Way with a Gun

by J. R. Roberts

  “The old mayor is Ned’s uncle on his father’s side,” Taylor said. “The present mayor is Ned’s uncle on his mother’s side.”

  “What are the two mayors to each other?”

  “Brothers-in-law . . . I think.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “just tell me this—are you in any way related to any of them?”

  “No,” Taylor said. “I wasn’t born here.”

  “Okay, that’s good,” Clint said. “I wouldn’t want to get in the middle of a family feud.”

  “You’re not.”

  “But wait . . . your wife.”

  “Also not born here.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “Let me take a breath. If Ransom comes up with two more men, we’ll be five.”

  “Five against . . . at least twelve.”

  “That’s not so bad,” Clint said. “It would all depend on position.”

  “How?”

  “Well, Pine wants you in the street,” Clint said. “So we pick the street.”

  “Which one?”

  “One that we can cover from rooftops,” Clint said. “If we can get the whole gang in the street, then we can catch them from all sides. Then we’ll have another thing on our side.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Two things,” Clint said, correcting himself. “The element of surprise, and the fact that they won’t know how many we are.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “There’s just one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Through all of this you’ll have to be standing in the street—alone.”

  “Well,” Taylor said, rubbing his jaw, “it’s like the mayor said. It’s my job.”

  “All right,” Clint said. “We’ve got time before we have to meet Ransom. Let’s try to scare up another man or two and, at the same time, show me a street that we can use.”

  “I’ll think on it while we’re walkin’,” Taylor promised.

  As Taylor had predicted, they did not come up with anyone else who wanted to help. They all had the same answer. “That’s your job, isn’t it, Sheriff?”

  They had some supper—in a different café—and discussed other possibilities.

  “What about your old deputies?” Clint asked. “The ones who quit. Think we can get them back with me involved?”

  “I doubt it,” Taylor said. “They were pretty scared when they heard what was gonna happen.”

  “What about some other young men in town?” Clint asked.

  “Whataya mean by young?” Taylor asked.

  “Seventeen, eighteen,” Clint said, “even some kids we could use as lookouts. We’re going to need some warning when Pine and his boys are approaching.”

  “We can get some boys,” Taylor said, “as long we only use them as lookouts and don’t expect them to handle a gun.”

  “No gunplay,” Clint said, “but we can use all the help we can get.”

  “I know a couple of good boys,” Taylor said. “Their mothers may not be thrilled, but they will.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “We might as well check on Ransom and see what he got us.”

  They paid their bill and headed for the saloon.

  As they entered, Clint saw that the place was not doing much business, even at what was considered peak hours for saloons. The larger places in town no doubt commanded most of the business. He liked the fact that he and the sheriff had the place largely to themselves, though.

  Ransom was standing at the bar with two other men approximately his age. They did not stand with his confidence, though. There was more of a swagger in their demeanor that they had not yet earned. Other than those three and the bartender, there were only two other men, and both of their heads were drooping into their beer mugs as they sat at their tables.

  As Clint and the sheriff entered, Ransom straightened and nudged both of the other men. They remained slouched at the bar, as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Ransom,” Taylor said.

  “Sheriff,” Ransom said, “Adams. This is Ed Kale, and that’s Billy Delaney.”

  Now the two men straightened up. They were ignoring the sheriff, both looking at Clint.

  “Boys, you know the sheriff,” Ransom said. “And this is Clint Adams.”

  Now the men seemed to lose their arrogance and become a bit nervous.

  “Mr. Adams,” Kale said.

  “Sir,” Delaney said.

  Clint looked at the sheriff, but the lawman seemed content to let him take the lead.

  “I assume Joe has filled you in on what’s going on?” Clint said.

  “We know what’s goin’ on,” Kale said. “Ned Pine’s gonna kill the sheriff.” Kale looked at Taylor. “No offense, Sheriff.”

  “None taken.”

  “He means to kill the sheriff,” Clint corrected. “If he does it, we mean to see that he does it alone. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” Delaney said. “You don’t want any of Ned’s men back-shootin’ the sheriff.”

  “You got it right then,” Clint said. “Get yourselves fresh beers and have a seat at a table. We’ll be right with you to talk some strategy.”

  The two men eagerly accepted their fresh beers and walked to a table.

  “Sit at one in the back,” Ransom shouted, and they obeyed.

  “Tell me about them,” Clint said to Ransom.

  “They’re okay,” Ransom said. “Not real good boys, but okay.”

  “Couldn’t get anyone else?” Taylor asked.

  “Nobody wanted to go against Pine and his boys,” Ransom said, “not even with the Gunsmith. Oh, and I had to promise them a hundred dollars each.”

  “That’s too much,” Taylor said.

  “It probably is, but it’s fine,” Clint said. “Can they hit what they shoot at?”

  Ransom hesitated, and then said, “If it’s not movin’ around too much.”

  “Oh, great,” Taylor said.

  “Never mind,” Clint said. “Let’s just talk to them and see if they can take orders. Let’s get some beers and join them.”

  “I got one,” Ransom said, and walked over to sit with the men.

  “This ain’t good,” Taylor said.

