Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] (18 page)

    Adler wasn't listening. He said in the same tightly controlled, fury-driven voice, "I'm going to kill you. You know that."

    Clayburn didn't believe it. Didn't believe Adler was the man to face him evenly, no matter how crazy with anger he was.

    There was the blank wall of the saloon on Clayburn's right. He turned his head swiftly and looked to his left.

    Wilks was there, standing in an opening between two brown-colored tents. His left arm was in a sling. There was a Colt in his right hand, pointing…

    Clayburn twisted to face Wilks, swerving to one side as he brought his own gun up from its holster. He'd never drawn faster. He fired at Wilks as the gun cleared leather. Wilks' shot roared a hair's-breadth later.

    A small black hole appeared in the middle of Wilks' forehead, the force of the bullet knocking his hat off. Clayburn felt an enormous blow against the right side of his chest that nailed him against the saloon wall. His right arm went entirely numb. His gun hand sank as he saw Wilks topple forward.

    Sagging against the wall, desperately fighting the agony in his chest and the darkness squeezing his brain, Clayburn tried to bring himself around for a shot at Adler. He saw Adler's revolver coming up out of its holster, found his own gun had become too heavy to lift with his right hand. He fumbled for it with his left hand, couldn't seem to find it. Through blurred eyes he watched Adler leveling the revolver at him.

    Ranse Blue fired his rifle from the saloon doorway. The bullet smacked into Adler just below the breast bone and drove him backward. The revolver spilled from his hand. He got a look of mild surprise on his face. Then death took over the expression of his features.

    Through a mist Clayburn watched him fall. Then his own legs gave way. He slid slowly down the wall until his knees touched the ground. He stayed that way, still holding the Colt in his right hand, squinting wearily at the dark shapes that moved toward him through the mists.

    

    

    Clayburn sat propped up on his bed in a log-walled room, playing solitaire on the blanket spread over his legs and lower torso. He handled his right arm awkwardly, keeping it away from the bulge of the bandages under his shirt. His face was paler, leaner. But the dullness was gone from his eyes.

    Wind-whipped snow swept past the room's single window. It had been doing so for two days straight.

    Clayburn placed a jack on a queen. The door opened part way and Cora Sorel looked in. "Oh… You're awake."

    "You know I am," he said in a bored voice. "It's past time for our poker game. You promised to keep me amused, remember?"

    She closed the door and came to the bed. "I was talking over a business deal with Feeney-the man who owns the big saloon."

    "You're too damn money hungry. You could soothe your soul by spending more time with a sick man."

    Cora looked at him gravely. "Dr. Judd says you're getting better fast. He expects you up and around in a couple more days."

    Dr. Judd was actually a dentist who added to his income with doctoring and part-time bartending. But he'd gotten the bullet out, and Clayburn was still alive.

    "A lot he knows," he grumbled. "I'm still weak as a baby. What's he predict about this blizzard?"

    Cora sat on his bed, smoothly gathering up the cards into a deck. "The old-timers around here say we're all going to be stuck in Bannock for at least a month. Horses won't be able to get in or out until the snow packs down hard enough to travel on. That's the reason for my business discussion with Feeney this morning."

    She shuffled the cards with a flowing motion of her slender fingers. "As long as we're going to be stuck here, I thought I might as well run my profits up a little higher. I've bought the gambling concession in Feeney's saloon. And since this is a rough place for a woman to run gambling on her own, I thought you might be interested in going partners with me."

    She looked at him the way she had that night when they'd camped out alone together under the pines. "We make a good team," she reminded him softly, and began dealing out two poker hands.

    Clayburn noticed that she was absent-mindedly dealing every other card from the bottom of the deck.

    They smiled at each other.

    It just might be, Clayburn agreed, an interesting way to spend a snowbound month.