Cross Draw (6 page)

“—saloons,” he said, “don't forget the saloons. And where there are saloons, there are men who drink too much. And I'm sure there's a whorehouse around here, someplace.”

“Oh,” she said. “Really?”

“That's every town in the West, Rosemary,” he said. “They can all be nice places to live, but you also have to be aware of everything.”

“I see.”

“I just don't want you to think you've found any kind of paradise,” he said.

“But I understood that the West had become somewhat . . . civilized?”

“Civilized, yes,” Clint said. “Tame, no.”

“I understand.”

“Why did you decide to come out West, Rosemary?” he asked. “Do you mind if I ask?”

“We all had our own reasons,” she said. “We haven't really shared them all.”

“Well then,” he said, “you don't have to tell me, either.”

“Maybe,” she said, “maybe later.”

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe later.”

“I think I should go and find the others now,” she said. “They were going to a café near the hotel.”

“I'll walk with you,” he said. “I'd like to say hello to them, and thank them for their help in getting me to the doctor.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “Let's go.”

 

None of the women noticed the two men who entered the café as they were finishing up their breakfast.

Zack Moody and Dan Rhodes had just come off the trail the day before. They'd had whiskey and steaks the night before, and then fallen into their beds in their hotel room.

Today they were looking for women. They thought they'd have breakfast first and then find some whores, but when they walked in and saw a tableful of women, they jumped to a conclusion.

“Hey Zack,” Moody said. “Look. A tableful of whores, just waitin' for us.”

“Well, lookee there,” Zack said. “Let's go set with the gals, Moody.”

The two men walked over to the girls, grabbed chairs from a nearby table, and sat down . . .

 

When Clint and Rosemary entered the café, Clint could sense the tension and fear in the air. There were several other diners in the place, but most of the apprehension was coming from a table with two men and five women seated at it.

“Come on in, friends,” one of the men said. “We're havin' a party. Me and my buddy are tryin' to decide which whore we want.”

“But he's got his own, Zack,” Moody said. “He brought his own in—and she's tasty.”

“Yeah,” Zack said, “but I want this one.” He put his hand on Jenny's arm and she shrank away.

“Get your hand off of her!” Abigail shouted and swatted his hand away.

“That one's got spirit, Zack,” Moody said. “Too bad she's so old and ugly.”

“You know,” Zack said, “sometimes the old, ugly ones are the best in bed.”

“Yeah, well you try her. I want this one,” Moody said, pointing to Rosemary. He stood up. “You done with her, friend?”

“You've made a mistake, friend,” Clint said. “None of these women are prostitutes.”

“That right?” Moody asked. “Well, my friend Zack here, who's a few years older than me, tells me all women are whores. Is that right, Zack?”

“That's right, Moody,” Zack said. “Every fuckin' one of them.”

“Rosemary,” Clint said, “take the ladies and go outside.”

“Come on, girls.”

They started to stand, but Zack reached out and grabbed Jenny's arm.

“Uh-uh,” he said. “Not this one. I want her.”

Jenny looked at Clint imploringly.

“Rosemary,” he said, “take the others out.”

“She ain't leavin', either,” Moody said, pointing to Rosemary. “I want her!”

Rosemary said, “Abigail, take Delilah and Morgan and go outside. Now!”

The three women stood warily, as if they weren't sure the two men would let them leave.

“The rest of you people,” Clint said to the other diners, “you better also get out.”

They didn't waste any time. Three men and two women ran from the place. Including the waiter.

“Well,” Zack said, “that just leaves us two, our whores . . . and you. You're extra weight, friend. You better leave.”

“These women are leaving now,” Clint said, “or you two aren't leaving at all. Your choice.”

“Oh wait,” Zack said. “I get it, Moody. He's their pimp.”

“Oh, yeah,” Moody said. “Well, pimp, don't worry. When we're done, we'll pay 'em, and you'll get your cut.”

“He's not a pimp,” Rosemary said, “and we are not whores.”

“Really?” Zack asked. “Who is he, then?”

“His name is Clint Adams!” Jenny blurted, and then she put her free hand to her mouth.

The two men exchanged a glance.

Clint could see that the two men recognized the name. In fact, the one named Zack, who had been seated until that point, released Jenny's arm and stood up.

“Rosemary,” he said, “take Jenny out.”

“Come on, Jenny,” Rosemary said, extending her hand to the younger woman, who grabbed for it anxiously. Rosemary pulled Jenny away from the table and pushed her out the door. However, instead of leaving, Rosemary remained standing in the doorway, half in and half out, so she could watch.

“What the hell is the Gunsmith doin' on this one-horse town?” Moody asked.

“What does that matter?” Clint asked. “The fact is, I am here, and I don't like seeing ladies treated as whores. Especially when the ladies are friends of mine.”

He was going to leave the play up to the two men. He preferred not to cross draw on them if he didn't have to. He was also hoping they didn't notice that he was wearing his gun butt forward. This was one time he was hoping his reputation would work for him, and keep them from doing something stupid.

“How you want to play this, Zack?” Moody asked. “You want a shot at the Gunsmith?”

“What? Me, alone? No way.”

“I mean the two of us,” Moody said, keeping his eyes on Clint. “We can take 'im.”

“That's the Gunsmith, Moody,” Zack said. “Ain't none of them whores worth dyin' for.”

“Listen to your friend, Moody,” Clint said. “He's talking sense.”

“I ain't gonna back down,” Moody said.

“Zack?” Clint asked.

