Trail to Shasta (9781101622049) (12 page)

THIRTY-NINE

The room remained quiet for several long seconds. The bartender shifted uncomfortably.

“Keep your hands on the bar, barkeep,” Clint said.

“Hey,” the bartender said, putting his hands up, “I ain't with them.”

Clint was sure that was right, but he'd had a hotel desk clerk tell him the same thing.

“Where are the Lane brothers?” Ahern asked.

“They're dead,” Clint said, “on the floor of the hotel lobby, along with their brother.”

“Brother?”

“The desk clerk.”

“I don't know what you're talkin' about.”

“It's not important,” Clint said. “I think it's time for me to leave with Bride.”

“I don't think so,” Ahern said. He tightened his grip on her arm, to the point where she winced in pain. “I kinda like havin' her here.”

“This could get messy,” Clint said.

“I'll tell you how to keep it from gettin' messy,” Ahern said. “Bring me the other sister, and then you can walk away.”

“Really?” Clint said. “Can I think about that?”

“No,” Ahern said. “I want you to bring me the other girl in fifteen minutes, or I'll put a bullet in this sister's brain.”

Bride made a high-pitched noise.

“Don't worry, Bride,” Clint said. “Everything's going to be all right.”

“Is it?” Ahern asked.

“Let's all hope so,” Clint said. “So, fifteen minutes, huh?”

“Fifteen.”

Clint backed out the doors.

“I'll be back.”

He backed up all the way to the street, then turned and walked across.

Kemper looked at Ahern and asked, “What do you think?”

“He's gonna try somethin',” Ahern said, “but there are five of us, and we're ready.”

Ahern looked around at the other men and repeated, “We're ready, right?”

They nodded, though not enthusiastically.

* * * 

Clint worked his way through the shadows to the alley where he had left Bridget.

“Bridget!”

“Here,” she said.

He moved into the alley and founded her crouched down. He reached down, took her by the arms, and lifted her to her feet.

“Hold on to me,” she said. “My legs are weak.”

He held her in his arms and said, “Bride's fine. There are nine men in that saloon—”

“Nine?”

“But we only have to worry about five of them.”

“Five doesn't sound much better.”

“We have about fourteen minutes,” Clint said. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“We have to go back to the hotel,” Clint said. “There's something there I need.”

“What?”

“More guns!”

FORTY

For a moment he considered Ben's rifle, but there was no way he could walk into that saloon carrying a rifle. That would make it obvious that he wasn't there to turn the girls over and walk away.

“Do you really believe he would let you walk away?” Bridget asked.

“Not at all,” Clint said. “He's going to try to kill me—all of us.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We're not going to let him.”

Clint walked to the fallen Zack and picked up his gun.

It was an ancient Navy Colt, fully loaded, and clean enough to still work.

He wanted to go up to his room and get his Colt New Line, but time was running out.

“All right,” he said, “we've got to get back.”

“But what's the plan?” she asked.

“You wait for me to start shooting,” he said, “and then you do the same.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“I'm not going to be any help, Clint,” she said. “You have to face five men alone. They'll kill you.”

“I'm hoping that your shooting will confuse them enough to give me an edge,” Clint said.

“Okay.”

They left the hotel and headed back to the saloon.

* * * 

Clint stopped across the street from the saloon, still in the shadows.

“Give me your gun,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She took it from the front of her belt and handed it to him. He turned her around and stuck it in the back of her belt. He had the Navy Colt in the same place in his belt.

“Okay,” Clint said, “before we go in, there's something else I should have told you.”

“What's that?”

“When the shooting starts,” Clint said, “you hit the floor, and keep pulling your trigger.” He started to step into the street.

“Wait,” she said.

He stopped and looked at her.

“What?”

“What if I shoot you by accident?”

“Just don't.”

They started across the street.

* * * 

“Ahern!”

“Yeah?”

Kemper pointed and said, “Here they come.”

“The girl, too?”

“Yep.”

“Okay,” Ahern said, looking around. “As soon as they walk in, kill Adams. After that we'll take care of the girls.”

Bride was sitting still, just staring straight ahead. She hadn't made a sound or shed a tear since Clint had left.

“Buck up, sweetheart,” Ahern said, putting his hand on the back of her neck, “you're about to have a family reunion.”

