Cross Draw (15 page)

 

The three men were staying at the other hotel in town, across the street and down the block from the one Clint and the women were staying in.

When Clint and Rosemary came out of the hotel, Raymond was already in a small restaurant having breakfast. And they didn't see Dillon and Quentin leaving their hotel.

“Should we wake the others?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “let them sleep. I'd like to have breakfast just with you.”

“Well, there can't be too many places in a town this size,” he said.

She put her hand on his arm—his left arm—to stop him.

“What if you're right? There aren't many places to eat, and we run into . . . those men?”

“I've got to run into them sooner or later,” Clint said. “If we do, you make sure you hit the floor if there's any shooting.”

“If?” she asked.

“When,” he said.

 

Deputy Web Kane came out of the sheriff's office in time to see Clint and Rosemary walking down the street. He hurried to catch them.

“Mr. Adams?”

They turned to face him.

“I'm glad I caught you,” Kane said. “There's a man, a very big man, he was in the bar last night askin' about you.”

“Asking what?”

“He said he heard you were in town,” he said. “He couldn't have heard it from anyone. I didn't tell anyone.”

“He could have got it from the desk clerk,” Clint said, “but it's more likely he tracked us here.”

“Tracked you?”

“Our wagon,” Clint said. “Very easy to follow.”

“And what's he want?”

“What do they all want, Deputy?”

“A chance at the Gunsmith?”

Clint nodded.

“But . . . your arm.”

“How did you—” Rosemary said, then stopped.

“The way you hold it,” Kane said. “It's not obvious, but you have your gun in your holster butt forward. And I saw you go to the doctor's office.”

“Not the arm, really,” Clint said, holding it up. “The hand. Your doctor says he thinks he can fix it.”

“He probably can,” Kane said. “Shale was a surgeon back East. Some woman broke his heart and he came here—or ended up here—to . . . hide, I guess. He's a really good doctor. I bet he can fix you.”

“Oh, Clint . . .” Rosemary said.

“How many places are there in town to have breakfast?” Clint asked.

“This time of the morning, just one,” Kane said, “Clara's Café, down the street. That big man, he was with two others. They might be there.”

“They might,” Clint said.

“If you don't mind,” Kane said, “I'll come along. With your left hand, I don't think you'd be a match for three of them.”

“Can you use that gun, Deputy?”

“I'm not very experienced,” Kane admitted, “but the sheriff says I'm a natural.”

“A natural, huh? Well, okay, then. Come on along. After all, it's your job.”

“I suppose,” Kane said, “I could just stand by and arrest the winner, but I'd rather back you.”

Clint, Rosemary, and Deputy Kane walked over to Clara's Café.

“Wait,” Clint said just before they entered the restaurant.

“What?” Kane asked.

“If the men are in there, I don't want to take Rosemary in,” Clint said. “It's too dangerous.”

“What do you want me to—” Rosemary started.

“Go back to the hotel,” Clint said. “Go to your room until I come for you.”

“And what if you don't come?” she asked.

“Don't worry, I'll come,” he said.

“Clint—”

“Go, Rosemary,” he said. “If I have to worry about you, that's when I could end up getting killed. Understand?”

“He's right, ma' am,” Kane said. “You should go.”

Rosemary hesitated, then said, “All right. But as soon as it's over, you come and get me.”

“Agreed,” Clint said.

She kissed him and said, “Be careful.”

“Right.”

As she walked away Kane said, “Pretty woman.”

“Yes, she is.” Clint looked at the deputy. He didn't usually go into any kind of gun action with someone unless he knew they truly could watch his back. He didn't know anything about this young man. “You ready, Deputy?”

“I'm ready, Mr. Adams.”

Together, they entered the café.

 

Dillon and Quentin had just sat down with Raymond, who was already eating, when the door opened and Clint Adams walked in with the Clear Creek's deputy.

Clint saw the big man seated at a table and asked Kane, “Is that him?”

“Yes, sir, that's him.”

Clint stared at the man, was wondering if he should approach him or wait when the man locked eyes with him.

He made his decision, and walked over to the man.

“Clint Adams,” he said. “What's your name?”

“Dillon,” the big man said without standing.

“I'm assuming you and your men tracked me here?” Clint asked.

“Why would we do that?” Dillon asked.

“You tell me.”

Dillon stared at Clint for a few moments, then said, “I guess I don't have to. In here, or outside?”

“Too many innocent bystanders in here.”

“Then on the street,” Dillon said.

“I'm curious,” Clint said. “You heard about my injury, didn't you?”

“What injury?”

Clint grinned. “Yeah, you did.”

Dillon looked at Clint's gun.

“Wearin' for a cross draw?”

“Sure,” Clint said. “I like to use my left hand every so often.”

Dillon stood up.

“Should we go?”

His friends stood up, too.

“You boys stay where you are,” Kane said. “We're gonna wait right here.”

Quentin and Raymond exchanged a glance, then looked at Dillon.

“Order me some eggs,” Dillon said. “I'll be right back.”

The two men sat back down. Dillon went out the door, with Clint behind him.

 

Outside, Clint and Dillon stepped into the street.

