The Hunt for Clint Adams

Table of Contents

 

 

The street was just starting to come alive, and for the moment nobody noticed the two men talking to each other. But when they moved out into the street, facing each other, that was when people stopped to watch. That could only mean one thing.

Clint saw people starting to notice them, figured they'd better get it over with before a crowd gathered.

“Go ahead, Tarver,” Clint said. “Do it.”

“That's right,” Tarver said, “I heard you always give away the first move. That'll cost you, this time. Cost you big.”

“Just shut up and do what you've been waiting four and a half years to do—die.”

THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts
Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

 

LONGARM by Tabor Evans
The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

 

SLOCUM by Jake Logan
Today's longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

 

BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan
An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill's Raiders.

 

DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer
Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

 

WILDGUN by Jack Hanson
The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

 

TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun
J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he's the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

THE HUNT FOR CLINT ADAMS

 

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / July 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Robert J. Randisi.

 

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eISBN : 978-1-101-18834-7

 

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Three men.

Four horses.

Just outside the main gate of Yuma Prison.

Barclay looked at his watch impatiently.

“He was supposed to be out by now,” he said.

“Relax,” Dexter said.

“Whaddaya think the holdup is?” Gerald asked.

Dexter looked at him.

“The warden's tryin' to make him sweat,” Dexter said. “Don't worry about it. Tarver ain't gonna sweat. He's been waitin' for this day for five years. Another couple of minutes ain't gonna make a difference.”

“You think he'll be . . . different?” Gerald asked.

Dexter was Tarver's age, late thirties. He looked at Gerald, who was in his late twenties.

“He'll be tougher,” he said.

“Yeah, but will he be as fast?”

“Fast don't go away, kid,” Dexter said.

“Lotsa fast guns get killed when they get older,” Gerald said. “I read it—”

“Stop readin' dime novels, kid,” Dexter said. “I told you, fast don't go away. It's the nerve that goes away, and Tarver's just fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Barclay looked at his watch again and shook his head.

Tarver walked the hall, one guard ahead of him, another behind. When they got to the warden's office, the front guard opened the door and stood aside. Tarver entered the room, and the guard closed the door behind him. He saw his belongings on the Warden's desk.

“You processin' prisoners out yerself now, Warden?” he asked.

Warden William Bankhead looked up from his desk. He smoothed his gray hair unnecessarily and stood up.

“Only in special cases, Tarver.”

“And I'm a special case?”

“From the first day you got here.”

Tarver frowned.

“I done my time, Warden,” he said. “I didn't cause no trouble.”

“I know,” the Warden said. “That's why you're getting out six months early.”

“I earned it.”

The warden stared at Tarver for a few moments, then said, “Pick up your things.”

Tarver approached the desk, grabbed his clothes and the meager possessions he'd had in his pockets when he was caught.

“What about my money and my gun?”

“The money was stolen,” the warden said, “and I'm not about to let you walk out of here with a gun.”

“That gun is mine,” Tarver said. “You got no right to keep it.”

The warden hesitated, then opened a drawer and took out a gun and gunbelt. There were no bullets in the gun or the belt.

“Tarver, you think everybody is fooled by your good con act, but I'm not. I know that within the month, you'll either be dead or back in here.”

“Not a chance either way, Warden,” Tarver said.

Right in front of the warden he stripped off his prison clothes, donned his old shirt and pants, and pulled on his boots. Then he strapped on his gunbelt, checked his Peacemaker. It needed to be cleaned and oiled.

And loaded.

“Thanks, Warden.”

“The guards will walk you out.”

“Great,” Tarver said. “I hope I never see you again, Warden.”

“You will.”

Tarver walked to the door, then turned and looked at the older man.

“Well then, Warden,” he said. “I guess what I mean is, you better hope you never see me again. Ya see, I know where you live. I know you got a wife.”

The warden stood up. Physically, he was an unimpressive man.

“Are you threatening me?”

“I'm just tellin' you, Warden,” Tarver said. “I'm just tellin' you.”

He opened the door and walked out.

When the front gate opened the three men straightened and watched as Tarver walked out.

“Wait here,” Dexter said.

He walked up to Tarver and the two men shook hands.

“Tarver and Dexter, together again,” Tarver said.

“It's good to see you, Tarver.”

Tarver looked past Dexter.

“That Gerald?”

“Yeah.”

“How old is he now?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Who's the other one?”

“Barclay,” Dexter said. “You don't know him. He's . . . okay.”

“I need better than okay, Dexter,” Tarver said. “You know that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dexter said. “I got some boys in mind. Where we goin' first?”

“Yuma,” Tarver said. “I need a drink, new clothes, and some good food. And a woman.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tarver said, touching his gun, “some bullets.

Lisa Bonner was rolled over onto her belly and smiled at Clint Adams. Her long black tresses were a pretty mess, but her buttocks were two pale, inflated-to-bursting bubbles. And she had the breasts to match. She was a woman bursting with sexuality, which was what had attracted him to her in the first place.

It had been her first night in Labyrinth when they'd met in Rick's Place, Rick Hartman's saloon and gambling hall. Rick not only allowed women in to drink but to gamble as well. The vivid blue gown that Lisa had been wearing, which was so low cut that her luscious breasts were almost spilling out, attracted every eye in the room when she entered. But when their eyes met across the room, it was like an electric shock in the air. Even Rick noticed it.

“Wow,” Hartman said, “and without a word.”