Pariah (20 page)

Clint peered through his spyglass to discover the piles of broken wood surrounding the large campfire were actually stagecoaches, carriages, and a few smaller carts that had been dragged to form a crude circle. It was getting dark, but the fire threw enough light onto the shells of cracked wood for Clint to tell they'd barely made it through the rocky pass to what had to be their final resting place. The broken coaches weren't in good enough condition to make a comfortable settlement, but they did a good enough job of sheltering the men in the camp from the elements.

“If they're holding prisoners,” Eddie said, “they'd be in that big coach in back.”

“They're holding prisoners?” Clint asked.

“They're kidnappers, ain't they? They gotta have a spot to hold their prisoners until a ransom is paid or until they used all the women up.”

Clint lowered the spyglass and glared at Eddie.

The bounty hunter shrugged and said, “I ain't the one to kidnap anyone. You think a man like Kyle Morrow just keeps them ladies around to play tag?”

Placing the spyglass to his eye again, Clint continued to study the camp. Sure enough, the coach at the back of the circle was in better condition than the others. Its windows were also boarded up and its door was kept shut by a thick piece of timber wedged between it and the ground. “I only count four men in the camp.”

“The rest might'a gone into town,” Eddie said. “If we sneak in now, we might be able to get the drop on them.”

“Unless it's a trap,” Clint pointed out. “I hate to trust something that looks too good to be true.”

“They won't be expecting us,” Tumen said. “Isn't that why we've worked so hard to find this place?”

“The big fella's got a point,” Eddie said. “They wanted to hunt down that pretty lady of yours because she knew how to get here and could lead someone back to them. They killed that other lady for the same reason. Since we're here, let's show them why they needed to be so afraid of them two ladies.”

Clint put the spyglass into his saddlebag. “I like the way you think.”

 

The three of them rode toward the camp as if they had every right to be there and no reason to fear the men guarding its perimeter. Two men stood at the spot where the sorry excuse of a trail met up with the broken wagons. One of them let out a series of whistles, but as soon as they got a look at Clint and Eddie, they raised rifles to their shoulders.

Clint brought up his Colt to point it at the closest guard. He pulled his trigger a split second before his two partners followed suit. Clint's round hit the rifleman in the chest and knocked him off his feet. Just to be sure, Clint swung down from his saddle and put a second round into the fallen guard.

The man posted at the other side of the trail fired a shot, but it was done in a rush and hissed through the air between Clint and Eddie. He didn't get a chance to fire again, since the bounty hunter spun him around with a quick shot to the left shoulder. Before the guard could regain his footing or fall over, Tumen rode up and threw his knife at him.

The long blade turned once in the air and landed in the guard's chest with a solid
thunk
. Dropping his rifle, the guard looked down at the knife protruding from him and gasped without making a sound. Tumen stepped forward to reclaim his weapon amid a spray of blood. Once the knife was removed from where it had landed, the guard could only drop and feel his life pour out of him.

Clint had his eyes set upon the wagon near the back of the camp. Between him and that wagon, there were two armed men. Both of them were reaching for their guns

At that moment, everything seemed to slow to a crawl. Clint walked with grim resolve into the glow of the campfire. He barely felt the ground beneath his feet since his mind was full of so many different images. He thought about Maddy's sweet face and then recalled the image of her grave. He thought about Lylah's tears as well as the touch of her hands upon his cheek. When he heard the women screaming for help from within the large wagon that Eddie had singled out, Clint had heard enough.

“Let them go!” Clint demanded.

Both of the armed men were on their feet, holding their guns, a second or two from putting them to use. One man had raised his shotgun, and the other man's pistol was just shy of clearing leather. Since Tumen had taken position to Clint's right, they now had more than one target to choose from.

“Let who go?” the man with the pistol asked.

But the shotgun holder was thinking a bit clearer. “You mean the fancy bitches? I can give you a turn with one of 'em, if you like. That should keep you busy for the last few seconds of yer life.”

Eddie had spent the last few moments creeping around the outside of the camp so he could get a look into the large wagon. When he pulled one of the boards away from a window on the side facing away from the fire, the creaking, splintering sound tore through the air.

“Stop!” Clint shouted as the man with the shotgun turned in response to Eddie's commotion. “Throw down your weapons,” Clint said.” Last chance. Either way, the prisoners are coming with us.”

“The hell they are!” the pistoleer said. His words set his partner off as well, and both of them followed through on the motions they'd started just a few moments ago.

Being closer to the pistoleer, Clint focused on him first. As he fired three times in quick succession, he concentrated on making certain no bullets tore through a wagon where more prisoners might be kept. Each of his rounds found its mark, launching the pistoleer into a twitching dance that ended with him slamming against the wagon before sliding to the ground.

Tumen rushed at the man guarding the prisoners. Either he wanted to keep from shooting into the large wagon or he just liked that knife of his, because he ran straight at the shotgunner without making a move toward the gun hanging at his side. The guard panicked and fired his shotgun into the dirt as Tumen got to him. After that, the bigger man's knife found a home in the shotgunner's guts.

Clint kicked out the board wedged against the wagon's door and pulled it open. Seven women and one old man were huddled in the shadows, staring out at him as if they were too frightened to move. “Come on,” Clint said as he extended a hand to them. “You're going home.”

It was hours before Clint heard the sound of horses approaching the camp. Those hoofbeats were followed by a series of whistles similar to the ones given by the guards earlier that night. Ignoring what must have been a signal, Clint stood up from where he'd been waiting and placed his hand upon the grip of his holstered Colt.

“Wake up, Georgie!” someone shouted. “Get yer dick out of them ladies and line 'em up. I don't know which one I want yet.”

Clint recognized the first horseman as Ayden—the man whose trigger finger he'd snapped back at the stagecoach platform. As soon as Ayden rode close enough for the firelight to touch his face, Eddie sent a rifle round straight through his skull.

The remaining horsemen scattered and fired wildly toward the camp.

“What the hell?” another man asked.

The next voice was strong enough to cut through the chaos and silence all but a few last shots. “Don't shoot till you see who you're shootin' at. Anyone kills one'a them women, they best compensate me for what they're worth.”

Clint shook his head and planted his feet, grateful that the kidnappers had announced their intent as well as their presence.

Now that the gunshots had tapered off, the sound of cautious footsteps could be heard. They encircled the camp and closed in like a snare. When Clint heard someone approaching the wagon where he waited, he shifted his eyes and watched as the figure moved in closer. Whoever it was had his gun drawn and was slowly bringing it up to take good aim at Clint. Before the figure could raise its gun any more, Tumen lunged from the shadow where he'd been crouched and lopped the man's gun hand off with one swipe of his extended blade.

The gunman dropped to one knee, gasping in shock at the loss of his hand. That gasp became a wet gurgle as Tumen dragged his blade across the kidnapper's throat.

“Who's there?” another man asked as he inched cautiously toward the camp while keeping his shoulder pressed against the wagon that was closest to the trail.

“You'd be Kyle Morrow?” Clint asked.

The cautious man squinted toward the fire over the barrel of his pistol. “You got that right. Who're you? The law?”

Clint stepped out from the thick pool of shadow between the now-empty prisoner wagon and the other one at the rear of the camp. “I came for the prisoners. That's all you need to know.”

“Looks like you already got 'em.” Morrow said.

“I'll give you one chance to drop your guns so I can haul you and what's left of your men to jail.”

“Really? Ain't that just sweet of you.”

“It's more of a chance than you gave Madeline Gerard.”

“Oh, you mean that bitch I gutted in Tombstone? I suppose you're right about that.”

Clint pulled in a breath and surveyed the camp. Kyle Morrow was a skinny man with a sunken face and a mustache that looked more like a fungus that had taken root under his nose. His stringy brown hair hung down from a dirty bowler hat that had a feather stuck in the band. Two other men lingered at the camp's perimeter, one of whom was soon dropped by a rifle shot that came without warning.