“You've probably done this a lot in your life,” Dillon said.

“Enough.”

“Waitin' for the time you'll run into somebody faster? Better?”

“Better, maybe,” Clint said. “Not necessarily faster.”

“Faster is better,” Dillon said.

Clint grinned. “We'll see.”

Dillon backed away, to put some distance between them. He looked around, saw two or three people watching them.

“Fast, are you?” Clint asked.

“Fast enough,” Dillon said.

It was clear to Clint that Dillon was the kind of man who thought speed was everything. That was bound to work in Clint's favor.

“Don't usually see gunmen with hands as big as yours,” Clint said.

“You can't distract me, Adams,” Dillon said. “This gun is made especially to fit my hand.”

“Very nice.”

“Sure you wanna cross draw like that?”

“I have to,” Clint said. “I can't use my right hand.”

“Can't use it?”

Clint held his arm up, his hand hanging limply from the end.

“Useless,” Clint said.

Dillon's eyebrows went up. He was surprised Clint was admitting the injury.

“Puts you at a little bit of a disadvantage, don't it?” he asked.

Clint grinned. “That's the only reason you tracked me, isn't it?” Clint asked. “Figured I was helpless?”

“Too much talk, Adams,” Dillon said. “Let's get this over with.”

“Go ahead,” Clint said.

Dillon went for his gun. He was right, he was fast.

Clint reached across his body, plucked his gun from his holster, taking his time.

Dillon fired first, and missed. He hit Clint, clipping the point of his shoulder, but he missed anything vital. As he moved to adjust, Clint calmly fired, putting a bullet dead center in the man's big chest.

“Wha—” Dillon said.

“Speed's not everything, Dillon,” Clint said. “You've got to hit your target with the first shot—and make it a fatal hit.”

He looked at his shoulder, where a little bit of blood was soaking into his shirt. By the time he looked back at Dillon, the big man was falling backwards.

Kane came running out, with Raymond and Quentin behind him. They stopped short when they saw Dillon lying on the ground.

“You boys better get your friend off the street,” Kane said. “Unless you're not done?”

“No, no,” Quentin said, “we're done.”

Raymond and Quentin stepped into the street, reached down to Dillon, then looked up at Kane and asked, “Can we get some help?”

Kane looked over at the small crowd that had gathered and said, “You men, come over and help.”

The doctor came out into the office from his surgery and looked at the five women gathered there.

“How is he?” Rosemary asked.

“How did it go?” Jenny asked.

“Is it over?” Abigail asked. “Can we go?”

“Shut up, Abigail,” Morgan said.

“The surgery is over,” Doctor Shale said. “As I suspected, there was a tendon that had been severed by the wagon when it punctured his arm.”

“What did you do?” Rosemary asked.

“I repaired the tear.”

“Will he be able to move his arm?” Jenny asked.

“And his hand?” Rosemary asked.

“His arm, yes,” Shale said, “considering he was already able to do that. His hand . . . we'll have to see. I stitched the wound and bandaged it again.”

“Is he awake?”

“No,” Shale said. “When the ether wears off, he'll wake up and we'll see. He won't be able to move the hand completely, but if he can even twitch his fingers, it will be a good sign.”

“Can we wait?” Rosemary asked.

“That's what we're all gonna do,” Doctor Shale said. “Wait.”

 

About an hour later, they all crowded into the surgery as Clint came to.

“Hello,” Doc Shale said. “How are you feelin'?”

“Groggy.”

“Your friends are all here.”

“Hey, everybody,” Clint said to Rosemary, Jenny, and the rest.

“They'll all get out of here and let you rest, as soon as you move even one finger of your right hand.”

“Can I?”

“That's what we want to see.”

Clint looked down at his hand.

“Go ahead,” Shale said. “Move it.”

They all watched Clint's hand and then, suddenly, his index finger moved, and then his middle.

“That's it,” Shale said. “Stop.”

“I moved my hand,” Clint said.

“Yes, you did,” Shale said.

“It's going to be okay?”

“You'll need to exercise it, but there's every chance you'll get back full motion.”

“How do I thank you?”

“Maybe I should thank you,” Shale said. “Let's just thank each other.”

Shale turned to the ladies. “Just a few minutes,” he said, and left.

“I'll wait outside, too,” Abigail said.

Jenny, Morgan, and Delilah all kissed Clint's cheek and said how glad they were he was going to be all right.

Rosemary took his left hand in hers.

“I'm so glad for you.”

“Thank you, Rosemary,” he said. “And thanks for being here.”

“Clint, we have to leave.”

“I figured as much.”

“You need time to recover,” she said, “and I owe it to the girls to take them to California.”

“I understand. When are you leaving?”

“Today,” she said. “Right now. We just wanted to wait'til you woke up.”

He squeezed her hand.

“Take care of yourself, and the girls.”

“And you be careful,” she said. “And do everything the doctor tells you.”

“I swear.”

She kissed him and left. Once he was alone, he looked down at this hand, moved his fingers again and then, with a lot of effort, made a loose fist.

He wouldn't have to perfect that cross draw after all.

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355
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novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove