“What are we going to do when we get there?” Powell asked.
“We’ll see what the situation is,” Clint said. “Between here and there we’ll see if we come across a place to stop them. If not, we’ll have to stop them at the source. Ariza.”
“But . . . how?” Powell asked.
Clint and Smith exchanged a glance.
“We’ll figure that out along the way.”
FORTY
Five riders were heading from the Powell house to the town of Ariza.
Four riders were heading from Brigham to the Powell house.
Ben Randolph was sitting in the saloon in Ariza, getting the bad news.
“What?” he said. “How many?”
“Eight.”
“Eight men have left?”
Lane Barrett nodded.
“Must have ridden out during the night.”
“So,” Randolph said, “we still have seventeen. Plenty to do the job.”
“There’s been some talk . . .” Lane said.
“About what?”
“I don’t think we’re done losing men.”
“What about your bunch?”
“Oh, we’re still in.”
“All right,” Randolph said. “It’ll save us the trouble of gettin’ rid of the others later.”
“So what do we do?”
“Get the remaining men saddled up and ready to ride,” Randolph said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Hold on,” Smith said, lifting his arm.
“What is it?” Powell asked.
“Somebody’s coming.”
“Is it them?”
“No, it’s not a large enough group,” Clint said.
“Then who—”
“There!” Smith said, pointing.
“That looks like—” Powell started.
“It is,” Clint said. “Your wife, your lawyer, and your cook.”
“And another man,” Smith said.
“That’s O’Day,” Clint said.
“The man you hired to watch the women?”
“That’s right.”
“Well,” Smith said, “I guess this counts as watching them.”
They waited for the others to reach them.
“What the hell are you doing?” Powell asked when the others reined in.
“I couldn’t get any help,” Westin said.
“Nobody?” Clint asked.
The lawyer shook his head.
“No one’s willing to come out and help, not after the word got around.”
“So you decided to bring them?” Powell asked.
“No, sir,” Westin said. “They brought me.”
“I insisted,” Andrea said. “You need guns.”
Clint looked at O’Day.
“You told me not to let them out of my sight.”
Clint studied the man, decided he was sober.
“It’s okay, Dan,” he said.
“The two of you should go back to the house,” Powell said. “Gordon, take them.”
“And if Randolph hits the house while we’re there?” Andrea asked. “We’re safer with you.”
“Where are you going?” Chelsea asked.
“We decided to attack instead of waiting,” Powell said.
“Attack where?” Westin asked.
“Ariza,” Clint said.
“Ah,” Westin said, “that’s where Smith and I saw them coming from. At least, from that direction.”
“All right,” Clint said, “we’ll all go, but let’s leave now before we miss them.”
FORTY-ONE
Clint and Smith rode alongside each other, leading the rest.
“You know some of these people are going to end up dead,” Smith said.
“Maybe.”
Smith remained silent.
“Okay, probably,” Clint said.
“We should leave them all and go in alone,” Smith said. “Before they know we’re around, we could take care of a bunch of them.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Clint said, “but let’s find a good place to leave them.”
“Besides,” Smith said, “I’m sure a bunch of them have left by now.”
“Oh, yeah,” Clint said. “The odds are probably better.”
Yeah, he thought, more like fifteen to two rather than twenty-five to two. A lot better.
Clint said, “Here.” He jumped off Eclipse and studied the trail.
“Yeah,” Court agreed, looking around.
Everyone else reined in and turned.
“Okay,” Clint said, “the rest of you are going to stay here.”
“Here?” Powell asked. “Why?”
“Because we’re going into town,” Clint said. “If they get past us, you can bushwhack them here.”
“Here,” Andrea said.
“This road is well traveled,” Clint said. “And recently, by a lot of horses. It must be them. So they’ll come this way. Hide yourselves on either side of the road, and wait.”
“And then what?” Chelsea asked, getting off her horse and flexing her feet.
“When they come by, open fire. Get as many of them as you can.”
“Kill them?” she asked.
Everyone looked at her.
“That is what this is all about,” Powell said.
“But . . . I’m a cook.”
Clint walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t have to.”
They all watched as Clint remounted Eclipse, and rode off toward Ariza with Court Smith.
About half an hour later Smith said, “There it is.”
“Little town.”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like a bunch of men and horses on the street.”
“Looks like.”
Clint looked at Smith.
“You ready?”
Smith pulled out his rifle and said, “I’m ready. Right down Main Street?”
Clint nodded. “Right down Main Street.”
Randolph counted. He had fifteen men left. Sixteen counting him. The dirty cowards.
As his men were mounting up, Lane Barrett came over to him and said, “Hey, boss. Look.”
“What?”
Barrett pointed.
Coming down Main Street were two riders.
Just two.
FORTY-TWO
Clint and Court Smith rode down the street toward the men, some of whom were mounted, some still on their feet.
