The Two-Gun Kid Read online

  “Yeah, what were they about?” Lee asked.

  “You’ll see when we get to Ellsworth.”

  “What if Adams don’t go to Ellsworth?”

  “Then I will, and you two will keep followin’ him—but not too close. He ain’t no fool.”

  “He is busy bein’ the teacher,” Hector said. “He will not see.”

  “Can’t be too careful,” Zack said, “so we’ll track them, not follow them. Come on.”

  They slid back a few feet, then got up and walked to their horses.

  “You’re doing better,” Clint said. “You seem more relaxed.”

  “I told you, I need my own guns.”

  “That may be,” Clint said, “but you’re going to have to be able to shoot with any gun.”

  “I can’t hit shit with a rifle.”

  “Any handgun, then.”

  “When are we gonna work on my draw?” Roscoe asked.

  “We already have,” Clint said. “We adjusted how you wear your guns, and your draw got better.”

  “But is it fast?”

  “It’s fine,” Clint said. “It’s not how fast you can get your gun out, Bookbinder, it’s how accurately you shoot.”

  “People are impressed by speed.”

  “People are impressed by you being alive,” Clint said. “You can’t impress anybody if you’re dead.”

  “But—”

  “And stop worrying about impressing people,” Clint said. “Impress yourself.”

  “But I—”

  “No questions,” Clint said, cutting him off. “Come on, let’s break camp and get moving.”

  Roscoe had to be shown how to break camp, especially stamping the fire out completely. Then Clint made him saddle the horses. He stood by Eclipse so the gelding would not take a bite out of the kid.

  “Mount up,” Clint instructed.

  “Which way are we headed today?”

  “Same direction.”

  “That takes us to Ellsworth,” Roscoe said. “Can we stop there for a hot meal?”

  “No,” Clint said. “You’ve spent one night in camp and already you want a hot meal? We’ll make some beans tonight.”

  “So we ain’t stoppin’ in Ellsworth?”

  “No,” Clint said, “we’re not.”

  “When do we stop in a town again?”

  “Not for a while, Bookbinder,” Clint said. “Not for a while.”

  SIXTEEN

  Later that day Zack did stop in Ellsworth, to meet with the three men he’d sent telegrams to. They all sat down in the Bullhead Saloon.

  “What’s this all about?” Ken Randle asked. The other two men nodded. That was their question, too.

  Zack told them what it was about, and the three men exchanged glances.

  “If we wanted to try for the Gunsmith,” Will Parker asked, “why would we need you?”

  “Because I know where he is,” Zack said.

  “We could probably find him ourselves,” Eric Stride commented.

  “And I can get Darby Heston to go after him with us,” Zack said.

  “Why the hell would Heston need us?” Randle asked. “He’d go after Adams himself.”

  “Don’t forget, Adams has the kid with him,” Zack said.

  “You said he’s just a green kid,” Parker pointed out.

  “That may be,” Zack admitted, “but he’s bein’ trained by the Gunsmith. That oughtta count for somethin’.”

  “He’s got a point,” Randle said.

  “Where’s Heston?” Parker asked.

  “He’ll be here today,” Zack said.

  “And how do you know where Adams is?” Stride asked.

  “I’ve got people trackin’ him,” Zack said. “We know what direction he’s goin’.”

  “You plannin’ an ambush?” Randle asked.

  “I’m plannin’ on gettin’ credit for killin’ the Gunsmith,” Zack said. “That means doin’ it where folks can see and not from ambush.”

  “This personal?” Randle asked.

  “It’s some personal, for me,” Zack said. “Adams made me and my partner look like a couple of fools. But it ain’t gonna be personal for nobody else. It’s just business.”

  “It’ll be personal for Heston,” Randle said. “From what I hear, he takes everythin’ personal.”

  “Just don’t rile him,” Zack said. “He’d as soon kill ya as look at ya if ya rile him.”

  “You friends?”

  “Kinda.”

  “What’s that mean—kinda?” Stride asked.

  Zack looked at him and said, “He’s my cousin.”

  When Darby Heston entered the saloon, he looked around and spotted Zack, but walked directly to the bar.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Zack told the others.

  “You ain’t talked to him about it yet?” Randle asked.

  “I just asked him to meet me here,” Zack said. “I told him it was important.”

  The other men all exchanged dubious glances.

  “Relax,” Zack said. “If he doesn’t kill me, he’ll come along.”

  Zack left the table and walked to the bar.

  “He’s crazy,” Randle said.

  “Probably,” Stride said.

  Heston had a beer in his hand as Zack approached him.

  “Hey, Darby,” he said.

  “What are you doin’ with those losers, Zack?” Heston asked. “Oh, wait, I forgot, you are a loser.”

  “Funny, Darby,” Zack said.

  Heston drank down half his beer and then said to his cousin, “Okay, get to why you asked me to meet you here.”

  “Clint Adams.”

  Heston straightened up and looked around.

  “No, he’s not here.”

  “Then where?”

  “I can find him.”

  “And why would you want to?”

  “He made a fool out of me and my partner, Lee.”

  “You fellas don’t usually need help with that,” Heston said.

