Defiant (3 page)

“And we’re going to make sure Clint stays safe while he recovers.”

“It’s not going to be easy for him.”

“No. It’s not. Things will never be the same again.”

They both looked up the staircase at the closed bedroom door and understood the torment Clint was facing.

Clint lay unmoving in the bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts dark and troubled.

Guilt filled him.

Why had his entire family been killed along with the ranch hands, yet he alone had survived?

Who had done this to them—and why?

Had his father had enemies who hated him so much that they would kill anyone and everyone at the Lazy W just to get even with him?

Clint remembered the conversation he’d had with his father about the outlaws he’d been tracking. His father had said Glen Tucker and Ax Hansen were involved, and possibly an unknown leader. He’d told him they were the most cold-blooded killers he’d ever seen, and Clint wondered if they were the ones who’d done this.

As he thought of the killers, he had a vague memory of hearing two men talking after he’d been shot. He’d been slipping in and out of consciousness, so he couldn’t be sure if he’d dreamed it or not, but he thought he’d heard them use the names “Ax” and “Tuck.”

Bitterness and hatred grew within Clint.

Could it have been the Tucker Gang?

And then Clint recalled hearing one of them say, “The boss is gonna be real proud”—and he knew his memories were real.

The murderous Tucker Gang had been the ones who’d attacked the ranch.

Had they known his father was about to come after them, so they’d decided to strike first?

A fierce and undying determination grew within him. He didn’t have all the answers right
then, but as soon as he was able, he was going to find out. If Captain Meyers and the posse from town didn’t find the killers, he would.

There would be no place for them to hide once he was on their trail.

Whoever had done this was going to pay.

A week passed. Clint slowly regained some strength. Being incapacitated frustrated him. He was used to being in control and active, and it was difficult for him to deal with his weakness. The wound in his right shoulder seemed to be healing, but he worried the injury might have affected his ability to use his gun. As soon as he was able, he was going to get outside and start practicing his draw. As a Ranger, he had to be accurate with his gun.

Late one afternoon, Clint finally managed to move from the bed to sit in a chair in the bedroom. The effort had been exhausting, but he’d been determined to prove to himself that he could do it. He was just settling in when he heard the sound of horses riding up to the house.

“Who is it?” he asked Mary.

She looked out the window and recognized Captain Meyers and Sheriff Nelson leading the group.

“It’s the posse,” she told him excitedly.

“Are they bringing anybody in?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, for she had no idea how many men had ridden out with the
sheriff in the first place. “I’ll go down and get them, so you can find out.”

Clint waited tensely as she left the room. A few moments later he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He looked up as Captain Meyers walked in.

“Clint—” Captain Meyers was relieved to find him sitting up. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to learn about Clint’s condition when they returned from the futile search for the killers. “You’re better.”

“Yeah, if you can call it that,” Clint answered coldly. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He was interested in only one thing. “What happened? Did you get them?”

“No,” the captain answered in disgust. He’d badly wanted to find the outlaws. Frank had been his friend, and so was Clint. “They split up after they rode out. We went after both gangs, but they headed over rocky terrain, and we lost their trails.”

Clint was furious. “Where were they headed?”

“The three I tracked headed north. Sheriff Nelson and his men followed the other two toward Rim Rock.”

“As soon as I’m able, I’m going after them,” Clint told him angrily.

“I know.” The captain recognized the power of Clint’s resolve.

The two men shared a look of understanding.

“Do you have any idea how long you’ll be laid
up here?” Captain Meyers could tell Clint was still weak despite his fierce determination.

“The doc said it was going to take weeks for me to recover fully,” he answered.

“Let me know when you’re up and about.”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

“What are you going to do about your ranch?”

“The Andersons are going to take care of things for me.”

“Good. If I learn anything about the killers, I’ll let you know. Do you have any idea who they were?”

“I’m pretty sure it was the Tucker Gang. The night of the attack, my father told me he was closing in on them. If he was that close, they would have wanted him out of the way.”