“Yeah?”

“You want out?”

Zack licked his lips, looked at his friend, then nodded jerkily and said, “Hell, yeah. I didn't mean—”

“Just get out,” Clint said. “Don't talk.”

Zack moved so fast he knocked over some chairs along the way. Rosemary moved out of his way before he could trample her.

“You damn coward!” Moody shouted.

“He's not a coward, Moody,” Clint said. “He just wants to stay alive. Do you?”

Moody wet his lips and stared at Clint.

“Go ahead,” Clint said. “Do it, or walk out, but let's get it over with.”

Moody flexed the fingers of his gun hand, then slowly pulled it away from his holster.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I'm leavin'.”

Clint kept a wary eye on the man as he made his way to the door. He exchanged a glare with Rosemary as he left. Clint moved to the door and stood next to her.

Outside, Moody had to walk past the other women, all of whom glared at him. Even from the back, Clint could see something in the man's demeanor change. Having to walk past the women with his tail between his legs didn't set right with him.

He turned and looked at Clint.

“I can't do it,” he said. “I can't walk away.”

“Rosemary,” Clint said, “move away.”

“No,” she muttered. “He'll kill you.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Just do it.”

She put some distance between herself and Clint.

“Whenever you're ready, Moody,” Clint said.

The women scattered, but watched. From across the street, Zach was also observing.

Clint didn't know what the man was thinking. He was so slow when he went for his gun that Clint easily outdrew him, even left-handed. Clint fired once, the bullet punching Moody right in the chest. The man went down on his back in the street.

Clint returned his gun to its holster. Normally, he would have ejected the spent round and replaced it with a live one, but he would have had to do it one-handed, and that would have made his injury obvious.

No one had been watching except for the women, and Zack. But after the shot many more people appeared, anxious to be present if there was any more shooting.

Clint walked to the dead man, kicked the gun away, and bent over to check and make sure he was dead. He looked up as Zack approached.

“You, too?” he asked.

Zack raised his hands and said, “No, no, not me.”

“He's your partner,” Clint said. “You take care of him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clint turned as Rosemary came up next to him.

“You did it!”

“Not now,” he said, as he saw the sheriff pushing through the crowd. He went to meet him.

“You outdrew him left-handed?” the sheriff asked.

They were in his office, having finally dispersed of the crowd and gotten the body removed from the street.

“He was slow,” Clint said. “I was lucky.”

“You think anybody noticed that you drew with your left hand?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “I hope not.”

“What about his partner?”

“I think he was too scared to notice.”

“You better hope so,” the lawman said. “What about the crowd?”

“They weren't there for the shooting,” Clint said. “They came afterward.”

“Well, I heard from three or four men who said they saw the shooting, that they never seen anybody faster than you.”

“Then they're lying,” Clint said. “First, nobody was there, and second, I was slow. If Moody had any experience at all, I'd be dead.”

“But the word goin' around town is you're as fast—or faster—than ever.”

“That may be,” Clint said, “but the word is also going around that I'm
in
town.”

“That's not good.”

“No, it's not.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“The doc doesn't want me ridin' for a while,” Clint explained. “The ladies are just about ready to leave in their wagon. I think I'll just go with them.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” the sheriff said. “Who would suspect the Gunsmith of traveling with five women?”

“No one, I hope,” Clint said. “And I'd like to keep it that way. Only you and the doctor would know anything about it.”

“Why tell the doctor?”

“I don't think he'd let me leave if he thought I was going to be riding.”

“Well,” Sheriff Evans said, “I'm sure as hell not gonna tell anyone.”

“I appreciate that, Sheriff,” Clint said. “Of course, if anyone did hear about it I'd have to figure it was either you or the doctor.”

“Well . . . yeah . . .”

 

Clint went to the doctor's office to bounce the idea off of the sawbones.

“I don't see why not,” the doctor said, “As long as you don't try to drive the team.”

“Not me, Doc,” Clint said, “I'll have five women to drive for me.”

“Sounds good to me,” the doctor said.

“If they'll have me.”

“You haven't asked yet?”

“No.”

“Well,” the sawbones said, tying off Clint's new bandage, “good luck . . .”

“Thanks.”

“Heard you had some excitement today.”

“Some.”

“Got lucky?”

“Very.”

“It's good to have luck,” Doc Jacobs said. “Just don't count too heavily on it.”

“I never do, Doc,” Clint said. “Believe me.”

 

When Clint came out of the doctor's office, Rosemary was waiting for him.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” he said. “I still can't move my right arm, but otherwise, I'm fine.”

“But . . . you killed a man.”

“Yes.”

“How . . . does that make you feel?”

“Not good,” he said.

“But does it bother you?”

“It used to, a lot,” he said. “Now it bothers me depending on who the person was. Somebody like this man doesn't bother me very much.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Leave town before word gets out that I'm here,” he said.

“But . . . can you ride?”

“No,” he said, “but I was wondering if you ladies would give me a lift.”

“To where?”

He shrugged. “To wherever.”

She smiled. “It would be our pleasure, Clint.”

Rosemary presented Clint's request to the other women.

“He wants to come with us?” Jenny asked.

“Yes.”

“For how long?” Morgan asked.

“I don't know,” Rosemary said. “Maybe until his arm heals.”

“But . . . will it heal?” Jenny asked.

“He hopes so.”

“He did fine with his left hand today,” Delilah pointed out. “I'd feel safer having him along with us the rest of the way. Or part of the way.”