  “You’re still a funny guy, Darby,” Zack said. “You wanna hear this or not?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Heston said. “I came this far, I might as well listen.”

  “Okay,” Zack said. “We was in a town called Evolution . . .”

  “You’re crazy,” Heston said.

  “You ain’t afraid of Adams, are you, Darb?” Zack asked.

  “Not me, idiot, but you should be,” Heston said. “He’ll kill you.”

  “Yeah, but not you,” Zack said, “and not me if I’m with you.”

  “What about those others?” Heston asked. “And your partner?”

  “You and me’ll be partners, Darby,” Zack said. “We’re family. Them others can take care of the kid. Adams, he’s ours.”

  “Ours,” Heston said, staring at Zack.

  “Yeah,” Zack said.

  Heston stared at his cousin a few moments more, then waved at the bartender and said to Zack, “Have a beer.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Three days out and Clint was surprised when he woke up and found Roscoe nudging him with his foot.

  “Coffee, and breakfast,” the kid said.

  He had switched watches with Roscoe each night, meaning the kid had to make breakfast this morning. It wasn’t something he was used to doing, and Clint had assumed he’d have to wake up and do it.

  When he approached the fire, he smelled coffee and beans. Roscoe handed him a cup, which he accepted gratefully.

  Then he saw the mess of beans in the pan on the fire and knew what the kid had done.

  “Smart guy,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You made all of the beans for breakfast, Bookbinder,” Clint said. “Means you want to stop at the next town for supplies.”

  “Jeez,” Roscoe said, “is that the rest of the beans?”

  “You know it is, Bookbinder.”

  With an innocent look on his face, Roscoe said, “Then we better eat ’em before they gets cold.”

  They sat
their horses and looked down at the town of Ely, Kansas.

  I’ve got a good mind to leave you here while I go in,” Clint said.

  “You wouldn’t do that,” Roscoe said hopefully.

  “No,” Clint said, “I wouldn’t. Come on.”

  They started down the hill toward town, Roscoe all but kicking his mustang into a run.

  “Take it easy,” Clint said. “You’ve only been on the trail three days.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve learned a lot, right?”

  “You’ve still got a lot to learn,” Clint said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like not making all the beans for breakfast,” Clint pointed out.

  “Can we get some bacon this time?” Roscoe asked.

  “We’ll get bacon, Bookbinder,” Clint agreed, “but just remember you better not cook it all next time it’s your turn to make breakfast.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  Ely was a very small town, pretty much just a mud hole in the road. It had a trading post, which also acted as a saloon, and not much else—except for a whorehouse.

  They pulled up in front of the trading post and dismounted. Across the street, on the second-floor balcony of the largest building in town, several women waved to them. One even bared her breasts.

  “Whoa, look at that!” Roscoe said.

  “Relax, lover boy,” Clint said. “She’d probably give you a case of the crabs.”

  “The what?”

  Clint shook his head.

  “You do have a lot to learn. Come inside and have a drink.”

  Roscoe took one last, long look at the whore’s breasts and then followed Clint inside.

  There was a long counter made from two wooden doors. Behind it stood a tall, skinny man with a towel over his shoulder.

  “Welcome, gents,” he said. “Welcome to Jimmy’s Trading Post. I’m Jimmy. What’ll ya have?”

  “You got any beer?” Clint asked.

  “It’s warm,” Jimmy warned.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “I’ll have whiskey,” Roscoe said.

  “He’ll have a beer, too.”

  “If I’m gonna have somethin’ warm, I’d rather have whiskey,” Roscoe complained.

  “I don’t want you falling out of the saddle,” Clint said.

  “I can handle my liquor.”

  “We’ll test that claim out another time, Bookbinder,” Clint said. “Right now we’ll have beer.”

  As Jimmy the bartender set the two beers in front of them, Roscoe said, “Some lady was showin’ us her teats across the street.”

  “That’d be Lola,” Jimmy said. “She’s awful proud of those sweet things.”

  “Does she have crabs?” Roscoe asked.

  “Hell, no,” Jimmy said. “All those girls are clean as a whistle. We got us a sawbones comes in once a month to make sure.” He leaned on the bar and looked at Roscoe. “You interested in one of them fillies for a little ride?”

  “Let me guess,” Clint said. “Is that Jimmy’s Whorehouse across the street?”

  Jimmy smiled.

  EIGHTEEN

  Clint actually believed Jimmy about the girls. A lot of whorehouses had taken to making sure their girls were clean so that men wouldn’t get crabs or the clap and would come back.

  He could see that Roscoe had the whorehouse across the street on his mind, the woman’s—Lola’s—naked breasts burned into his brain.

  “You got a choice, boy,” Clint said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Food or sex,” Clint said. “You can have a hot meal or a hot woman. Your choice.”

  “You get both right here, gents,” Jimmy said. “Steaks?”

  “A steak for me,” Clint said. “Bookbinder?”

  Roscoe walked to the window and looked out, then rubbed his stomach.

  “Steak, I reckon.”

  Jimmy leaned forward and said to Clint in a low voice, “Reckon the boy’s never had no pussy before, or he wouldn’t make that choice.”