“They’re crazy,” Randolph said.
“It’s Court Smith,” one of the other men said, “and the Gunsmith.”
“They’re just ridin’ in, like nothin’s goin’ on,” another man said.
“Take it easy,” Randolph called to his men. “They’re just two men.”
Three of the remaining men exchanged a look, and then started walking away, slowly at first, and then they broke into a run.
“Damn it,” Randolph said, drawing his gun.
“What are you doin’?” Lane asked.
“I’ll kill the next man who tries to run,” he yelled out.
All the men turned and looked at him, then down the street at the two riders.
“You face them, you might die,” Randolph said, “but I’ll kill you for sure.”
“You’re one man,” somebody said.
Lane Barrett pulled his gun, and then the men who followed him did the same. Suddenly, more than half the men had guns in their hands.
“The rest of you skin those hoglegs or die,” Randolph said.
Slowly, they all drew their weapons. Randolph had twelve men.
“Why’d they come here?” Lane asked.
“What’s the difference?” Randolph said. “We kill them, then we go for the house, and the bank. We go for it all.”
“Yeah, okay.”
There were four men left whom Barrett was planning to get rid of anyway.
“Let’s send them down the street first,” he suggested.
“Fine,” Randolph said.
Lane walked over to them.
“You four, start walking.”
“But—” one of them said.
Lane Barrett cocked the hammer on his gun, and the others followed.
“Move!” he said.
Clint and Smith watched as four men advanced on them. Behind them, another eight stood ready, along with Ben Randolph.
“Sacrifices,” Smith said.
“Yes,” Clint said. “Let’s give them a chance to walk away.”
“I think they’ll take it,” Smith said. “Look at the small steps they’re takin’.”
When they came within earshot, Clint said, “You men have a choice. Walk away or die.”
One of them said, “Randolph will kill us anyway.”
“He’s puttin’ you out here as a sacrifice,” Smith said. “He’s hopin’ you’ll get one of us while we get all of you.”
“Walk away,” Clint said. “We’ll cover your back. Just drop your guns and keep walking.”
The four men exchanged glances, then dropped their guns in the dirt and continued walking past Clint and Smith.
“Okay,” Smith said, “the odds look a lot better now.”
“Four to one,” Clint said. “We’ve got them right where we want them.”
They rode on.
“Those cowards!” Ben Randolph said.
“It’s up to us, then,” Lane Barrett said. “Spread out!”
Randolph watched as the eight men put some space between them. They fanned out across the street.
“Let me talk to them,” Randolph said. “Maybe I can get them to throw in with us.”
“We don’t need them.”
“If it comes to gunplay, they’ll get some of us,” Randolph said. “We already have less men to split with. We don’t need to lose more.”
“If we kill them,” Barrett said, “we all get as big a rep. You ain’t scared, are ya, Randolph?”
“Scared isn’t the word,” Randolph said. “I’m being careful.”
“Sure sounds scared to me,” Barrett said, “but go ahead, talk.”
Ben Randolph moved forward to meet the two oncoming men.
FORTY-THREE
Clint and Court Smith reined their horses in as Randolph got closer.
“Looks like you’ve lost a good part of your forces, Randolph,” Clint said.
“I’ve still got enough to do the job,” Randolph said. “You boys ought to think about throwing in with us.”
“Why would we do that?” Smith asked.
“The odds are against you,” Randolph said, “and there’s plenty of money to go around.”
“You mean the money you think Andrew Powell owes you?” Clint asked.
“The money he cheated me out of.”
“And you’re planning on sharing that money with all your men?”
“They’ll be getting paid,” Randolph said. “I can pay you fellas, too.”
“We’re not doing this for money, Randolph,” Clint replied.
“You telling me Powell’s not payin’ you?”
“Oh, he’s paying us,” Clint said, “but we’re doing this to find out who killed our friend, Joe Bags.”
“Well, hell,” Randolph said, “I can tell you that. It was Lane Barrett gunned your friend down. Did it without warning, too.”
“You didn’t order it?”
“Look,” Randolph said, “the reason I put together a force as large as this one was to try and avoid gunplay.”
“You thought a show of force would do it for you?” Smith asked.
“I hoped it would. But Barrett, he jumped the gun, and his boys followed.”
“His boys?”
“I hired them all together,” Randolph said. “They’re the bunch standing behind me. The rest of ’em weren’t gunhands, which is why you scared them off. These men are gunmen, and they gunned down those five fellas, including your friend.”
“And you just watched?”
“I can handle a gun,” Randolph said, “but I was hopin’ not to have to. But Powell’s giving me no choice, especially sending you fellas in here.”
“Well,” Clint said, “it’s still your play, Randolph. Call these men off and we can all walk away without a scratch.”
