The Sapphire Gun Page 5

  Johnny rolled his eyes and nodded. “Good point. Maybe I’ve had a bit too much of this whiskey.”

  “Did that man look familiar to you?” Clint asked.

  At first, Johnny shook his head. Then, he cocked his head a bit and said, “You know, I might have seen that fella at my party.”

  “Was he with anyone?”

  “Just some pretty Mexican lady with long hair. You think she’s a part of this?”

  “I don’t know. I just hope he was some asshole who overheard something at the party and decided to make a play for it.”

  “Why?” Johnny grunted. “Isn’t that bad enough?” Clint’s hand reflexively lowered to rest upon his holstered Colt. “No. It can get a whole lot worse than that.”

  TWELVE

  Franco sat hunched over as Rosa rubbed her hands along his back. Dusk was setting in, and the shadows were growing just enough for the firelight to bring out the angles in his face. As the flames crackled and sent the occasional ember sailing off, Franco prodded the wood at the heart of the fire with a thick branding iron.

  “At least you killed one of them,” Rosa said in a consoling tone.

  Franco’s lips curled into a sneer as if forming the words before he spoke them. “I might have killed him. All I know is that I hit the one on the wagon.”

  “What about Adams? You must have hit him, too.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Oh, come now,” she cooed as her hands worked on loosening the knots in his muscles. “I’ve never seen you miss a shot like that. He didn’t even know you were there. You must have hit him.”

  “Perhaps,” he repeated impatiently.

  “If you didn’t kill them, then are you . . . just going to let them go?”

  Franco wheeled around as if he meant to take a swing at her. Just as he caught sight of Rosa, his face twisted into a pained grimace and he turned back around. “I’m not going to let them go,” he said. “I’ll just have to catch up to them at a different spot.”

  Eventually, Rosa’s hands found their way back to Franco’s shoulders. She caressed him at first, but then began to massage him once more. “I didn’t mean to doubt you.”

  “I know.”

  “You should probably see to that wound before it gets any worse.”

  Slowly, Franco nodded. Even now, he couldn’t remember exactly when he’d been hit. He was certain, however, that the bullet had come from Clint’s gun. Picturing Clint’s face as he lifted the branding iron from the bottom of the fire, Franco pulled in a breath and pressed the hottest end of the iron against his side.

  His flesh hissed and steamed the moment it made contact with the iron. Every muscle in Franco’s body squirmed beneath his skin, and even Rosa’s hands weren’t enough to soothe him. He kept the iron there for as long as he could bear it. After a few seconds, the searing heat started to feel cold.

  “That’s it,” Rosa said. “Now take it away.”

  Franco started to take the iron away, but quickly discovered the tip was stuck to his skin. Before the iron became seared into him any deeper, Franco pulled and twisted it away at the same time. That pulled a bit of meat off, but still left the main wound mostly shut. Before he lowered the iron, Rosa was reaching around to place a moist rag against him.

  “That’s better, isn’t it?” she asked soothingly.

  Franco nodded slowly. He didn’t need to look at the wound to know how bad it was. The bullet had passed through when it had been fired. He knew that much already. Since the wound was too jagged to be stitched up easily, he’d opted for the more painful method of using the iron.

  As Rosa pressed down and then removed the rag, she replaced it with another one. “Can you feel that?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Good.” Before he had too much time to think about what he did feel, she asked, “What are you going to do next?”

  “In the morning, we will ride ahead to that bank. We shouldn’t have any trouble getting there before they do.”

  “Won’t there be a lot of people there?”

  “It is a small town. We should have no trouble spotting them and picking them off before they reach a main street.”

  Rosa nodded and removed the rag to look at the charred flesh beneath it. The bleeding had stopped, and though the wound wasn’t very pretty, at least it was no longer open. “That could get dangerous.”

  Snapping his head around to glare at her with fire in his eyes, Franco knocked Rosa back and started to crawl toward her. “You don’t think I know that?”

  Scooting away from him and the fire, Rosa kept quiet.

  Although his draw was a bit slower than normal, Franco’s .44 still cleared leather in the blink of an eye. He pointed the gun straight at her at first, but then held it so she could see it from the side as he snarled, “You think I could have earned this without knowing how, where, and when to kill a man?”

  Rosa’s eyes were drawn along the etched nickel plating and lingered on the gem embedded in the handle. The sapphire was set into the grip amid a swirl of elegant carvings. The more she looked at it, the more it seemed the sapphire was floating in a pool of silver.

  “Do you?” Franco demanded.

  That brought her eyes back to his and she replied, “No.”

  Suddenly, Franco recoiled and lowered the pistol. He looked at her face and then quickly turned away. After that, he backed up almost enough for his boots to dip into the bottom of the campfire. “I apologize,” he said.

  Moving up behind him as if nothing had happened, Rosa draped her arms over his shoulders so she could brush her hands along the Spaniard’s chest. “You’re hurt and you’re upset,” she whispered into his ear. “I understand.”

  “I will not let them get away again. I underestimated Adams.” Gritting his teeth, Franco picked up a nearby twig and snapped it angrily. “Knowing what I know about him, I still underestimated him,” he said while pitching pieces of the twig into the flames. “That was just stupid.”