  “Just get the steaks,” Clint said, “and they better be good.”

  “Best in town.”

  Considering they were in Ely, Clint figured that wasn’t saying much.

  “Get away from the window, Bookbinder,” he called out. “You made your choice.”

  There were two tables across from the counter. Clint and Roscoe took one and Jimmy brought them each a steaming plate of steak and potatoes, and another beer each. The beer was still warm, but the steak was as good as Jimmy had promised. The potatoes, too. Soft and flavorful. The meat had just the right amount of blood running.

  “You boys enjoy,” Jimmy said. “And after, you can still go across the street if you’ve a mind to.”

  “After, we’re going to need some supplies,” Clint said. “If you give me some paper and pencil, I’ll write out a list.”

  “You got a wagon, or a packhorse?”

  “Just divvy it up into two canvas sacks,” Clint said. “We’ll each carry one.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Jimmy left, and returned with the paper and pencil. After Clint wrote the list, Jimmy went to fill it and left them to finish eating.

  “Why can’t we go across the street?” Roscoe asked.

  “I want to get back on the trail, continue your lessons”

  “I could learn some lessons across the street,” the kid said.

  “Roscoe,” Clint asked, “you ever been with a woman before?”

  “Well, sure—”

  “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

  Roscoe looked down, pushed some spuds around his plate.

  “No, I ain’t.”

  Clint sat back. Maybe this would be another part of the boy’s lessons.

  “Finish your steak,” Clint said, “and we’ll see.”

  After they ate, Clint paid for the supplies and they carried the two sacks out to the horses and tied them to their saddle pommels. Then Clint turned and looked at the building across the street. The women were still on the second-floor balcony, and when they saw the two men watching them, not only did Lola bare her breasts, but they all did.

  “Look at that!” Roscoe said in awe. “They’re all doin’ it!”

  “I’m looking,” Clint said. He had to admit it was an impressive sight.

  “Okay,” he said, “let’s go on back inside, Bookbinder.”

  “What for?”

  “Well,” Clint said, pointing across the street, “that’s Jimmy’s Whorehouse, so we have to go in and talk to Jimmy.”

  “About what?”

  “About you being with one of his whores.”

  “Lola?”

  “Sure, Lola,” Clint said, “if that’s what you want.”

  Clint turned to go back inside the building, and Roscoe nearly tripped trying to follow him.

  NINETEEN

  Lola took Roscoe into her room and said, “Don’t be shy, sweetie. Take off your clothes.”

  Up close Lola was older than Roscoe had thought, probably over thirty. When he and Clint had gotten into the house, he’d spotted a nineteen-year-old blonde that appealed to him, but they had already paid for him to be with Lola.

  She closed the door and turned to face him. He stood in the center of the room, still fully dressed.

  “I think you need some encouragement,” she said, unbuttoning her dress. “You want to see these up close?”

  “Y-yes.”

  She pulled the dress open and her ripe breasts spilled out. Even the other girls in the house admitted that she had the best breasts there.

  Roscoe licked his lips and his eyes widened.

  “Do you want to touch them?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Kiss them?”

  “Y-yes.”

  She closed her dress.

  “Then you have to take off your clothes.”

  Roscoe didn’t move or reply.

  “Haven’t you ever been naked before?”

  “Well, yes.”

&
nbsp; “In front of a woman?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Well, no.”

  She came close to him and said, “I’ll help you.”

  She unbuttoned his shirt, leaning her head into him, tickling his nose with her dark hair. She opened his shirt and ran her hands over his chest.

  “You’re so hairless,” she said. She reached down between his legs, rubbed him through his jeans. “I love young boys.”

  She undid his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and then lowered his pants and underwear down around his ankles. His erect penis came into view and her eyes widened.

  “I really like young boys,” she said. “You’re always so . . . ready.” She took his penis in her hands. “And so hard . . . and long.” From her knees she looked up at him. “This is very . . . impressive.”

  “Thank you.”

  His penis was very red and swollen. She opened her dress further, slid it down to her waist, and took his swollen penis between her breasts.

  “Oh, God,” he said, afraid that something was going to happen before it was supposed to.

  She rolled his penis between her breasts, cooing to it, flicking her tongue out at it occasionally. She knew what she was doing, though, because she was careful not to let anything happen too soon.

  “Get on the bed, sweetie,” she said. “I’m gonna suck on that baby like it was a peppermint stick.”

  “Wha—Suck on it?”

  “Just lay back, lover,” she said, pushing him onto the bed. “You’re gonna like it.”

  Roscoe wasn’t sure what was going on, but he laid back on the bed and then watched while Lola took off all her clothes. When she was naked, he was surprised at how much dark hair there was between her legs, but he found himself excited by it.

  She crawled onto the bed with him and rubbed her breasts up and down his legs, over his chest, the brown nipples as hard as pebbles. Finally, she settled between his legs, once again taking his swollen column of flesh between her breasts.

  “You are so nice and big,” she said, “and smooth. God, you’re so young.”

  She swooped down, took him into her mouth for a quick suck, and then let him out.

  She smacked her lips and said, “And you’re so sweet!”