“You’d let Barrett walk? And his bunch?”
“No,” Clint said, “we’ll take them in and let the law handle them.”
Randolph shook his head.
“They wouldn’t go for that, even if I would,” he said. “I still want my money.”
“If you think Powell cheated you in business, then take him to court,” Clint said.
“Or draw your gun now,” Smith said. “The choice is yours.”
“I wouldn’t draw on either one of you, let alone the two of you together.”
“Then get your men to back down,” Clint said.
“Don’t think I can, but I’ll try.”
He backed off, turned his back, and approached his own men. Clint and Smith waited while he briefly spoke to a man they assumed was Lane Barrett, the man Randolph claimed had killed Joe Bags.
After speaking briefly, Randolph simply turned and spread his arms.
“Get ready,” Smith said.
Clint just nodded then, assuming Smith was watching the men and not him, and said, “I’m ready.”
“Looks like it’s gunplay, boys,” Randolph said. “Couldn’t talk them out of it.”
“You with us?” Lane Barrett asked.
“I’m paying the freight,” Randolph said. “If you kill them, but I catch a bullet, there’ll be nobody to pay you.”
“Don’t matter,” Lane said. “Keep spread out!” he told his men, and they started forward.
“Here they come,” Clint said. “A nice even number. I’ll take the four on the left, you take the four on the right.”
They watched as the men started toward them.
“That means I get Barrett,” Smith said. “The one who killed Bags.”
“Whatever,” Clint said. “If that’s the way it falls. I just want him to get what’s coming to him.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Harcourt Smith said. “He will.”
FORTY-FOUR
The eight men advanced on Clint and Smith and then stopped.
“We’ll give you men the same chance we gave those other four,” Smith said. “Drop your guns and keep walkin’.”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Lane Barrett said.
Clint looked at him.
“You must be Barrett.”
“Yeah, I’m Barrett.”
“You killed a man named Joe Bags.”
“So?”
“You admit it?”
“He was working for Powell, I was working for Randolph,” Barrett said. “It was my job. Me and my men. We took care of the five men Powell sent after Randolph.”
“But it was you,” Smith said, “who killed Joe Bags, right?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“He was a friend of ours,” Smith said.
Barrett looked at him, then at Clint.
“Both of you?”
“That’s right,” Clint said. “That’s the only reason we’re here.”
“You other men hear that?” Smith asked. He pointed at Barrett. “This is the only man we’re interested in. How many of you want to die for him?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Barrett called out. “We’re in this together.”
Clint and Smith remained silent, but watched the faces of the men. The problem with a large group of men—whether it was a gang, or a lynch mob—was that nobody wanted to be the first to die. That was the only reason a lawman with a shotgun could hold off a lynch mob by himself.
So when Smith asked, “Who wants to be first?” nobody stepped up.
“Guess that means you, Barrett,” Smith said.
“Against you and him?”
“No,” Smith said, “just me.” Smith dismounted. “You and me.”
&nb
sp; Clint decided things had gone too far, so he didn’t bother arguing the point. Besides, if Barrett outdrew Smith, it would fall to him anyway.
And he now had to watch the other seven men, plus Randolph.
The other seven were shifting their feet, wondering what to do.
“Why don’t we just watch?” Clint said to them. “This should be interesting.”
Smith stepped away from his horse and faced Barrett.
“You think I’m scared to face you one at a time?” Barrett asked. “I ain’t scared.”
“That’s good,” Smith said.
“ ’Cause after I kill you, I’ll just kill him.”
“If you manage to kill me, I don’t care what you do after that.”
Clint wasn’t watching Smith and Barrett; he was watching the other men. So when Barrett went for his gun, Clint didn’t see it. When there was one shot, though, he saw the other seven men flinch, and two of them went for their guns.
Clint drew and shot both men even before they were able to clear leather. The other five men flinched again. Three of them stepped back and raised their hands, and two of them actually put their hands up in front of them, as if to ward off bullets. Clint kept his gun on them, risked a look at Smith. He was standing over the fallen Lane Barrett, who was lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
“Okay?” Clint asked.
Smith bent over the man, then straightened and said, “He’s dead.” Smith covered the other men with his gun.
“Okay,” Clint said. “Drop your guns.”
The five men took their guns from their holsters and dropped them in the dirt.
“Now go,” Clint said.
“Where?” one of them asked.
“Anywhere! Just go!”
The five of them hurried away, three of them actually running.
Clint dismounted, Smith grabbed the reins of his horse, and they both walked over to Randolph.
“My turn?” Randolph asked. “Two against one?”
“You liked it when you had twenty men behind you,” Clint said.
“Look, I never actually meant for there to be gunplay,” he said.
“And you probably never intended to split all the money with your men either.”
Gunsmith #359 : 2 Guns for Vengeance (9781101545270) Page 11
