Message on the Wind (15 page)

Bockwinkle knew he just had to wait for that one weak moment, and hope it would come.

 

Clint took out his gun, checked it, and then holstered it. He could see the front of the newspaper office from his chair. He was sure Steve Wynn was at the window, looking out, waiting for the action. He was either going to write about it or run from it.

Clint had one problem with what was about to happen. He'd be facing men wearing badges—four of them, if Bockwinkle and Fellows brought the other two deputies. If they did that, it would be a shame. Deputies Stone and Bennett had no idea what they were getting involved with. It was Clint's hope that he'd be able to explain it to them, get them to step back from the action.

The other two, Bockwinkle and Fellows, their badges were tarnished. They didn't deserve to be wearing badges at all. Clint wondered if he'd be able to talk them into taking them off.

He saw them now, walking down the street carrying shotguns. Four scatterguns could do a lot of damage, and some of that would be accidental.

He remained seated and calm as they approached. He hoped that the steady nerves would be on his side.

As the four “lawmen” stopped in front of the hotel, Clint could see the two deputies in the center sweating profusely.

“Hello, gents,” he said, not moving from his chair.

“Time for you to come quietly, Adams,” Bockwinkle said.

“On what charge?”

“Don't you worry about that,” the sheriff said. “We'll take care of all that once you're in a nice cell.”

“You know I'm not going to any cell, Sheriff,” Clint said. He looked at the deputies. “You boys ready to die so the sheriff here can keep getting his payday from Fellows and Wynn?”

“Shut up, Adams!” Fellows said.

“What's he mean?” Bennett asked.

“Never mind,” Fellows said. “Don't listen to him.”

“You didn't know?” Clint asked. “Your sheriff is getting paid by your senior deputy and the newspaper editor. He's on the payroll, and they don't want me telling anyone about it.”

“What's goin' on?” Stone asked, nervously.

“They're willing to sacrifice you to try to shut me up,” Clint said. “You boys aren't going to make it out of today alive unless you turn around now and walk away.”

Both men licked their lips and each exchanged a glance.

“Okay, Adams,” Bockwinkle said. “It's time.” He thumbed back the hammers on his shotgun.

Clint stood up, and both deputies flinched.

“Back off, Deputies,” he said. “This is between your bosses and me. It doesn't even have anything to do with the badges.”

Fellows thumbed back the hammers on his shotgun.

“You boys ready?” Fellows asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said, “you boys ready to die?”

Both men bit their lips, exchanged another glance, and then Bennett took a step back. He was followed by Stone. Then another step. Then they both dropped their shotguns in the street and backed away, hands in the air.

“Now you, Sheriff,” Clint said. “You want to die to cover up for what Fellows and Wynn did in Organ Pipe?”

Bockwinkle licked his lips, and from the corner of his eye Clint saw Fellows raise the barrel of the shotgun ever so slightly. Clint drew and fired. His shot took Fellows in the chest, just below the badge. The shotgun discharged into the air, and Clint heard some glass break above his head.

Fellows went down onto his back, and Clint turned the barrel of his gun to Bockwinkle.

“Hold it, hold it,” the sheriff said. “Don't shoot.”

“Drop the shotgun.”

The man did as he was told.

Clint looked at the other two deputies, who were under the gun of Sheriff Harry Patterson of Organ Pipe. Clint had not seen where Patterson had come from.

“Thought I'd keep them honest for you,” Patterson said.

“Much obliged, Sheriff,” Clint said. “Glad you're here. This town's going to need a temporary lawman.”

“Whataya mean—” Bockwinkle started, but Clint cut him off.

“All three of you,” he said. “Drop your gun belts and then your badges—now!”

Stone and Bennett obeyed. Bockwinkle hesitated, then followed.

“You want to take them over to the jail?” Clint asked.

“Sure thing, Adams.”

“I got one more visit to make.”

 

As Clint hurried to the livery, he knew there'd be nothing to hold the two deputies on. They'd just been unlucky enough to be caught up in something they had no real part of.

Bockwinkle would lose his badge, maybe do some time. That would be up to a judge.

As Clint got to the livery, Steve Wynn was just about to mount his hastily saddled horse. There were two bulging saddlebags already in place.

“That's far enough, Wynn.”

The editor stopped and turned. He was unarmed.

“Lemme go, Adams,” he pleaded. “I'll leave one of these saddlebags here.”

“You'll leave them both,” Clint said. “Lucky the Organ Pipe sheriff is here to take them back to the bank. You, you're going to jail. Let's go.”

 

When the four men were safely in a cell, Sheriff Patterson took a look inside the saddlebags.

“Ain't all of it, but it's a lot,” he said.

“Might find some of it wherever Fellows lived,” Clint said. “You can take it all back with you.”

“Bank might have a reward available.”

“I'll leave you an account number,” Clint said. “You can wire it to me.”

“You trust me?”

“Sure, why not?”

Clint headed for the door.

“Leavin' town?”

“Just as soon as I can.”

“Ever find out who scrawled that message on that scrap of newspaper?”

“Nope,” Clint said. “Might've been Joe Hickey, for all I know, but it's not important. It got me here, but I know one thing.”

“What's that?”

“I'm not grabbing for any more scraps of paper that are blowing on the wind.”

Watch for

335
^th
novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove