The Sapphire Gun Page 11

  The man in the buckskins nodded once and added, “Some asshole stole our animals. If you know about that, I’d like the chance to wring the bastard’s neck.”

  “I’ll bet you would,” Clint said. “Are there any more of you in there?”

  “No, sir,” the blond replied. “Everyone else wandered off, but not before doing their share of damage. Bunch of animals if you ask me.”

  “And you three didn’t have anything to do with that, I suppose?”

  Before responding to Clint’s question, the three men glanced back and forth at one another as if they were each afraid to speak first. Finally, the blond looked back to Clint and said, “I guess we did, but it was one hell of a party. Were you there for any of it yourself?”

  “Yeah,” Clint said as he thought back to the chaos that had greeted him when he’d first arrived. “I was there for a bit.”

  “You didn’t see anyone stealing horses, did you?”

  “Actually, someone tried to help themselves to that animal right over there,” Clint said as he hooked a thumb back toward Eclipse.

  “You’re lucky you spotted the prick in time,” the man in the buckskins said. “I hope you put a good hurtin’ on him.”

  Clint nodded. “He didn’t get what he was after, that’s for certain.”

  All three of them men had allowed their shoulders to relax by now. Two of them even approached Clint. The skinny one only took a few steps from the front door of the house before coming to a stop.

  “Think you could tell us where Mr. Blevin went?” the blond asked. “We’d sure like to thank him for his hospitality.”

  Clint wasn’t about to say anything of the sort to anyone who’d simply squatted on Johnny’s property after drinking all his beer. His guard came up even more when he spotted the glint of a sapphire stickpin on the skinny man’s collar.

  THIRTY-ONE

  At first, the glint of light off the sapphire seemed to come from a button. After seeing the first hint of blue in that sparkle, Clint knew exactly what he was looking at. More importantly, he realized who he was looking at.

  “Actually, Johnny isn’t too far from here,” Clint said.

  Hearing that brought another sort of glint into the eyes of all three of the other men.

  “Really?” the one in buckskins asked. “We’d sure appreciate an introduction.”

  “Or better yet,” the blond one said, “you could just point us in the right direction.”

  “Sure thing,” Clint said as he turned and walked toward the gate. Even though his stride was casual enough, his ears were sharply attuned for any sound that could be threatening. All he heard was two of the men coming up behind him.

  Stopping in his tracks, Clint said, “But first, wouldn’t you like to know what happened to that Spanish friend of yours?”

  None of the other three said anything right away.

  Then, the blond one asked, “Spanish friend?”

  “You know the one I mean. His name was . . . oh yeah! Dominguez.”

  As he said that name, Clint pivoted on the balls of his feet until he’d turned completely around and squared off against all three men. His expression was still leaning to the friendly side and his hand wasn’t too close to his Colt, but his eyes didn’t stray from the other three men for one second.

  The man in the buckskins leaned forward a bit until he resembled an animal getting ready to pounce.

  The skinny fellow stayed where he was. His hand was now setting on top of the grip of his own holstered pistol.

  The blond maintained his smile, but something in his eyes told Clint that he knew he’d been found out. “That name don’t sound familiar.”

  “It doesn’t? Then I suppose you don’t care if he was killed a few days ago.” Clint didn’t see any of the men react too much to that, but he could sense that all three were starting to squirm. “He had a thing for sapphires, too. Just like you boys and those pretty pins you’re wearing.”

  With that, the smile on the blond’s face disappeared. The other two took on more serious expressions as well, as their muscles tensed.

  Being the closest one to Clint, the blond man acted first. He started to take a step back, but made a quick reach for his gun instead. As he drew the pistol from its holster, he dropped to one knee.

  Clint waited just long enough to see how the others would react. The moment he realized that the remaining two were following the blond’s lead, Clint plucked the modified Colt from his holster and aimed from the hip. He pulled his trigger and watched as his bullet followed along his own line of sight to tear a bloody hole through the blond’s chest.

  The blond still got a shot off, but it was more of a reflex than anything else. His finger clamped tightly around the trigger as his body reacted to being shot. As he fell back onto his bent leg, the blond’s other leg splayed out in front of him as his shoulders hit the dirt.

  Standing only a few paces behind the blond, the man in buckskins jumped to one side as soon as he saw Clint clear leather. He drew and fired a shot to cover himself, but scrambled behind a nearby water trough without looking to see what he’d hit.

  When Clint shifted his eyes to the house, he was just able to catch a glimpse of the skinny man’s foot as he ducked in through the front door. There wasn’t any cover nearby, so Clint hunkered down a bit and circled to his left while watching for one of the other two to make a move.

  The first thing to catch Clint’s attention was the shattering of glass. One of the windows next to the door was broken from the inside as the skinny man used the butt of a rifle to clear it out. Rather than take a shot, however, he paused to stare at Clint over the top of his barrel.

  Like another part of the same machine, the man in buckskins took full advantage of the skinny man’s distraction and fired his own gun while Clint was looking at the house.