  Rosa’s hands slid under his shirt, which hung open loosely to reveal several old scars that looked just as twisted and melted as the new one. “You’re not stupid,” she purred.

  Franco closed his eyes and focused on the way Rosa’s fingers glided over his skin. He thought about the way her breasts pressed against his back and the way her legs slowly rubbed against him as she settled in behind him.

  The more she touched him, the more focused his thoughts became. By the time he turned and crawled on top of her, Franco could already feel his target’s blood on his hands.

  THIRTEEN

  Dover Shallows wasn’t a big town by any stretch of the imagination, but it was pretty enough to look as though it had been painted rather than built. Four of the main streets formed a square, while a fifth street cut through the middle. Everything else was built around that simple design. There were some shops, a few restaurants, and only one saloon. And, located directly across from the marshal’s office, there was a bank.

  Shallows State Bank actually resembled one of the restaurants, right down to the decorative curls built into the awnings and shutters. It was painted white and green to match the well-kept rows of flowers planted along the front walk.

  Folks in Dover Shallows all seemed happy to be there. Even though his wound was still aching and gave him hell every time he moved the wrong way, Franco was also happy to be there. He stood outside a restaurant called Minnie’s, which was across the street and down a little ways from the bank. From there, he could pat his belly as if he was still full from lunch and tip his hat to all the other happy folks who walked by. More than a few women let their eyes linger on Franco’s handsome face, and he rewarded them with a gleaming smile.

  Franco checked his pocket watch and then snapped it shut. According to his calculations, Johnny Blevin should have arrived to make his deposit a little while ago. There was always the possibility that he’d been hurt even worse than Franco thought, but that was probably overly optimistic.

  Thinkin
g back to the last shot he’d fired at Johnny, Franco recalled every second, the way a young man might dwell on memories of the first time he’d bedded a woman. Franco could remember every sound and every movement. The sight of Johnny reeling back onto the wagon’s driver seat was embedded in those memories.

  There had been a lot of blood spilled by that shot. In fact, there had been a little too much blood spilled. Given how far Johnny was twisted to one side, Franco became even more convinced that his bullet had been a messy grazing shot, at best. Since he hadn’t found a trace of the wagon or Adams the morning after he’d had a chance to tend his own wound, Franco knew both men had most likely made it.

  All of this had flown through Franco’s mind by the time his watch had hit the bottom of his pocket. When he looked up again, he caught sight of another passerby in the corner of his eye.

  Only, this one didn’t pass by.

  Instead, the figure stayed at the edge of Franco’s field of vision. Before Franco could turn to tip his hat, he felt the distinctive touch of a gun barrel tap against his back.

  “If you think I’m still against shooting you in the back,” Clint said softly, “you’re more than welcome to put me to the test.”

  Franco remained still. His casual smile even remained plastered onto his face. “Not a very private place for an execution,” he pointed out.

  “No, but it is a fine spot to nab a bank robber.”

  “I had no plans on robbing a bank.”

  “And if I marched you into that marshal’s office, he wouldn’t recognize your face or that fancy gun of yours in connection to any other wrongdoings of late?” Clint asked.

  Turning just enough to look over his shoulder at Clint, Franco put an extra dose of smugness into his smile and replied, “I’d be more than happy to visit the marshal. My guess is that you have more kills associated with your name than I do.”

  Clint paused to allow another pair of locals to walk past Minnie’s.

  “And I am not the one holding a man at gunpoint right now,” Franco said confidently. “If I raise my voice, I might even be able to get you arrested.”

  “You won’t do that,” Clint said. “Because then you wouldn’t be able to pick Johnny off before he could deposit his money. Actually, I’m surprised to find you here rather than watching the roads from farther out. But that’s what your partner was supposed to be doing, right?”

  Hearing that last part, Franco turned slightly around and was stopped by Clint’s gun.

  Clint knew he’d struck a nerve, so he struck one more time with “She’s got a good eye. I’ll bet she’s a great scout. She is only human, though, which means she can’t look in every direction at once. But you know how that feels right about now, don’t you?”

  “If you think I’m going to let slip where she is, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “I’m not trying to get you to say anything,” Clint stated. “I figured you knew where we were headed, otherwise you would have hit Johnny earlier on. It would have been messier, but you can afford to pick your shot when you know where your target is going.

  “Rather than race you to this town, I thought it would be more sociable if I just met you here. Unfortunately, Johnny isn’t around for this little reunion.”

  Franco let out a sigh and grunted, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Adams?”

  “After your little ambush, yeah. I am enjoying watching you squirm a bit.”

  “So, I have squirmed,” Franco said as though he were squatting down in the muck to speak at Clint’s level. “What will you do now?”

  “I’m going to escort you out of town and away from these good people and make sure you aren’t able to lift a finger to hamper Johnny from making his deposit.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Clint nudged Franco with his gun barrel to make sure the Spaniard was moving in the right direction. Once Franco was walking on his own, Clint quickly holstered the Colt without making a sound and nodded to an elderly woman crossing the street to go into the bank.