FORTY-ONE

Clint stepped up onto the boardwalk, Bridget right next to him. He was wondering if he could have thought of a way to do this without her, given a little more time. But there was no time.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let's go get my sister,” she said.

They went through the batwing doors.

* * * 

“Get down!” Bride shouted before anybody had a chance to pull their gun.

The shout galvanized everyone into action.

Clint drew his gun, slapped Kemper in the face with it, since he was standing so close. The man went down hard.

Jennings, Toland, and the other man all drew their weapons.

Ahern took his hand from Bride's neck, but before he could do anything, she grabbed it and bit it.

Bridget hit the floor, pulled the gun from the back of her pants, and started pulling the trigger with her eyes closed, hoping she wouldn't hit Clint or Bride.

Clint was firing with his right hand even as he pulled the Navy Colt out with his left. In a split second he was firing with both hands. The Navy Colt was a single-action, so he had to pull back on the hammer with his thumb before each shot. It didn't slow him down much, though.

He killed Jennings, Toland, and the third man with three shots. He looked over at the man at the table, who was trying to shake Bride from his hand, but having a hard time of it.

Bridget ran out of bullets, kept pulling the trigger. The only sound in the room was the hammer falling on the empty chambers.

* * * 

Ahern finally shook Bride off his hand, knocking her to the floor. She took a chunk of flesh with her. He then went for his gun.

“Don't!” Clint shouted.

“Go to hell!” Ahern shouted, dragging his gun from his holster with his injured hand.

Clint fired once. Ahern went over backward with his chair.

“Is it over?” Bridget asked from the floor.

“It's over.”

Bridget and Bride both got off the floor and ran into each other's arms.

The patrons and bartender all got off the floor, where they'd dropped as soon as Bride had shouted.

Clint checked the bodies to make sure they were dead. Then he checked the man he had hit—Kemper—and was surprised to find two bullets in his chest. He wondered about that until he realized from the position the body was in, and where Bridget had been lying on the floor when she was shooting, that it had to be she who had shot and killed him.

He wasn't sure whether he was going to tell her that or not.

The bartender came over to him and said, “These fellers were sayin' you probably killed the Lane brothers. Is that true?”

“It's true.”

“Well then, friend,” the barman said, “you just did Council Bluffs a service.”

Clint looked at the man and said, “It wasn't my intention. Council Bluffs should have found itself a new sheriff to do the job.”

He walked over, collected the two Irish girls, and walked them out of the saloon.

FORTY-TWO

M
ORE THAN TWO MONTHS LATER

Bride was a lot more cooperative and less morose for the rest of the trip to Shasta, even though it was a bit harder. But at least nobody was trying to kill them.

They stopped at some towns along the way, but only to replenish supplies. They all agreed that staying in a hotel, even overnight, was inviting trouble. Somebody could see Clint, recognize him, and make a try for him, or someone could see the girls and become interested. Bridget and Bride had seen enough American men who were less than gentlemen. They didn't want to deal with any more.

So for the remainder of the trip they only had to deal with a broken wheel, an injured horse, the weather, a wolf who got too close to camp, and some renegades from a reservation who only wanted to trade.

Bridget did contract a fever while they were traveling through Colorado, but Bride nursed her back to health and they only lost a few days because of it.

* * * 

When they finally pulled into Ed O'Neil's mining camp in Shasta County, both girls were very pleased to be there.

Clint climbed down from the wagon, helped Bridget down, then went around back and helped Bride down as well. When he turned around, he saw Ed O'Neil standing there, watching them. His old friend had his hat in his hand, and an anxious look on his face. He was cleaner than Clint had ever seen him, with his hair—what was left of it—slicked down.

“You old buzzard,” Clint said to him. “Why are you so clean? You didn't know when we'd be getting here.”

“'Bout a week ago I figured I better start keepin' myself clean,” O'Neil said. He looked at the two girls, who appeared to be very shy.

“Bride?” O'Neil said, looking at Bridget.

“Oh, no,” Bridget said, “this is Bride, your bride-to-be.”

She stepped away to stand next to Clint.

O'Neil approached Bride, not daring to touch her, and said, “You're even prettier than I thought you'd be.”

“Thank you, Mr. O'Neil,” Bride said with a slight curtsy.