“Yes, they would have. The Tucker Gang is as deadly as they come.”

“That’s what my father said, and I do think I remember hearing the killers say the names Ax and Tuck.”

The captain’s expression grew even more grim. “It was them all right. I’ll stay on it, and I’ll send word to you here if I make any progress. Did your father have any other known enemies you can think of?”

“None that he’d mentioned lately.”

The captain was thoughtful, wanting to consider every possible angle. “What about you? Is there anyone in your past who might have wanted you dead?”

“A few, but I think they’re still locked up.” Clint told him the names of several gunmen who’d vowed revenge when he’d brought them in.

“I’ll check to make sure they’re still in prison. Do you remember anything else that happened that might give us a lead?”

“No. It was the middle of the night, and we were just running for our lives, trying to escape the fire. Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing. We didn’t have a chance. They wanted us all dead.”

“Yes, they did”—the captain paused as his gaze met Clint’s—“but you’re alive.”

Clint nodded. “Yes. I am.”

They understood each other.

“I’m sorry about your family, Clint.” His words were heartfelt. “Your father was a good man and a fine Ranger.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“I want to ride out with you,” Clint ground out in frustration.

“I wish you could, but right now the most important thing is for you to heal. I’ll keep you informed of what’s happening.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Six Weeks Later

Clint was tense as he stood ready to shoot. In an instant, he drew his gun and fired. He hit the target
dead on. His long hours of practice these past two weeks had paid off.

Satisfied that he had his accuracy and fast draw back, Clint turned to face Captain Meyers. He’d arranged to meet with the Ranger captain at the ruins of the Lazy W so he could tell him what he planned to do.

“You were a fast draw before, but I think you may be even quicker now.”

“Good. I need to be.”

“What’s your plan?”

Clint was grim as he explained. “Except for a few people here in the area, everyone believes I was killed during the attack on the ranch. I want it to stay that way. Clint Williams is dead. From now on, I’m Kane McCullough.”

“You want to take on a new identity?” Meyers was surprised.

“Yes, and this is where I need your help—because Kane McCullough is a gunfighter, and he needs a reputation. I want you to get the word out.”

Captain Meyers realized Clint was right. Clint’s going undercover this way just might work. No one would suspect who he really was, since everyone believed he was dead. As a deadly gunman, he could move in the same circles as the killers, and either attempt to join up with them or just bring them down by some trick. One way or the other, the gang’s reign of terror was going to end.

“I can do that,” Meyers said.

“Thanks.”

Captain Meyers reached in his pocket and took out two sheets of folded paper. He handed them over to Clint. “Here are the wanted posters.”

Clint unfolded them and stared down at the rough sketches of Glen Tucker and Ax Hansen.

“Are there any new leads?”

“They’ve been laying low, but I just got word from one of my men that he caught up with one of the gang members in San Miguel, a fellow named Rick. He was ready to bring him in. He wanted to get information out of him, but Rick drew on him and was killed.”

“Did he find out anything about where Tuck or Ax were hiding out?”

“In his saddlebags he found a telegram from John Sanders, another member of the gang, telling him he was holing up in Black Canyon waiting to hear from Tuck.”

“I’m riding to Black Canyon.” Clint’s mood was grim.

“Good luck.” Captain Meyers knew if anyone could bring down this gang, it would be Clint. He was his father’s son.

The two men shook hands.

“Captain—” Clint paused. He’d thought long and hard about this, but he knew what he had to do. He took his Ranger badge out of his pocket and handed it to Meyers. “I’m on my own on this one.”

“There’s no need for you to—” Meyers protested.

“Yes.” Clint looked him straight in the eye. “There is.”

The captain saw the fierceness in his expression and realized there was no point in arguing. “Keep in touch.”

“I will.”

Captain Meyers mounted up. He started to ride away, then reined in and looked back. “Clint—”

Clint looked up at him.

