Crossing the Line (8 page)

The woman was a foot shorter than Clint and had her full, wavy hair tied back by a bandanna. Clint couldn't tell much about her build because she was dressed in a sleeping gown that hugged her figure almost as well as a gunnysack. Her skin wasn't as dark as Carl's, but her eyes and facial features showed the family ties that bound them.

“What took you so long to get here?” she asked as she propped her hands upon her hips. “I was worried sick.”

“Ran into a bit of trouble,” Carl said.

“Trouble? Are you all right?”

“I walked all the way home, didn't I?”

She scowled at Carl and then turned her attention to Clint. “And who's this?”

“I'm Clint Adams. Pleasure to meet you.” As he stepped forward, Clint held out his hand. She shook it reluctantly, which also gave him a chance to get a better look at her face. Even in the dark, he could make out her high cheekbones and full lips. Her eyes may have been angry at the moment, but it was easy to tell they'd be pretty once there wasn't so much fire in them.

“Since my sister isn't of a mind to be neighborly, I'll do the honors,” Carl said. “Her name's Sadie and she's pleased to meet you.”

“I can say for myself who I'm pleased to meet,” she snapped. Shrugging as if she was surprised to hear that come from her own mouth, Sadie nodded to Clint and asked, “Did you help my brother out of his trouble?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She smirked at the formality in Clint's tone and said, “Then I am pleased to meet you.”

“Can we come inside now or should we just freeze out here?” Carl asked.

“Come on in. Nobody's stopping you,” Sadie replied as she stepped aside so both men could walk through the door.

The cabin was somewhat bigger than Clint had been expecting. There was a large space in the center that consisted of a kitchen and dining area at the back, with a sitting room at the front. On either side of that space was a door leading to what must have been bedrooms. The structure was sound enough, but wasn't quite like anything Clint had seen before. “Did you build this yourself?” he asked.

“I had some help from my uncle and a few cousins, but I had a hand in all of it, more or less.”

Sadie chuckled once under her breath and said, “Less rather than more, if I remember correctly.”

“Maybe Mister Adams would like some coffee,” Carl said as he glared at his sister.

Clint shook his head. “No, thanks. I'll just take a look at those tools.”

“You're here to look at tools?” Sadie asked. “At this hour?”

“Will you hush?” Carl scolded.

This time, Sadie wasn't about to fight back. She raised her hands in surrender and walked into one of the side rooms. When she opened the door, Clint got a glimpse of a good-sized bed and a wardrobe. He couldn't see much more than that before she shut herself in for the night.

“This is a nice home you've got,” Clint said.

“Thank you. I'd hate to have to pick up and leave this place.”

“Why would you have to do something like that?”

Carl lowered his head and retreated into his shell like a turtle, in much the same way he'd been doing since Clint had first met him. He didn't answer the question, but he had to have been thinking along the same lines as Clint. Finally, Carl said, “Tools are in a shed outside. Come see for yourself.”

Following the other man back outside, Clint didn't even bother looking for a shed. Instead, he let his eyes wander along the jagged line of the horizon that looked out onto Trickle Creek. The town was dark for the most part, but had a few torches lit along the streets. Some of the windows had flickering lights behind them as well, but the whole area seemed to mostly be asleep.

Stopping at a small shed, Carl dug in his pocket for a key and took his time fitting it into a lock on the narrow door. “So, do you think they'll come?”

“Who?”

Carl looked over to Clint with a crooked scowl on his face. “You know who. And before you waste your breath, don't bother trying to tell me you came all this way at this ungodly hour just to look at a shed full of tools.”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn't,” Clint admitted. Judging by the way Carl shook his head, he was having a much easier time believing the former rather than the latter.

They arrived less than half an hour later.

Clint spotted the first man approaching from the east side of town, circling around to come at Carl's house from the rear. Knowing there would be others, Clint kept looking until he spotted the second man trying to circle around toward the front of the house. Once he had those two picked out, Clint searched for the third.

“I see him,” Carl whispered.

Clint looked at the spot where Carl was pointing, but couldn't see anything other than shadows. “Where?”

“Right there. Just passing those trees now.”

Squinting at the trees, Clint was finally able to spot movement that couldn't possibly have been caused by the wind or an animal. Nodding, he said, “One of them looks big enough to be the fellow who pulled the knife on you earlier. That means the other two are probably George and his other friend.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Missionaries?”

Carl glanced over and laughed under his breath.

“Right,” Clint said. “That'd be too much to hope for. Why don't you get inside and make sure your sister is safe.”

“I will not hide in the house to leave you out here.”

“If you're so capable of doing this, why did you seek out my help in the first place?” When he didn't get a reply to that, Clint said, “That's what I thought.”

“At least let me help.”

“The best thing you could do for me is get inside and make sure your sister is safe and away from the windows. After that, light a few lanterns inside.”

“Moths to a flame, huh?” Carl asked.

“That's the idea.” With that, Clint hunched down and rushed away from the house.

He heard Carl go inside, but he wasn't about to stay put long enough to see if the other man carried out his request. Clint was too busy running from shadow to shadow, bush to bush, and tree to tree in order to get closer to the biggest figure he'd spotted. He went for the big one for two reasons. First of all, he knew the big fellow was fairly slow. Second, it would be more difficult for George and the other one to tell what was going on, since the big man already stuck out like a stump.

As Clint made his way around the big man, he didn't even see the lumbering fellow turn in his direction. Only when Clint was less than ten feet away and accidentally stepped on a branch did the big man stop and take notice. By that time, however, it was too late.

