Clint stomped out of the lawman's office and jumped onto Eclipse's back so he could race to the Western Union office. Even though the dark wouldn't have been much of a hindrance, since the area was mostly flat and the Western Union office was easy enough to see, he knew he'd only be madder if he took the time to walk rather than ride.
He arrived at the Western Union office amid a thunder of hooves and dropped down from the saddle before Eclipse even came to a full stop. From there, Clint walked to the door and pulled the knob. It was locked.
Looking through all the windows he could find, Clint couldn't see the first hint of movement inside the place. In fact, considering the conversation he'd just had, he wouldn't have been surprised if Galloway was still stinking up his office.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Clint woke up early the next morning, had breakfast downstairs, and took some extra time to savor another cup of coffee. He found a copy of the local newspaper folded up on the front desk, but saw that it was almost a week old. He read it anyway while sitting on a rocking chair situated on the boardwalk just outside the hotel.
The streets weren't busy, but they weren't empty, either. Most of the horses were showing up a little farther away, where the Western Union office and stagecoach platforms had been built. Clint counted half a dozen coaches coming and going as he sat and read the newspaper. Some of the new arrivals made their way into town, but most of them stayed just long enough to catch another coach and be on their way.
At first, Clint was aggravated that nobody seemed too concerned with finding out what had happened to the Western Union men. Then, he decided to let the law do whatever they wanted. The town was small enough that all Clint needed to do to keep abreast of any major happenings was keep his eyes and ears open.
If another body was found, he would hear about it.
If someone was killing those left in Johnny's wake, they would soon be after Clint.
And if someone was after Clint, sooner or later they would find him.
By sitting out in plain sight and keeping a lookout, Clint figured he would be found sooner rather than later.
In fact, he had to wait even less than he figured.
Clint was about done with his paper. He leaned back in his chair with his legs crossed and the paper held up in front of him. Although he was able to read easily enough, he was also able to watch the street over the top of the paper. There were only a few buildings in front of him, which meant relatively few windows to watch.
Spotting the man across the street, Clint glanced at him over the top of the newspaper to get a better look. Sure enough, the man was looking at him. He was also armed. Clint lowered the paper, folded it, and set it down beside his chair. He then got up and locked eyes with the other man.
Mackie stared back at him. His hand remained close to his own holster, but not so close as to raise an eyebrow.
Holding his ground, Clint took another look around. It wasn't so easy now, since he had to make certain not to let Mackie out of his sight. He managed to keep the other man in his field of vision as he searched for anyone else positioned in a way that might mark them as Mackie's backup. As far as Clint could tell, Mackie was the only one he needed to be concerned about. When Clint took one step toward the street, Mackie turned his back on him and walked around to the back of a shop facing the hotel.
Clint let the other man go, knowing all too well that the one spot he couldn't check was the top of the hotel itself. As much as he wanted to have a word with that other man, he wasn't about to walk into the open and put his back to a possible marksman along the way.
Instead, Clint hurried into the hotel and bolted up the stairs. He nearly stampeded over a short Chinese woman carrying an armful of blankets down the hall.
“How do I get to the roof?” Clint asked.
“Why the roof?”
Rather than coming up with a likely story, Clint produced a silver dollar from his pocket and slipped it between her hand and the bottommost blanket.
“A ladder goes to the attic,” she said. “It's in the closet there.”
Clint looked to where she nodded and saw the narrow, unmarked door just outside of his reach. Leaning that way, he opened the door and saw the brooms and buckets piled on the floor. There was also a short length of rope dangling from a hatch in the ceiling.
“Much obliged,” Clint said with a tip of his hat.
The Chinese woman muttered something about the sanity of white men as she continued about her business.
Clint could already hear footsteps pounding over his head as he tugged on the rope and brought the rickety ladder down. One of the old rungs started to snap as he climbed the ladder, but Clint was moving too fast to break it all the way through.
The attic was a dirty space that felt like a cross between a coffin and a stove. Angular walls closed in on him, forcing Clint to hunker down as he shuffled across the floor. By the time he found the hatch leading to the roof, the hot, dusty air had almost completely run out. Clint gasped for breath as he pushed open the door and stuck his head outside.
Although the roof was slightly angled, it was a whole lot easier for Clint to keep his balance up there than it had been to move through the attic. To his right was the back of the hotel's main sign. To his left was a good portion of the roof itself. Directly in front of him was one of the steeper slopes as well as a slender figure running toward the edge with a rifle in his hand.
As Clint sped to try and catch up to the other man, his boot skidded on a few loose shingles. His other leg stomped forward to catch his weight as his left arm swung out to try and grab hold of something to keep from falling. Clint managed to regain his balance before dropping off the side, and he immediately broke into a run.
After a few close calls, Clint got the hang of moving on the roof. Unfortunately, the man he'd spotted had already jumped onto the roof of the neighboring building.
Common sense screamed at Clint to take a moment and look before he leapt.
The rest of his body and mind overruled that sound advice, and his legs pumped even harder to gain more steam before reaching the edge of the roof. He got there all too soon, and Clint planted one foot on the edge while stretching out with his other leg.
It wasn't until he was hanging there, three floors up with nothing but air between himself and the ground, that Clint realized he might have just made a big mistake.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The tip of Clint's boot scraped against the edge of the neighboring roof. In the split second that followed, he swore the next thing he would feel was the snapping of his bones as he dropped to the ground. What he actually felt was the bottom of his other boot knocking against the roof and skidding along its surface.