“Oh, you're gonna have to start callin' me Ed,” O'Neil said. “I mean, if we're to be husband and wife.”

“Yes, sir, Mr.—I mean, Ed. This is my sister, Bridget.”

“Hello, Miss Bridget,” O'Neil said. “I have a cabin ready. It's the one Bride and me will live in when we're married, but for now the two of you can share it.”

“Thank you, Mr. O'Neil,” Bridget said. “That would be fine.”

“Ed,” O'Neil said, “you both have to call me Ed.”

“Yes, Ed,” Bridget said.

“Well,” O'Neil said, “I'll show you to the cabin, and my men will get your bags and bring them along.”

He and Bride started away, but Bridget stopped and looked at Clint.

“Are we to say good-bye here?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” O'Neil said, “Clint will be stayin' for the weddin'—won't ya, Clint?”

“Well,” Clint said, “since I brought them all the way, I might as well see the thing through.”

O'Neil left and said, “That's fine, because I was figurin' you to be my best man! Come on, ladies.”

He ushered the ladies away, leaving Clint standing there, slightly stunned.

FORTY-THREE

O'Neil showed Clint into his office and opened a bottle of whiskey.

“Them ladies is prettier than new gold, ain't they?” he said.

“They are that,” Clint said.

They sat at a table and O'Neil poured out two glasses of whiskey.

“I can't thank you enough for this favor, Clint.”

“It was my pleasure, Ed.”

They both drank, and then O'Neil refilled the glasses. This time they sat back in their chairs and sipped.

“Did you have any trouble?” O'Neil asked.

“Well, Ed,” Clint said, “now that you ask, let me tell you about it . . .”

* * * 

After Clint had related his tale, O'Neil said, “Well, I'll be a sonofabitch! Who the hell would be wantin' to kill my bride-to be?”

“That's what I was going to ask you,” Clint said. “The girls insist they weren't followed by anyone in Ireland. They say they didn't leave any trouble behind. That leaves somebody in this country.”

“Well,” O'Neil said, “I'm gonna have to think on that for a while, Clint.”

“You do that, Ed, because that's an answer I'd like to have.”

They finished their drinks and O'Neil said, “I got a place for you to stay, and a bath, if ya want it.”

“Oh, I want it. And when's the wedding to be?”

“Tomorrow, if I can get the preacher up here by then. I already sent somebody to fetch him.”

“Okay, then,” Clint said. “Show me where to stow my things and I'll have that bath.”

O'Neil took Clint to a small cabin that wasn't as new as the one the girls were in, and wasn't as clean, but it had been cleaned out some just recently.

“Who am I putting out here, Ed?” Clint asked, looking around.

“Never you mind that, Clint. This place is yours for as long as you stay. Got a big wooden tub right in the back. I'll have it filled with hot water for ya.”

“Sounds good.”

“I'll send somebody to get you for supper,” O'Neil said. “Meanwhile I'll think on that question. I'm sure I can think of whoever wants to hurt me that bad.”

Clint nodded and O'Neil took his leave.

Clint went out back later to find the tub steaming. He brought his gun with him. He still wasn't dead sure there wasn't somebody else out there who meant him and the girls—and maybe Ed O'Neil—some harm.

He eased himself into the tub, decided not to soak, but just to get himself washed off and get out. He was too vulnerable sitting in the tub.

He bathed without incident, wrapped a towel around his middle when he got out, and went back into the cabin. There was a light breeze that chilled his wet skin, so he had himself a small shot of whiskey from a bottle O'Neil had left in the cabin.

He was getting dressed when there was a knock on the door. Supper already? he thought. But he took the gun with him anyway.

When he opened the door, Bridget hurried into the cabin and said, “Close the door quickly!”

He did, and turned to face her.

“Hurry,” she said, pulling her shirt out of her pants and unbuttoning it. “We don't have much time.”

“Bridget—”

“I want to finish what we started months ago, just in case you decide to leave in the morning.”

She pulled off the shirt and, naked to the waist, began to undo her pants. When she had them around her ankles, she sat down to take off her boots.

“Bridget, I don't think we should—”

“Clint,” she said impatiently. “I am not asking you to marry me. Just to make love to me—now!”

Clint watched her toss away her boots and trousers, then stand before him nude.

Who was he to disappoint her?