Clint stayed low and rushed at the big man with his arms held open wide. When the big man turned to face him, Clint grabbed the man's gun arm and twisted it to the side. He used his other hand to reach along the big man's belt to feel for the blade that had been there before. Sure enough, the man had collected his knife after the last time Clint had taken it from him. Clint relieved him of the blade once again and pressed it up under the big man's chin.

The big man either didn't feel the sharpened steel against his neck or he was tired of being kicked around, because he stuck his free hand straight out to clamp it around Clint's throat. He squeezed and bared his teeth like an animal going in for the kill.

Clint couldn't draw a breath.

In a few seconds, he wouldn't be able to see. Bright red blobs danced across his field of vision as the big man did his damnedest to choke the life out of him. Rather than try to kick or squirm, Clint pressed the one advantage he already had by jamming the blade up under the big man's chin until blood trickled along the handle.

“What are you doing here?” Clint asked.

“Payin' you and the nigger a visit.”

“Couldn't leave well enough alone?”

“You and that cheater made things this way,” the big man said. “We just aim to finish 'em.”

“All right. Let's see what your friends' intentions are.” After saying that, Clint turned toward the cabin and shouted, “Hey, George! Looking for me?”

“That's him!” George said from the distance. “Over there! I see him!”

Although the big man started shouting something back, his voice was washed out by the sudden outbreak of gunfire. If Clint needed any confirmation as to whether George meant to kill him or Carl, he had it now. Simply hearing Clint's voice had been enough to unleash a torrent of gunfire.

Clint let go of the big man and slipped away before he could be caught. That left the big man to his own devices, but he was also under a whole lot of fire. Rather than try to chase Clint or signal his partners, the big man dropped down and covered his head with both hands. Considering the lead flying all around him, it was the smartest move he could have made.

The gunfire tapered off quickly enough. A few seconds later, George hollered, “I get you, Adams? What about your darkie friend?”

“It's just me, you stupid son of a bitch!” the big man cried. “Adams ran off already.”

A man stood up and George started walking toward him. The moment George opened the cylinder of his pistol to reload, the man who'd just gotten to his feet aimed his own gun at him.

“You really are stupid,” Clint said.

Just then, the big fellow started to get up from where he'd been crouching. Seeing that George had walked toward Clint by mistake, the big fellow stayed down.

“Call your other friend back here,” Clint said.

“Why the hell would I do that? Your nigger friend owes me.”

“He's got a name,” Clint told him as he sighted along the top of his modified Colt. “And I suggest you start using it.”

“My other friend's got a name too,” George said. “But you don't got to worry about that. He'll introduce himself to that sweet piece of dark meat any time now.”

Clint looked toward the cabin and judged the front door was no more than thirty or forty yards away. The third intruder of the night was approaching the door and reaching out for the handle.

“Go on and head inside,” George shouted. “I'll be along directly.”

Clint watched the third man for a few more seconds, which was just long enough to spot the gun in the intruder's hand. The man tried to open the door, but found it to be locked. He then lifted a foot and opened the door with one vicious kick. Before his foot came down again, Clint's pistol spat one round that hissed through the air to drill a hole clean through that shin. The would-be intruder's leg snapped to the side as if it had been tied to a runaway bronco, spinning the man ninety degrees and sending him to the ground.

Carl stepped into the doorway holding a rifle and a shocked expression that Clint could see even from where he was standing.

“Anyone else want to try and force their way into that man's home?” Clint asked.

The big fellow remained on his knees and raised both hands up over his head.

George was chomping at the bit to take Clint up on his offer, but didn't quite have the sand to see it through. Instead, he fell back to the one thing he knew he could do well enough. “You're all dead!” he blustered. “That n—”

Clint cut that short by thumbing back the hammer of his Colt. The modified pistol didn't require the movement, but the metallic click was loud enough to get the job done.

When he spoke again, George acted as if he was forcing each word out through his teeth. “Carl, his sister, and you, Mister Adams. You are all dead. Ain't nobody gonna stand for their kind treatin' hardworkin' men like this.”

“They didn't do a thing,” Clint said. “It was all me, and I'll be glad to explain myself to anyone you'd like. I'm pretty certain there are plenty of folks around here who'll believe you and your friends are a bunch of back-shooting idiots.”

George may have been too frightened to say anything else, or he may have simply been unable to dispute Clint's words. Whichever it was, he started walking toward the house without another threat or complaint.

“Leave him,” Clint said. “Just go and we'll bring your friend back to Pace's.”

George showed his true colors that night. Not only did he turn and run, but he left his partner without a second thought.

Just to be on the safe side, Clint slept at Carl's house that night. He actually didn't get much sleep at all, since the only place for him to stretch out was in an old rocking chair in the sitting room. He had blankets to keep him warm, and even a pillow, but none of that was enough to make the wooden slats more bearable upon his back and shoulders. After it was too late to even try to sleep any longer, Clint realized he would have had better luck lying on the ground.

“You're up bright and early,” Sadie said as she shuffled from her room and into the kitchen.

Rather than air out a few truthful complaints, Clint nodded and rubbed his neck. “The sun's up, so I am too.”

“Will you be staying on then, kind of like our own personal scarecrow?” When she saw the expression on Clint's face, Sadie laughed and shook her head. “Never mind me. After hearing all the fire and brimstone my brother was saying last night, it's a wonder the world hasn't ended by now.”

Clint watched her move about to prop open some windows and collect a few cups to go along with the kettle in her hand. She still wore her sleeping gown, but wasn't as careful to wrap it around her. She must have been comfortable around Clint, because she went about her business without making certain every lace was cinched up or checking that her collar was properly situated. She wasn't exactly putting on a show, but Clint did get a few glimpses of her smooth, dark skin.