Rather than take any time to count his blessings, Clint used the rest of his momentum to lunge forward before his first leg slipped all the way off the side. That foot didn't find a grip anywhere, but only knocked against the edge before he was able to pull himself up. Gritting his teeth against the biting pain in his shin, Clint looked for the man he was after.
While Clint had almost made a mistake in jumping between rooftops, the other man made a mistake by watching him do it. Now that Clint obviously wasn't going to fall, the other man turned his back to him and kept moving.
The next building over was a bit shorter and wider, which made it an easier jump. The man Clint was chasing cleared the gap with ease and was running as soon as his boots hit the roof.
As he charged toward the far edge of the hotel's roof, Clint watched where the other man was headed and figured he could make up some ground by running along the front side of that building. Adding a bit more steam into his steps, Clint took off much better than he had before and sailed through the air to land hard on both feet.
The jolt of the landing sent a ripple through his legs and a few sparks of pain through his knees, but Clint got moving again without too much effort. As he'd figured, the other man was running at an angle toward him and should meet up with Clint before either man reached the next jump.
Clint was close enough to see a bit more of the man he was after. He couldn't make out much of his face, but Clint could see the dark color of the man's skin and the guns he wore. Since Eli had yet to look over his shoulder at him, Clint fixed his eyes upon the black man's back like a hawk swooping in for the kill.
Suddenly, a shot cracked from the street and blew a chunk of wood a few inches from Clint's feet. Clint's first reaction was to turn and look while also heading for cover. That awkward combination of movements was almost enough to trip him up for good, but Clint kept himself upright. Slowing himself down, he looked over the edge of the roof to find Mackie standing on the boardwalk across the street from the hotel.
Clint got a fleeting glimpse of Mackie sighting down his barrel, which caused him to dive for the roof. Before his hands even slapped against the hot shingles on top of the hotel, Clint heard the second shot fired from Mackie's gun.
Lead whipped over Clint's head. All he had to do from there was roll away from the front of the roof and he was no longer able to be seen from street level. That only left him with one more person to deal with, and he wasn't about to let Eli get away so easily.
Keeping his head low, Clint got his legs beneath him and started running again. He could see Eli heading for the edge of the roof and looking back before jumping. Clint drew his modified Colt and aimed as if he were simply pointing his finger.
Clint waited for Eli to reach the edge of the roof.
He waited a bit more, until Eli built up his speed.
The moment Eli pushed off from the edge of the roof, Clint fired a shot which caught Eli as if he were a can that had been tossed into the air for target practice.
Eli let out a pained yelp and dropped.
Clint couldn't tell how well Eli had landed, but he knew the black man wouldn't be running so quickly anymore. Before Eli got a chance to collect himself and move on, Clint rushed toward the front of the building and ducked behind a rectangular sign. When he peeked over the top of it, Clint saw Mackie crossing the street while looking toward the spot where Eli had made his jump.
Clint looked down and realized he was much closer to the ground than he had been on top of the hotel. Since it seemed as though Mackie hadn't caught sight of him just yet, Clint moved behind the sign as Mackie walked below him.
After all that shooting, Mackie was the only one left on the street. Clint apologized under his breath for anyone he might have missed as he slammed his shoulder against one corner of the sign and fired a shot at the opposite corner.
With the combined impacts of Clint's shoulder and his bullet, the sign gave way and dropped from the front of the building. Clint heard a short scream from Mackie before the weathered wooden planks fell onto him like judgment from above.
THIRTY-NINE
As much as Clint hated to admit it, he knew he wasn't going to catch up to Eli. Even though he checked the nearby roofs, Clint couldn't find any trace of him. The next thing he looked for was a way to get down from the roof he was on. Fortunately for him, Mackie wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Clint pulled open the trapdoor at the rear of the roof he was on and found himself looking down at a flat table full of folded blankets. Thankful that luck was on his side for a change, Clint dropped down into a fairly comfortable landing and hopped from the table.
“Pardon me, folks,” he said to the nervous ladies inside the store. “I'll just be going now.”
The store had a little bit of everything, but most of it was clothes. Apparently, almost half of the people in there had ducked in just to get off the street, because they were just as quick to duck right out again. Clint could see the fallen sign laying outside through the front widow. Since it was shifting up and down, he guessed there had to be someone underneath it.
After stepping out of the store, Clint drew his gun again and waited to see who might squirm out from beneath the cracked wooden sign. As soon as Mackie crawled out, Clint placed a foot on the sign and pressed it down on top of him a bit harder.
“Son of a bitch!” Mackie grunted.
Clint was quick to walk around to where Mackie was emerging from beneath the sign, so he could look down at the man's face as he placed his boot once more on the wooden corner. This time, he wasn't so quick to ease up.
“Sorry about that,” Clint said. “Looks like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Mackie wasn't surprised in the least to see Clint's face. In fact, he looked awfully close to spitting up at it. “Stand right there, Adams. My partner's about to put a bullet through your head any moment now.”
“I think he'll have to run back another mile or so to get here,” Clint replied. “He was in a pretty big hurry to get away the last I saw him.”
“Just stay put and we'll find out.”
“Why don't you throw out your gun while we wait?”
“I can't hardly move.”
“Fine.” With that, Clint raised his arm a bit, pointed the Colt at the sign, and pulled his trigger. His bullet punched a hole through the sign that wasn't anywhere close to Mackie's body, but nearly caused the man to jump out of his skin.
Mackie squirmed and shifted between the sign and the boardwalk. After one last twitch, a gun barrel poked out from beneath the fallen wood. “That's as good as I can do,” he snarled.
“You can do a hell of a lot better if you tell me why those two Western Union men were killed.”
“You gonna shoot me? Just do it. Otherwise, save yer fucking breath.”