  “Maybe not,” Clint said, “but it’s what we’ve got.”

  THIRTY

  The best thing Clint could think to say about Kale and Delaney was that they seemed willing and able to take orders.

  “Get to bed early tonight,” he told them. “We’re going to be up bright and early tomorrow morning to get ourselves ready. As of tomorrow, Pine and his boys could ride in at any time.”

  “How we gonna know?” Kale asked.

  “We’re going to get some lookouts,” Clint said.

  “Who?” Delaney asked. “I didn’t sign on to be no lookout. I want in on the action.”

  “The sheriff is going to take care of signing on the lookouts,” Clint said. “You boys just make sure your guns are clean.”

  “I take care of my hardware,” Kale said.

  “Glad to hear it,” Clint said. “Now get out of here and see to it.”

  “We’ll see you in the morning,” Taylor said. “First light, right in front of here.”

  “I got a question,” Kale said as he and Delaney stood up.

  “What’s that?” Clint asked.

  “Ransom here hired us on,” he said, “but who’s the ramrod of this outfit?”

  “That’s Sheriff Taylor,” Clint said, pointing to the lawman. “What he says goes.”

  “Okay,” Delaney said. “Just so we know.”

  The two men turned to leave, and at that moment the batwings swung in and a mountain entered. At least, it looked like a mountain and it blocked the entire doorway.

  “Jesus,” Kale said. “Winston.”

  Kale and Delaney looked at Clint. They’d heard about what had happened between him and the big man.

  “He’s carryin’,” Delaney said.

  “You boys just get out,” Clint
said. “We’ll handle this.”

  Kale and Delaney had to turn sideways to get out the door, because Winston never moved. He just stood there, staring at Clint.

  “What about you?” Clint asked Joe Ransom. “Want to leave?”

  “I wanna stay,” he said with a smile. “This should be interesting.”

  Taylor started to get up, but Clint said, “Stay seated, Sheriff. Don’t spook him.”

  Taylor sat back down as Winston started over to their table. When he reached them, he ignored the sheriff and Ransom and stared at Clint.

  “Winston,” Clint said. “I want to apologize for last night. I had too much to drink—”

  “Ain’t got to apologize,” the big man said. “You whipped me. My shins still hurt, and my jaw aches.” He rubbed it. “Doc thinks it broke.” He was talking with his jaw clenched. “I just think it’s sore.”

  “Well, can you have a beer?” Clint asked.

  “I heard you was lookin’ for guns,” the big man said, ignoring the question. “Gonna stand against Ned Pine and his gang.”

  “That’s right.”

  “This all ya got?” he asked, indicating the other two men at the table.

  “And the two who just left,” Clint said. “Five in all.”

  “Well,” Winston said, “I ain’t got no feelings about Pine one way or the other, but I’d be proud to stand with ya, Mr. Adams.”

  “Why would you want to do that, Winston?”

  “Ya whipped me,” Winston said. “No man’s ever done that before. And I didn’t know who you was last night. Now I do, and it’s an honor to be whipped by ya. So if you’ll have me, I’d like ta stand with ya.”

  “It’s up to the sheriff,” Clint said. “He’s in charge.”

  Winston looked at the sheriff.

  “Hey, it’s fine with me,” Taylor said. “We can use all the guns we can find.”

  “Okay then,” Clint said. “Do you want a beer?”

  “Naw,” the big man said, “I’m gonna go home and rest some.”

  “Okay, be back here in the morning at first light,” Clint said. “Right out front.”

  “Yes, sir,” Winston said. “I’ll be here.”

  All three men watched him turn and walk out, and then the sheriff and Ransom stared at Clint.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Ransom said. “Ya whip him and now he wants to be your friend.”

  “It’s a funny world. Ain’t it?” Taylor asked.

  “Well, we’re six now,” Clint said. “The odds are looking better all the time.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Clint, Sheriff Taylor, and Joe Ransom had another beer together, and then the sheriff said he had to get home while he still had a wife.

  “What about you?” Clint asked Ransom. “Got a wife waiting for you?”

  “Naw,” the younger man said, “nobody.”

  “How about getting us two more beers?”

  “Too old and tired to go to the bar yourself?” Ransom asked.

  “You got that right,” Clint said, closing his eyes.

  “I’ll get ’em.”

  Ransom went to the bar, and the two men who had their heads hanging in their beers made their move.

  Jerry Corbett and his silent partner, Carl Bankhead, had ridden into town that afternoon. It hadn’t taken them long to spot Clint Adams walking the streets with a man wearing a badge. A couple of questions and they found out that Andy Taylor was sheriff of Cedar City. Neither of them had ever heard of him. Corbett had been expecting to run into the Gunsmith somewhere along the way, but this was a stroke of luck.

  They watched the two men long enough to figure out that they preferred this little saloon to the larger ones in town. They’d also heard the talk around town about what had happened the night before when Clint Adams was in one of the bigger saloons.

  “He’ll want to stay out of trouble,” Corbett told Bankhead.

  “So what do we do?”

  “We’re gonna wait for him in his favorite little spot, and wait for him to make a fatal mistake.”

  Bankhead agreed. He was Corbett’s “silent” partner because nobody knew about him—not even Tell Barlow. Everybody thought that Jerry Corbett did his jobs alone, and that was the way he wanted it.

  They watched, giving the appearance of two men who were about to fall into their mugs, as one by one the other men left until, finally, Clint Adams was sitting at the table alone.

  What the two gunmen didn’t realize was that Joe Ransom was not leaving the saloon, he was just going up to the bar.

  It wasn’t Clint Adams who made a fatal mistake after all.

  Ransom felt like having a whiskey with his beer. As he turned to ask Clint if he wanted one too, he saw the two men making their move. They took their heads out of their mugs and, without a hint of drunkenness, stood and drew their guns.

  Ransom moved immediately.

  “Clint!” he shouted, drawing his gun.

  Clint heard the sound of chairs scraping the floor, then heard Ransom yell. For an instant he didn’t know which way to look, and in that instant he knew he could have died—had it not been for Joe Ransom.

  He turned to look at Ransom, saw that he was drawing his gun, saw where his eyes were trained, and knew he’d looked the wrong way. He immediately threw himself out of his chair and dove for the floor, clawing for his gun. Meanwhile, the sound of shots filled the air in the small saloon. . . .

  Corbett saw Clint Adams hit the floor as he pulled the trigger, and knew he was going to miss. He saw his bullet gouge a hole in the table where Clint Adams had been sitting, then became aware of the other man at the bar, who had shouted. In his mind Adams had moved, and then the shout came. It was the way things happened sometimes— or seemed to—in the wrong order.

  Whichever came first, he knew he was a goner. . . .

  Joe Ransom drew his gun and fired in one quick move. His bullet caught Bankhead just under the chin as the man fired. His lifeless body was thrown backward across another table, where he came to rest. His gun dropped from his hand and hit the floor.

  Ransom turned to the other man, who was just turning toward him. They fired at roughly the same time. . . .

  As Corbett fired his gun at the meddler, Clint fired at him from the floor. His bullet hit the man square in the chest, so that when Corbett pulled his trigger his shot went wild. Then Ransom’s bullet struck him, also in the chest, and he was dead before he hit the floor.

  In seconds, it was over. . . .

  THIRTY-TWO

  By the time Sheriff Taylor returned to the saloon— having heard the shots from down the street—the shooting was over and Clint and Ransom had checked the two men to be sure they were dead.

  “What happened?” Taylor demanded.

  “Those two threw down on Clint,” Ransom said. “They was gonna shoot him in the back.”

  “Ransom saved my ass,” Clint said. He put his hand out for the younger man to shake. “I guess I don’t have to wait any longer to find out if you can shoot. I’m much obliged, Joe.”

  “Well,” Ransom said, shaking Clint’s hand, “I couldn’t let ’em shoot ya. We got too much to do.”

  “Who are these fellas?” Taylor asked.

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “I was just about to go through their pockets.”

  Clint took out the contents of Jerry Corbett’s pocket, and Taylor fished around in the other man’s.

  “I got nothin’,” the lawman said.

  “I got something,” Clint said.

  “What?” Ransom asked.

  Clint looked at both men and said, “A telegram.”

  “That mean somethin’ to you?” Ransom asked.

  “Yeah,” Clint said. “Yeah, I’m afraid it does. Let’s get this mess cleaned up and I’ll tell you about it.”

  In the sheriff’s office, Clint explained about the previous attempt on his life and the telegram he’d found in the pocket of one of the men.

  “It was like t
his one,” he finished. “Basically, hurry up and get it done, and signed by somebody named Tell in Selkirk, Arizona.”

  “Do you know this Tell fella?” Taylor asked.

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Why is he lettin’ you know where to find him?” Ransom asked.

  “That’s obvious,” Clint said. “He wants me to find him. I’ll know why when I do.”

  “And that’s where you were headin’ when we stopped you?” Taylor asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m really sorry, Clint,” Taylor said. “I had no idea—”

  “That’s okay,” Clint said. “We’re going to be done here in two days’ time at most.”

  Taylor and Ransom looked at each other. Clint knew what they were thinking, that he was assuming he’d come out of the confrontation alive.

  “I’m always looking ahead,” he told them. “You can’t ever assume you’re not going to survive.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Taylor said.

  “You know,” Ransom said, “Ned might have more than twelve men with him. We could be outnumbered more than two to one.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Clint said. “All we can do is get the men we do have ready. Andy, you were going to get us some lookouts.”

  “First thing tomorrow I’ll line ’em up,” the lawman promised.

  “Um, you’re not going to get any boys who are related to Pine, are you?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Taylor said. “We’ve pretty much gone through all his relatives.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Except for the women,” Ransom said.

  Clint looked alarmed. “We’re not going to have to deal with any of the women, are we?”

  “Probably not,” Taylor said.

  “Unless they pick up guns,” Ransom said.

  “Jesus...”

  “What do you want to do with the two men from tonight?” Taylor said.

  “Bury them,” Clint said. “I’ll pay for it.”

  “You must have a lot of money,” Ransom said, “payin’ Kale and Delaney, and now payin’ to bury these two.”