  Clint was starting to fire a shot in response to the one the skinny man had taken at him, but he ducked and turned when he caught a glimpse of the man in buckskins rising up from behind the trough. Clint’s finger tightened around his trigger as his body dropped. Once on the ground, Clint rolled toward the house and kept firing at the trough.

  Chunks of wood flew in every direction as the trough was hit again and again by incoming rounds. The man in buckskins fired from behind it but only hit the ground. He kept shooting, even as he saw Clint roll beneath the rickety front porch.

  Once under the crooked boards, Clint flipped open the cylinder of his Colt and emptied out the spent rounds. He didn’t have much room to maneuver, so he wasn’t able to look at what he was doing as he reloaded. That didn’t pose much of a problem, since Clint could have taken fresh bullets from his gun belt and slid them into place with his eyes shut.

  The skinny man leaned out the window, but quickly pulled himself back in as more bullets tore through the house from behind the trough. “Hold yer goddamn fire!” he shouted.

  Nodding quickly, the man in buckskins stood up and began reloading his own weapon. In between fitting in the fresh rounds, he jabbed a finger toward the bottom of the house. From the window, the skinny man nodded.

  Gripping his shotgun in both hands, the skinny man aimed at the floor and squinted through the dust and smoke that now swirled through the air. He flinched at every bit of movement he saw, right down to the insects that skittered across the floorboards. Finally, the skinny man held his breath and stayed perfectly still so he could listen.

  For a few seconds, he only heard wind whistling through the broken windows.

  Then, the sounds of his partner moving outside reached his ears.

  Eventually, the skinny man picked up the crunch of something dragging over the packed dirt beneath the house itself.

  The skinny man slowly moved forward. He barely made a sound as he placed one foot carefully in front of the other. All the while, he kept his eyes glued to the floor and his ears open for another sign pointing to where Clint might have gone.

  There was another muffled crunch, which
stopped just as quickly as it had started. As the skinny man leaned down a bit more, he stared through a dark space between two loose boards. He thought he might have seen something move under the boards and took aim just to be certain.

  Suddenly, he realized something was under the floor. He could see the glint of light reflecting off of something smooth and rounded. By the time he realized he was looking at the barrel of a gun, it was too late.

  Clint pulled his trigger and sent a pair of bullets up through the floor. His first shot sparked against the skinny man’s shotgun and knocked the weapon aside as thunder exploded from its twin barrels. The sound of the second shot was lost amid the noise of the others, but managed to widen the hole in the floor.

  Now looking up from the opening he’d made, Clint kept pulling his trigger until his bullets drew blood. The skinny man reeled backward and dropped his shotgun. When his body hit the floor, it covered Clint with a thick layer of dust that had been loosed from the floor. Just to be certain, Clint adjusted his aim and fired at the dark shape above him.

  The skinny man twitched as the bullets tore through him, but he didn’t move much more than that. At that point, the only thing left for him to do was bleed.

  Clint went through the motions of reloading once more as he pushed himself against the ground using both legs. By the time his snapped the Colt shut, his head was emerging from beneath the house and he rolled onto his belly so he could scramble into the fresh air.

  A shot was fired from the front door.

  Clint stayed low and waited a second before stretching up to look through one of the broken windows at the rear of the house. All he could see from that angle was the shadow of the man in buckskins moving into the front room.

  Seeing the body of his partner laying on the broken floor was enough for the remaining man to piece together what had happened. While firing a shot into the floor, the man in buckskins jumped outside and prepared to fire at the first thing he saw moving beneath the house.

  Although he did spot some movement, it wasn’t from beneath the house.

  Bringing his gun around, the man in buckskins turned toward the house’s right corner.

  Clint rounded the corner, straightened his arm, and fired his Colt. That bullet whipped through the air and drilled a messy hole through the other man’s head.

  After making sure there weren’t any more assassins lurking about, Clint jumped onto Eclipse’s back and rode to town.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The Western Union office was full of people as Clint brought Eclipse to a stop in front of it. Since it was nearing the end of business hours, several people formed a line at the front desk, milled around within the office, and stood at the various tables inside.

  Clint swung down from his saddle and strode through the front door, ignoring the annoyed comments he got from the folks that needed to be pushed aside. Glancing from one face to another, Clint didn’t find anyone who looked familiar. He also didn’t spot a single sapphire.

  “We’re busy right now,” the young clerk behind the desk announced. “You’ll have to wait your turn like everyone else.”

  “Where’s Galloway?” Clint asked.

  The clerk was about the same age as the one that had been there on Clint’s previous visits, but he wasn’t the same man. This one wore a dented visor over an angular face and had a very pronounced overbite. Even though he looked light enough to be pushed over by a stiff breeze, he didn’t even flinch when Clint stormed toward the counter.

  “Mr. Galloway’s in his office,” the clerk said. “But you’ll have to wait if you want to see him.”

  Before all of the clerk’s words could get out of his mouth, Clint was shoving through more people so he could get to the door at the back of the room marked PRIVATE.

  “Sir, you’re not allowed in there!” the clerk shouted. As he started to move around the counter, his arm was grabbed by the customer at the front of the line.

  “That message needs to be sent!” the customer snapped. “And you’ll send it right now or I’ll have my money back!”

  “Yes, sir.” To Clint, the clerk said, “I’m having you thrown out of here!” The clerk looked around frantically, but couldn’t find the person he was searching for.

  The only other clerk in the place had already met Clint and had made himself scarce rather than lift a finger against him.

  Although Clint wasn’t too concerned about either of the clerks, he was relieved to hear the customers assert themselves enough to hold the young man’s attention. Galloway’s office was unlocked, so Clint stepped inside and immediately shut the door behind him.

  Galloway was in there, all right. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in any condition to talk.

  “God damn it,” Clint muttered as he spotted the man laying facedown on his half of the double-sided desk.

  Galloway’s arms were positioned in a way that made him look like a doll that had been tossed over a child’s shoulder. One rested on a pile of papers, and the other dangled from his shoulder and knocked against one set of drawers.

  His eyes were as wide open as his mouth.

  As a matter of fact, Galloway’s eyes were also open as wide as his throat.

  Clint moved toward the desk and his hand rested on the grip of his pistol. The scent of blood hung in the air like a thick, rusty fog. It filled his nose and crept far enough down his throat to trigger a few reflexive gags. After moving one of Galloway’s arms aside, Clint was able to see the gash that stretched ear-to-ear along Galloway’s neck.

  Having seen more than his share of knife wounds, Clint could tell this one had been made by one hell of a sharp blade. The edges of the wound were smooth and neat. The wound was so big that it also made it difficult for him to guess how long Galloway had been laying there. When he heard someone opening the door behind him, Clint turned on his heels and nearly drew his Colt.

  “Mr. Galloway, I can . . . Good Lord!” the clerk sputtered as he recoiled at the sight of Galloway’s body. “You . . . killed him?”

  “He was like this when I found him,” Clint replied. “Who came into this office last?”

  The clerk looked as if he was about to say something, but then started backing out the door. Just as he whipped around to bolt out of the office, he was stopped by a vise-like grip around his wrist.

  Rather than draw his gun, Clint used that same speed to grab hold of the clerk and stop him from running away. With another quick motion, he pulled the clerk in as if he were reeling in a fish. “Who was the last one in here?” Clint snarled.

  “Don’t kill me! I swear, I’ll keep quiet, just don’t kill me!”

  “I didn’t kill anyone. Open your eyes and maybe you could see as much for yourself.”

  The clerk opened his eyes a bit, but it seemed to take more effort than if he’d used a lever.

  “I’ve been in this room for less than a minute,” Clint said. “Less than half a minute, actually. There’s no way for a man to get his throat cut, fall over, and bleed out that much in that amount of time.”

  Although he didn’t say anything, the clerk took another look at Galloway’s body. He was also struggling a bit less against Clint’s grip.

  “Now look at me,” Clint said quickly. “Do you see any blood on me?”

  “No.”

  “Do you really think I did this and then stuck around here now rather than put you down as well on my way out?”

  Losing some of the color in his face, the clerk shook his head again. “I guess not.”

  “Good,” Clint said as he slowly released the clerk’s arm. “Now tell me who else was in here besides Galloway.”

  “There was someone.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Half an hour or so. It’s kind of hard to tell since it got so busy after that.”

  “Do you know who it was?” Clint asked.

  Slowly, the clerk shook his head. “No, but there was some noise in here after she arrived, and when she walked out, she was pulling on a coat. I
just thought they were . . . you know.”

  “Yeah,” Clint sighed. “I’m pretty sure I do know.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  The hotel wasn’t close to the Western Union office, but it wasn’t so far that it couldn’t be reached easily by foot. Rosa covered the distance even quicker than normal because she was practically skipping all the way back to her room.

  She waved to the man at the front desk and went up the stairs to the room she’d rented not too long ago. After a few quick knocks, the door came open and she could see a sliver of a face peeking out at her. Rosa stared right back at that one eye and pushed the door open.

  “Damn, woman,” Mackie growled as he stepped back and pressed a hand to his chin. “You almost knocked my head off.”

  Rosa drifted past him and let her fingertips brush against his face. “Awww,” she purred. “You want Momma to kiss it and make it better?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  “The way I feel right now, I might actually make good on that.” As she said those words, Rosa peeled the coat off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She wore a light brown dress that had a bit of lace on the collar. Dark stains were spattered across her skirt, most of which resembled dark red paint that had flown off a brush in a single, sweeping stroke.

  The longer Mackie and Eli looked at her, the more dark red spots they saw. Some were on the bottom of her skirt, and several smaller ones were on her blouse. A few of the drops had even made it to the base of her neck. Rosa licked her fingers and slowly wiped those away.

  “It’s done,” she said.

  Mackie took another look at the hallway before closing and locking the door. “I can see that much. Where’d you find him?”

  “In his office. All I had to do was convince his partner to leave us alone.”

  “Blevin had an office?”

  “He wasn’t there.”

  Furrowing his brow, Mackie asked, “Then who the hell are you talking about?”

  “Galloway.”

  “Galloway, as in the man who hired you?”