of Yuma or Tombstone, because Clint ain’t been out of Arizona in ten years, he told me. He sends for her when he’s flush with cash so she wouldn’t be too far away from wherever he holes up.”

  “A Chinese gal shouldn’t be too hard to locate,” Clay Nash said thoughtfully, looking at Haines. “Not that many around this neck of the woods. Plenty in ’Frisco but not a lot out on the frontier.”

  Haines nodded, face deadpan. “I reckon we can track her down. Provided this hombre’s tellin’ the truth.”

  “I am! It’s gospel, mister!” Hess said desperately.

  Haines turned to the wounded Whip and prodded him with the gun barrels. “You don’t seem to like your amigo much, mister. You figure he’s tellin’ us all he knows?”

  Whip glared at Hess, his pain momentarily forgotten in his hatred for the man who had treated him so roughly back in Tombstone for no real reason. Nash could almost hear the man’s mind turning over: he could get Hess into some real bad trouble if he wanted to and it would take care of any vengeance he may have been contemplating. But then, if they found out he was lying ...

  “I dunno,” Whip said finally. “He sure described that Chinese gal good. I always figured he was speakin’ gospel, that he must’ve seen her like he said ... ”

  Nash pursed his lips thoughtfully. He looked at the man’s buckshot-peppered legs and the blood still oozing from the wounds and figured that there would likely be too much pain there for Whip to play too cagey.

  “I—I just used my imagination,” Hess said, with a fleeting, nervous smile. “A sailor from ’Frisco told me about a Chinese gal in Shanghai Lil’s parlor there one time and I sort of used his description ... I ain’t never seen her. Dunno where she’s at!”

  Nash saw Haines’ face tighten and he stepped swiftly between the tall man and Hess. “I guess it’s near enough, Dakota. Like I said, shouldn’t be too much of a chore to track her down, seein’ as we know her name.”

  “Clint might’ve already sent for her,” Haines pointed out. “In which case we’ll have one hell of a job … ”

  Nash shrugged. “I figure we’ve gotten all we will from these two.”

  “Okay,” said Haines and casually turned his sawn-off’s barrels towards Whip and dropped the right hand hammer. The gun thundered and Whip was smashed back into the ground, a bloodied pulp.

  Hess cringed and Nash jumped, startled at the suddenness of the violence. He pushed the shotgun aside as Haines swung the weapon back to cover Hess.

  “Hell almighty, Dakota! What’d you do that for?”

  Haines looked puzzled. “You said you figured we were finished with ’em. They’re only gonna be a damn nuisance on the trail. Anyways, saves the State the cost of a trial.”

  Nash stared at him, his eyes hard and cold. “Pop was my friend, too, Dakota, but that was murder, what you just did!”

  Haines looked genuinely surprised. “That? You call killin’ that polecat murder? Hell, man, I just did the hangman out of a fee, is all.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. But he was helpless!”

  “I traded lead with him. He damn near blew my head off! What’s wrong with you, Clay?
I always heard you were tough!”

  Nash shrugged, making a helpless gesture. “I dunno, Dakota. Somethin’ like that just don’t rest easy with me, is all. I couldn’t do it.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll finish Hess without losin’ my appetite. Just step aside and ... ”

  Hess opened his mouth in a soundless scream, but Nash didn’t move. He kept his hand on the shotgun barrels, resisting the upward pressure from Haines and shook his head slowly.

  “I guess we better take him in for trial,” he said quietly. “Hume wants Christian and his men cut down to size and there’s nothin’ like a public hangin’ to do it.”

  Haines held Nash’s gaze for a long spell, then slowly lowered the hammer on the second barrel of the sawn-off, reloaded and snapped it back onto the dog clip swivel by its special ring. Hess lay there, limp with relief.

  “You mean you’re gonna tote him all the way back to Yuma?” Haines asked.

  “Reckon so. That’s where Jim wants ’em strung up. It’s their territory and folk around there had looked up to the Christian gang for a long time. It’s the best place to show ’em up for the scum they are.”

  Dakota Haines shrugged.

  “Besides,” Nash added, “there’s the reward. It goes straight to Pop’s family.”

  Haines snapped his head up. “Hell, yeah, almost forgot that! Okay. We’ll tote in the dead ’uns, too, get all the money we can for their hides and hand the reward over to Mrs. Moran and her brood.”

  Nash smiled faintly as Haines yanked Hess onto his feet and sent him stumbling away towards the tethered mounts.

  Dakota Haines was likely the toughest man Nash had ever run up against, but he figured his heart was in the right place. Though he’d never make the mistake of saying that to Haines. At least, not while he was carrying that murderous sawn-off.