Outlaw's Reckoning (3 page)

“Balls, but no brains,” the second gunman added. He reached to a scabbard at his belt, pulled out a rusty hunting knife and said, “Maybe I'll cut his balls off and toss 'em to a dog.”

Henry began to tremble as sweat trickled down his face.

Clint moved forward to pull the man with the knife away, but spotted movement from Henry before he could get there.

The kid made the worst move possible when he reached for the gun tucked under his belt.

Seeing what the kid intended to do, Clint spat out, “Don't do that!”

Henry didn't listen.

The kid drew his gun in a surprisingly fluid motion. Because he hadn't been drinking for several hours beforehand, Henry appeared to be much more skillful than the other two gunmen in front of him. Those two men made up for their lack of sobriety in plain viciousness as they both took steps to kill Henry for the money in his pockets.

The man with the knife lunged forward like a snake and almost escaped Clint's grasp. With a little extra effort on his part, Clint grabbed hold of his shoulder and spun him around before that man could swing his blade at Henry.

Rather than draw his modified Colt, Clint balled up his right fist and delivered a sharp jab directly into the gut of the man with the knife. His knuckles drove deep into the man's stomach, pushing most of the air from his lungs in the process. Somehow, though, the man kept hold of his knife while also staying on his feet.

Clint's eyes were on the first gunman as he delivered a quick knee to the man in his grasp. He felt an impact with what he thought was that man's head, but tossed him to one side before checking to make sure. After that, Clint lowered his shoulder and threw himself into the man who was now drawing his pistol to fire at Henry.

The gunman caught Clint's shoulder in the small of his back. Letting out a pained wheeze, he was tossed to one side while also tightening his finger around his trigger. The gun went off in the gunman's hand with a roar that swallowed up Henry's surprised scream.

Henry watched what was happening with confusion and fear etched onto his face. He'd drawn his gun, but hadn't even gotten his finger on the trigger yet. That changed when he saw the man with the knife rushing straight toward him.

As Clint wrestled with the first gunman, he heard another shot fired. It was a different sound than the first shot, which told Clint that it had come from another weapon. Clint took a quick look behind him to see if Henry was still standing.

Not only was the kid still on his feet, but the man with the knife was reeling backward and clutching his side.

Clint knew better than to turn his back on the first gunman for one more second. Whipping around to face him, Clint saw the man closest to him grit his teeth and raise his gun to take a shot at him. Watching those movements were more than enough for Clint to know just how sluggish that man was. Rather than draw and fire his Colt, Clint snapped his gun hand out to snatch the pistol from the gunman and send it flying at the man with the knife.

The flying gun caught the other man in the forehead with a jarring crack and dropped him into an unconscious heap.

Clint turned to face the other gunman once more, while drawing his Colt in a smooth motion. All Clint had to do from there was scowl at the gunman as if he was one second away from pulling his trigger.

The gunman's hands shot up into the air and he immediately stumbled backward. “All right, all right,” he shouted. “Take the money. It's yours.”

“If I see you pulling anything like this again, I'll drop you where you stand,” Clint warned.

“Fine! Just don't kill me.”

“If I hear about you looking at this boy again, I'll find you.”

The gunman didn't even have enough left in him to speak. He just nodded and kept backing away.

“Get the hell out of my sight,” Clint said.

Running as if the devil was nipping at his heels, the gunman took off and rounded the nearest corner to leave his friend laying in the dirt.

Clint holstered the Colt and looked down at the unconscious man. The knife was still in the man's hand. There was a fresh wound just below his left armpit, but it wasn't much more than a deep scratch.

Henry was looking down at the man on the ground. His gun was still in his hand and shook just as much as the rest of him. “Is he . . . ? Did I . . . ?”

“He's still alive,” Clint said. “You didn't kill anyone.” Walking up to the kid, Clint reached out and took the gun from him. As much as he wanted to crack the kid upside the head with the pistol, Clint took a deep breath instead. “But if you didn't want to take the chance of killing someone, you shouldn't have even brought this pistol with you.”

Still staring down at the unconscious man, Henry nodded.

Clint grabbed Henry by the front of his shirt and shoved him back against the building. He didn't knock the kid very hard against the wall, but he sure as hell got the kid's attention. “Are you listening to me? You could have killed someone with that gun! You most likely would have gotten yourself killed.”

There was still fear on the kid's face, but he choked it down and did his best to meet Clint's eyes. “I can handle myself,” he sputtered.

“Yeah, you did a real fine job here!”

Clint stared the boy down until Henry looked away. By that time, Clint's blood was cooling off and the tension from the scuffle was fading away. Letting out a breath, Clint loosened his grip on Henry's shirt and took a step back.

“Are you all right?” Clint asked.

Henry wasn't able to maintain his defiant glare, so he averted his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I'm fine. What about him, though?”

Looking down at the man on the ground, Clint replied, “He's fine, too. Your shot just grazed him.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. His bleeding's already stopped. He'll be in some pain, but he'll be able to walk back into that saloon once he wakes up. You want to stand here and wait for that to happen?”

“No,” Henry said quietly.

“All right, then. Where do you live?”

“I can get home on my own.”

Clint let out a laugh and held up his hands in surrender. “Fine by me. I just thought you might like some backup in case this fellow wakes up or if his friend circles around to catch up with you.”

Sure enough, those words sparked a fearful glint in Henry's eyes. Clint fanned that spark into a flame as he turned his back on the kid and started walking as if he was more than happy to wash his hands of him. After the count of four, Clint heard Henry's voice drift through the air.

“You really think that man'll come back?”

Clint stopped and turned around. Not only had the kid allowed one more second than Clint had guessed before stopping him, but Henry also managed to keep his chin up and his chest out.

“He may or may not come back,” Clint said earnestly. “It'd be wiser to be ready for the first choice than be surprised by the second, though.”

Nodding as if everything that had passed was his idea, Henry said, “I could use some backup.” His eyes brightened as he added, “And I could repay you for helping me out.”

“What'd you have in mind?”

“I can buy you a drink.”

The smile on Clint's face came more from genuine surprise than anything else. “Buy me a drink?”

“To thank you. One man to another. It's the least I could do.”

Clint started walking back toward the Whitecap. “Sounds good. Let's go.”

A good chunk of the bravado that Henry had displayed left him when he looked at that saloon. “Actually, I was thinking about another place.”

“This one'll do. If you're going to act like a man, you can face up to your actions.” With that, Clint walked toward the front door of the Whitecap Saloon.

Although Henry wasn't happy about following him, he was even less happy with the prospect of staying on the street by himself.

When Clint walked into the Whitecap, only a few of the men inside looked his way. When Henry stepped through that same door, however, he got plenty of lingering glances.

Some of those glances were from armed men who looked at the boy with the same intent that had been displayed by the two gunmen outside. A few looked surprised to see the kid up and walking, and at least one face looked relieved.

Shelly rushed forward and took the boy's face in her hands. “Are you all right?” she asked quickly.

Henry's first impulse was to grin from ear to ear at the sudden show of affection. “I'm just fine. A little scraped up, but I'll survive.”

Clint rolled his eyes and said, “The kid's a regular quick draw. Actually, I believe his feet were a little quicker.”

While Henry didn't appreciate Clint's comment, Shelly barely even noticed it.

“I'm just glad you're alive,” she said.

After Shelly finished fussing over him, Henry took a few moments to collect himself before he was ready to say anything to her. By the time he was ready, he found her back was already to him and she'd moved on to other things.

“What happened out there, Clint?” Shelly asked. “I heard shooting.”

Clint shook his head and signaled for the bartender. “Just a few panicked shots, is all. No harm done.”

“Better not be any harm done,” the bartender said. “Them two are some good customers.”

Clint locked eyes with the man behind the bar and said, “Don't worry. They'll be back to drink your whiskey soon enough. Maybe they'll get a discount for trying to rob a kid outside your own place without you lifting a finger against it?”

“I didn't know what they were up to!”

“Is that so?”

Although the bartender was ready to come to his own defense, he faltered under the brunt of Clint's accusing stare. He looked away and grunted, “Serves the kid right for flashing so much money around here.”

Clint ordered a beer, which was quickly set in front of him. After that, the bartender found some more pressing matters to attend to at the other end of the saloon.

“The man's got a point, you know,” Clint said. “What were your plans for all that money?”

The kid lowered his eyes, folded his arms and rested his elbows against the bar. Before too long, he felt a pinch at his ear as he was dragged upward once more.

“Answer him, Henry,” Shelly said as she pulled roughly on the kid's ear. “What were you . . .” She looked around suspiciously and then finished her question in a much lower voice. “What were you doing with that money?”

“I told you,” Henry grunted. “I need to hire a killer.”

After setting down his beer, Clint snapped his fingers and pointed toward the kid's pocket. “Let's see that money.”

Henry's eyes widened as he straightened up. “You beat the hell outta them two outside! Would you work for me?”

Clint merely rubbed his forefinger against his thumb.

Digging into his pocket, Henry got the wad of money. He kept it close against his body and wrapped up in two tight fists as he asked, “Are you gonna earn it or take it from me?”

“I'd say I already earned it,” Clint replied.

Henry let out a defeated breath and let his head droop forward. His eyes pinched in at the corners as he handed over the money in frustration. “Just take it,” he groaned. “I can't do nothing against you.”

Clint took the money from Henry's hands before it was allowed to fall onto the floor. The wad of cash disappeared much more easily within Clint's hands as he cupped them around the money, as if he was protecting a lit match from strong winds. Flipping through the bills, Clint nodded slowly.

“There's enough to hire a killer, all right,” he said while handing the money back to Henry. “You probably could have hired two of the caliber you'd find in here.”

As much as Henry wanted to take his money back, he didn't reach for it right away. “You're not taking it?”

Clint shook his head and was about to hand it back when he noticed a few of the drunks in the saloon paying a bit too much attention to him. Tightening his fist around the money, Clint stuffed it into his own pocket just as Henry was beginning to reach for it.

“Your first lesson today is to use your head,” Clint told him. “You were almost robbed once today and you're going to be robbed again if you don't try to keep this money more to yourself. The first was a lack of experience, but there's no excuse for the second.”

Still holding his hands out, Henry nodded. Once Clint's words sank in, Henry retracted his hands and glanced about nervously. Sure enough, there were plenty of dirty-faced drunks eyeing him. “I think I should get out of here.”

“Now you're using your head,” Clint told him. Feeling the uneasiness coming from beside him, Clint looked over to Shelly and added, “And he won't be going alone. I'll make sure the boy gets back home in one piece.”

Shelly smiled and said, “That's very kind of you.” Leaning forward, she gave Clint a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Kindness does have some mighty good rewards, you know.” After that, she walked away from Clint and let her fingers trace along the back of Henry's neck as she went by.

“Come on, boy,” Clint said. “You stay here and you're on your own.”

Despite the thoughts going through the fourteen-year-old's mind, Henry stayed close to Clint as they put the Whitecap Saloon behind them.

It was a cold night and the winds were blowing in from the nearby mountains. Although they weren't at the base of any rock walls, the mountains in Montana never seemed more than a stone's throw away. With winter on its way, the sun dropped below the horizon as if it was weighted down, and the shadows already seemed twice as thick now than the last time Clint and Henry had left the Whitecap.