The Gunsmith 387 (13 page)

It took three more days of waiting before Jaime Garcia arrived with his men.

Sheriff Vazquez posted his deputies so they'd be able to see riders from pretty far off. He had them spelling each other so that they were on watch for almost twenty-four hours a day.

On day three, Deputy Soto came running into the sheriff's office and said, “They're coming, Sheriff.”

“How far out?”

“Less than an hour.”

“How many?”

“I am not sure. There is a lot of dust.”

“All right,” Vazquez said, standing up from his desk and strapping on his gun. “Go to the hotel and tell Clint Adams. He will be sitting out front.”

“
Sí, Jefe
.”

“And then I want you and Benitez off the streets.”

“But Jefe—”

“No argument, Manuel!”

“
Sí, Jefe
.”

Soto left to run to the hotel.

 * * * 

Clint met Sheriff Vazquez at the north end of town.

“How far?” Clint asked.

“Half an hour.”

“How do you want to play this?”

“Head on,” Vazquez said. “I want to try to scare them right away.”

“It's your call.”

Clint looked at the dust in the distance. They looked closer than half an hour to him. Turned out he was right. They rode into sight twenty minutes later.

 * * * 

Jaime Garcia reined his horse in. The men behind him did the same. Arturo Montoya rode up alongside him.

“Is that him?” he asked.

“That is him,” Garcia said. “Vazquez.”

“Who is that with him?”

“Probably some fool deputy.”

“So only two of them,” Montoya said. “You said he would not get much help. You were right.”

“Sí.”

“What shall we do?” Montoya asked.

“I know Vazquez,” Garcia said. “He thinks he is saving the town. Either he will kill us, or we will kill him and be satisfied with that.”

“But we will not be satisfied, will we?”

“No,” Garcia said, “we will kill him, and then burn the town down anyway.”

“
Bien
,” Montoya said. “That suits me.”

Garcia waved and urged his horse forward.

 * * * 

“Here they come,” Clint said.

“
Coño!
” Vazquez swore.

“What is it?”

“I see . . . eight of them.”

“That's more than you figured.”

“Yes.”

“Change of plans?”

“Too late.”

“Maybe not,” a voice said.

They turned and looked, saw Avery Castle striding toward them, wearing a gun.

“Señor Castle.”

“Sheriff.”

“Avery.”

“Couldn't let you do this alone, Clint.”

“Can't argue with you right now, Avery,” Clint said, “but if you get killed, Lita's going to kill me.”

“Then don't let me get killed.”

“We'll do our best.”

“Still eight against three,” Vazquez said.

“Lousy odds,” Clint said.

“Maybe I can improve them,” another voice said.

They all turned, saw the priest, Father Flynn, walking toward them with a gun strapped on over his coat. He was still wearing his collar.

“You said I owed you a favor,” Flynn said to Clint.

Clint knew what he was doing. He had no intention of drawing that gun. He hoped some of the men would refuse to fight against a priest.

“Okay,” Clint said, “now the odds are two to one. Slightly better.”

 * * * 

As Garcia and his men approached, one of them called out, “Is that a priest?”

“Looks like one,” Garcia said.

The man who spoke was named Vaca. He rode up alongside Garcia.

“You did not say we would have to fight a priest.”

“I didn't know anything about it,” Garcia said. “He's probably not even a priest.”

“I do not care,” Vaca said. “I will not shoot at a man in a collar.”

He turned his horse and rode off, and one other man rode with him.

Now there were six.

 * * * 

Vazquez and his compadres saw that two of Garcia's men had ridden off.

“That collar worked, Father,” Clint said.

“I hoped it would,” Father Flynn said with relief.

“You can go, Father,” Vazquez said, “with my thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“
Vaya con Dios
,” Father Flynn said, and walked back to town.

 * * * 

“Vazquez!” Garcia called out.

“Garcia.”

“Where is your priest?”

“He served his purpose.”

“Sí, he did. He chased two of my men away.”

“Maybe the rest of you should have followed them.”

“Who is this?” Garcia asked. “I do not see a deputy's badge.”

“This is my amigo, Clint Adams.”

All six men stiffened, and one of them said, “
Hijo de un cabrón
, the Gunsmith?”

The men looked at each other, and then one of them said to Garcia, “We did not expect to have to fight the Gunsmith.”

Frustrated, Garcia snapped, “Go, then!”

And two of them did, wheeling their horses and riding off at a gallop.

And then there were four.

“And this man?” Garcia said.

“A friend of mine,” Clint said, “but we won't be needing him.” He looked at Vazquez, who nodded.

“Señor Castle, you can go,” Vazquez said.

“Are you sure?” Avery asked.

“Go, Avery,” Clint said. “Give Lita a big kiss for me.”

“Good luck, boys,” Avery said, and walked away.

Now it was four against two—still two-to-one odds, but Clint had dealt with that before.

“Who do we have?” Clint asked.

“Garcia, his two men, and one other escaped prisoner I know nothing about.”

“What about Garcia and his two?”

“Competent gunmen.”

“Okay.”

“Just stay to your side,” Vazquez said, “and I'll stay to mine.”

 * * * 

Garcia and his three men dismounted, and spread out. Their horses trotted off. As it turned out, Garcia was on Vazquez's side. Clint hoped the lawman was as good as everyone said he was.

“I thought about this for two years in my cell, Vazquez,” Garcia said.

“Stop talking,” Clint said.

“
Bastardo!
” Garcia said, and went for his gun. His men followed.

 * * * 

As Vazquez had said, they were competent gunmen. Not fast, but they drew and fired coolly, without panic. Their kind killed a lot of men—usually.

Clint drew and fired several times, just to be sure. His two men both spun as they were hit. They jerked their triggers, but they were shots fired into the ground and air with a death jerk of the trigger finger.

Vazquez drew. He knew Garcia was the better of the two, so he keyed on him. He fired twice, as Garcia fired once. Vazquez felt pain in his left shoulder, but ignored it until he had shot the second men.

The four escaped prisoners were dead.

Clint and Vazquez checked the bodies. Avery and Father Flynn had not gone far. They came walking over, having watched the action.

“You all right?” Clint asked Vazquez, indicating his shoulder.

“There is no bullet there,” Vazquez said. “It kissed me and continued on. I am fine.”

They bent, made sure the men were dead, then straightened.

“What about the other four?” Clint asked.

“I could form a posse and go after them,” Vazquez said, “but that is a job for the Federales. I will send a telegram and tell them where to find them.”

“Do you mind if I give them the last rites?” Father Flynn asked.

“Go ahead, Padre.”

Father Flynn knelt by the men and prayed.

“What are you gonna do now, Clint?” Avery asked.

“I'll be leaving tomorrow,” Clint said.

“Tomorrow?” Vazquez asked.

“That's right. You disappointed?” Clint asked.

Vazquez turned and faced Clint.

“Or have you changed your mind about trying me?”

Vazquez narrowed his eyes. Avery and Father Flynn watched the two men. There was a hint of tension in the air. If it thickened any more, the two men would go for their guns. Each man thought he knew who would come out on top.

“Domingo?” Clint said.

Vazquez studied Clint a little longer, then put out his hand.

“I have not changed my mind, señor,” the lawman said. “And I appreciate your help.” He looked at Avery and Father Flynn. “All of you.”

Clint shook the man's hand with relief. He would have hated to kill Domingo Vazquez.

Watch for

MAGIC MAN

388
th
novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove

Coming in April!