“Took too long,” Eddie said from the roof of the wagon that was on the opposite side of the fire from the one the prisoners had occupied.

That left one more man to stand with Kyle Morrow. Since Tumen was nowhere to be seen, they must have figured it was as good a time as any to make their move.

Morrow already had his pistol drawn, so he shifted his arm to aim at Clint. Without so much as a flinch in the corner of one eye to mark the moment, Clint fired from the hip and clipped Morrow through the ribs. From there, Clint dropped to one knee and fired again.

Morrow's last surviving partner meant to shoot as well, but was having trouble breathing, thanks to the huge knife sticking out of his chest. Clint hadn't seen the knife get thrown, but he did catch sight of a large figure to his left approaching the fire. Ignoring everything else around him, Tumen approached Morrow's partner to finish him off and take back his favorite weapon.

To his credit, Morrow kept his focus where it needed to be. He fired at Clint, but missed due to his haste and Clint's shifting stance. Before he could lower his aim, Morrow caught another one of Clint's rounds in the chest. Morrow gritted his teeth through that, just as he'd fought through the other hits and kept firing.

Clint stood up and saved his final round. Morrow was hurt and starting to fade, which meant his shots were being dragged farther and farther from their mark. When Morrow's hammer fell upon the back of an empty bullet casing, his barrel was pointed at the fire. Even as he staggered back and plopped onto his ass, Morrow was digging under his jacket for another pistol stuck under his belt.

After taking careful aim, Clint sent his last bullet through Kyle Morrow's face and scattered pulpy brain matter across the wagon behind him.

As the last rumble of gunfire echoed into the night, a steely wind blew through the camp. The breeze fanned the flames of the campfire, bringing a few pops from the cinders.

Eddie grunted as he clambered down from atop his perch. Clint saw tentative fingers scraping at the dirt beneath that same wagon.

“It's all right,” Clint said while reloading his Colt. “You can come out now.”

The prisoners crawled out from beneath the wagon, but looked as if they wanted to go right back under there when they saw the gruesome scene before them. The old man looked up at Clint and said, “They keep their money over there.”

Eddie looked over at the smallest of the broken-down wagons before running over to it. After a few seconds, he let out a happy yelp and said, “There's a bunch of saddlebags in here.” There was some more rustling, followed by even more joyous whoops. “Sure as shit! They're stuffed full of money!”

“It's ransom money paid for some of the other girls they kidnapped,” the old man said. “Those bastards kept it and never returned anyone to their families.”

“How many bags are there, Eddie?” Clint shouted.

“Six! All stuffed with—”

“Take one for yourself and give one to Tumen. Hand the rest over to these folks.”

The bounty hunter looked positively appalled when he stuck his head out of the wagon. Tumen had taken position just outside the broken doorway, which made Eddie's task a little easier. When the saddlebag was handed out to him, Tumen took it and looked inside.

“Is there enough in there to make up for what was taken from your people?” Clint asked.

Tumen grinned and nodded.

“Then we're done and Eddie can go. Thanks for your help, big man.”

After gripping Clint's hand in a friendly shake, Tumen walked back to his horse.

“The rest goes to these people, Eddie. See to it.”

One by one, Eddie tossed out four saddlebags. Then the bounty hunter climbed out of the wagon, carrying another bag over his shoulder. “Hardly seems fair,” he chuckled.

“Morrow's carcass is worth a pretty penny,” Clint said. “He's all yours, along with whoever else you want to drag away from here. You'll hand over some of that cash to me to make up for my portion of the work, and the rest goes to these folks that Morrow wronged. Seems fair to me.”

“No, that's not what I meant,” Eddie replied as he stuck his hand into the saddlebag and pulled out a wad of cash. Handing it over to Clint, he said, “I mean these assholes. Putting them down was like shooting fish in a barrel. I ain't complaining, but still . . .”