  As far as anyone else was concerned, Clint and Franco were just two amiable fellows out for a stroll.

  FOURTEEN

  Clint and Franco didn’t speak as they walked down the second of Dover Shallows’s main streets. Every so often, Franco would test the waters by slowing his pace or looking for a spot where he could split away from Clint. Every errant glance or pause in his stride was met by a subtle prod from the barrel of Clint’s modified Colt.

  Since he was able to keep Franco in front of him, Clint could keep his gun holstered throughout most of his walk. Whenever he needed to put Franco back on track, he drew the gun, used it to give the Spaniard a shove, and holstered it again before anyone else noticed.

  Once they got away from the main streets, however, they both had a bit more room to breathe.

  Franco planted his feet and came to a stop in an empty lot behind a livery filled with wagons and carts in various stages of repair. He kept his hands at his sides and his eyes pointed straight ahead.

  “I’m not walking another step,” Franco announced.

  “That’s up to you.”

  Although he knew Clint couldn’t see it, Franco smiled. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I walked to my horse, rode away, and our paths never crossed again?”

  “Actually, that sounds nice.” After allowing Franco to take one step, Clint added, “But you and I both know that’s not how it will happen.”

  Slowly, Franco turned around to face Clint. Every fraction of every second that it took for him to do so grated on Franco’s nerves like a rake across a chalkboard. Despite being a little surprised to complete the turn, Franco put on a victorious grin. “You never took my gun from me.”

  Clint calmly nodded. “I know.”

  “This was never about you, Adams.”

  “I know that, too. I got a vested interest in this from the moment you started shooting at me. That’s not something any man would let pass so easily.”

  “Especially not a man like you.”

  “No,” Clint said gravely. “Especially not a man like me.”

  Franco stood his ground and let his hand move to his holster. Although he didn’t make an attempt to draw his .44, he brushed his fingers past it just to make certain it hadn’t been taken from him somewhere along the way.

  The .44 was still there.

  As Franco’s hand lingered near the holstered pistol, he saw Clint’s hand tensing as it eased its way to his own Colt. Franco raising his arm until his hand was held straight out in front of him was enough to get Clint to relax just a bit.

  “This can go on for a long time,” Franco mused.

  “It doesn’t have to. Not so long as you drop that holster and come with me without making a fuss.”

  The Spaniard smiled once more and nodded. “Ah yes. I have heard this about you. You will give a man the chance to walk away before you gun him down. At least, that is how the story goes.”

  “Not every man gets that choice,” Clint pointed out. “Only the ones who don’t force my hand.”

  “And you would forgive our little scuffle from before?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t have to kill you.”

  “And where would we go?” Franco asked.

  “I know some U.S. marshals not far from here. Since you strike me as someone who might have a badge or two watching your back, I’d prefer to take you to someone I can trust.”

  “If I had bought the law in this town, I would not have needed to be so careful, no?”

  Clint shrugged. “Maybe. I’d still rather do it my way to be sure.”

  “And how do I know you would hand me over to a lawman I could trust? Or that I would even make it there alive?”

  “Because, if I’d wanted you dead, you’d already be facedown in the dirt.”

  Franco’s eyes narrowed and he pulled in a slow breath. When he let that breath out, it was in a short, decisive sigh. “I think not, Adams.” With that, the Spaniard snapped his hand tow
ard his holster and pulled the .44 from its spot.

  Clint’s arm moved in a similar flicker of motion as his hand was suddenly wrapped around his modified Colt.

  Both weapons cleared leather at the same time, but Clint was able to aim and pull his trigger before Franco’s hammer could drop. The Colt barked once and sent a bullet through Franco’s heart. The .44 roared as well, but only after a twitching reflex of Franco’s finger.

  The Spaniard had a surprised look on his face as the fire in his eyes slowly dwindled away. He started to wobble backward, but was spun around as Clint’s second shot punched through his shoulder.

  As promised, Franco’s body landed facedown in the dirt.

  FIFTEEN

  Rosa laid on her back in the same spot where Clint and Johnny had found her. The hill was a little ways outside of town and had a good view of nearly every side of Dover Shallows. It also had a real good view of all three roads that led into town.

  She could feel the rumble of approaching hooves and winced when that rumble got so close that she got fresh dust kicked in her face when Eclipse skidded to a halt. Straining her neck to get a look at the new arrival, Rosa was only given a closer look at the business end of Johnny’s rifle.

  “I told you not to move, bitch,” Johnny snarled as he leaned down and pressed the rifle barrel against her forehead.

  Tears formed in her eyes as she looked up at him and did her best to nod.

  Johnny looked up for a moment and asked, “Did you find the other one?”

  “Yeah,” Clint said as he climbed down from the saddle. Walking to stand next to Rosa, Clint made sure she could see his face when he added, “He’s dead.”

  “Really?” Rosa asked anxiously. She was so anxious, in fact, that she caused Johnny to lean in and shove her head down once more.

  Clint looked at the top of the hill, which was mostly flat and only big enough to possibly support one more horse before forcing someone to stand at an incline. Laying well out of reach were the things that had been on Rosa’s person when Clint had snuck up on her upon his arrival.