“I’ll be keeping this for you,” Meyers told him as he put the badge in his saddlebag.

Clint only nodded.

The captain rode away, leaving him alone.

There was only one more thing Clint had to do before he headed out.

He made his way to the place where Tony had buried his family. He stood over their graves, staring down at the markers that bore their names.

And then his gaze fell on the marker over the grave that had been dug for him.

Clint Williams
Born February 16, 1852
Died March 23, 1877

Clint realized as he stared at his own marker that he really was dead.

He was dead inside. The man he had once been no longer existed.

Clint turned away and went back to mount up.

He was ready. It was time to start hunting for the killers.

Clint Williams was dead.

Kane McCullough was riding out.

Chapter Three

Black Canyon

“Missy—who’s that?” Clint heard a dance hall girl ask her friend as he strode into the saloon.

“I don’t know, Lily, but I intend to find out,” Missy said brazenly, giving him a sensuous smile. She started toward him.

“Oh, no. I saw him first. He’s mine.”

With that, the one named Lily pushed past her friend, her eyes never leaving him.

“Evenin’, cowboy,” she purred as she joined Clint at the bar. It was obvious she wanted him and she wanted his money. She stood sideways next to him. So he could get a clear view of her low-cut bodice and ample cleavage. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Just passing through,” Clint answered, giving her only a quick glance before telling the barkeep, “Whiskey.”

“You gonna buy me a drink, too, big guy?” She looked up at him and smiled.

“Give the lady whatever she wants,” he directed the bartender, pushing enough money across the bar to pay for both drinks.

“Thanks—I’ll take my usual.” Lily moved a little closer. “You want to go sit at a table?”

“All right.” Clint picked up their drinks and followed her to a quiet table in the back corner. He was after information, and he had a feeling she knew everything that went on in this town.

“Are you going to be in Black Canyon for very long?” she asked hopefully.

“I’ll be here for as long as it takes,” Clint answered cryptically.

Lily gave him a knowing, inviting smile. Playing off his reply, she responded, “We can make it take as long as you want.”

Clint looked up at her more seriously. She was pretty, and he didn’t doubt she was talented enough to live up to her promise, but he wasn’t interested in what she was selling. He had more important things on his mind.

“Fast is what I’m after,” he told her. “I’m looking for someone—maybe you can help me.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“A man who goes by the name of John Sanders. Have you heard of him around town?”

Lily’s eyes widened a bit at the mention of the name. “Yeah, I know of him.”

Clint heard the disgust in her tone and wondered at it. “Is he here in town?”

“Give me twenty dollars and I’ll take you right to the bastard,” Lily offered. “He beat up one of the girls in a drunken rage the other night, and now we all dread it whenever he walks into the saloon.”

Clint handed Lily the money.

She tucked it safely down the bodice of her dress.

“Do you want to finish our drinks first?” she asked.

Clint picked up his glass and drained it in one long swallow. “I’m done.”

Lily pushed her glass aside and stood up. “Mine can wait. Come on.”

“Where is he?” Clint asked as he followed her to the saloon’s swinging front doors.

“Over there,” she told him, pointing to the hotel up the street. “He’s got a room on the second floor.”

“Thanks.”

“If he’s not there, take a look in the other saloons in town. All he does is drink and gamble.”

And kill,
Clint thought as he started from the saloon. He had to get to Tucker as quickly as possible. The longer he took, the more innocent people would die.

“I’m looking for John Sanders,” Clint told the clerk at the hotel’s front desk.

“He’s upstairs right now,” the man answered. “Third room on the left.”

Clint mounted the steps slowly, cautiously. Sanders was a cold-blooded killer, so he had to be ready for anything. The best way to take him was
to catch him by surprise, and that was exactly what Clint planned to do.

He stopped before the door to Sanders’s room and drew his gun. He paused to listen for a moment, then made his move. With one violent kick, he broke in the door and stormed inside to find the half-naked man scrambling to get out of bed and grab his gun.