Pariah

Table of Contents

 

 

 

Clint had less than a second to keep his head from being blown completely off his shoulders. He used that time to grab on to the rail that ran along the top of the stage and swing himself over the edge. His fingers locked around the rail with every ounce of strength he could muster. When his arms reached their limit, his entire body slapped against the side of the stage with an impact he felt all the way down to his toes. Clint's shoulders screamed for mercy, but he somehow managed to hang on as the shotgun blast tore a chunk from the section of roof where he'd just been.

Clint dangled from the stage like a flag at half-mast. His fingers burned, but he couldn't tell if they'd been hit by some buckshot or if they were simply about to snap from the pressure of keeping the rest of him off the ground. It didn't really matter either way. Between the sweat from his hands and blood possibly added to the mix, Clint wasn't going to stay on the coach for long. Every jostling bump that rattled the stage caused him to slip a little farther . . .

Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

 

The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

 

Today's longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

 

An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill's Raiders.

 

Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

 

The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

 

J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he's the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

PARIAH

 

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / January 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Robert J. Randisi.

 

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eISBN : 978-1-101-15961-3

 

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Clint Adams was always amazed by how far a little kindness could stretch. He'd been riding through the Arizona Territories, Tombstone being no more than a day behind him, when he'd stopped in a little town to get a bite to eat. Since he hadn't planned on staying for more than an hour or so, he hadn't even bothered to learn the name of the town. It had a restaurant for him and a trough of water for Eclipse, which were the only two things he was after.

The restaurant was a small establishment run by a family that must have been used to some pretty horrific food because the owner's wife didn't seem to know her way around the kitchen. Clint gnawed on his tough cut of steak, washed it down with some bitter coffee, and was about to pay the damages when he heard a commotion outside in the street.

“What was that?” the middle-aged man asked while his hands were still full of Clint's dirty dishes.

Clint stood up and took some money from his pocket. “I don't know, but it sounded like someone shouting. Maybe I should have a look.”

“Aww, you don't have to do that. We got some law around here and I was just about to offer you some pie that the wife whipped up earlier this afternoon.”

So that explained the acrid scent of burnt sugar and blackened dough.

“No,” Clint said while doing his best to keep the mix of panic and disgust from showing on his face. “I should definitely go have a look. Someone may be in trouble.”

“Are you a lawman?”

Desperate for an excuse to get out of there before the commotion resolved itself and he was forced to sample some poorly made dessert, Clint said, “Yeah. You might say that. This should settle up my bill,” he added while tossing some money onto the table. “Keep the rest.”

That brightened the owner's face well enough. “Much obliged. I can put it toward the purchase of some spices being brought in by a man who has 'em exported all the way from England.”

Or he could pay to hire a real cook. Rather than make that particular suggestion, Clint tipped his hat and hurried out the door. As luck would have it, he wouldn't even need to avoid walking past the restaurant's front window. The shouting was still going on and it was coming from a pair of children being escorted across the street by a tall blonde woman. Clint might have stretched the truth about being a lawman, but he wasn't about to let a lady and two young ones keep screaming until official help arrived.

The blonde woman wore a simple brown dress that was tattered along the hemline and covered in dust. She had a child grasping each of her hands, one of whom was a boy who looked to be around the age of nine, and the other a girl who appeared at least four years younger. The boy had dark skin and short hair, while the girl had the complexion and facial features that hinted at Chinese or some other kind of Asian heritage.

A man in his fifties tugged at the blonde woman's skirts while two more watched and laughed from a few feet away. All three of the men were covered in enough filth to make it seem as if they'd been dragged from the back of a wagon, and Clint doubted they could pool their resources to form one full set of teeth between them.

“Tell that little bitch to stop screamin' or I'll put my foot in her mouth!” the man tugging the blonde's skirt said.

The blonde swatted at the man's hand and did her best to keep the children away from him. “Don't call her that!” she snapped.

“Then what should I call her? Somethin' tells me we'll be seein' a whole lot of each other.”

The other two men chuckled at that, but they didn't take their eyes off the blonde. She was a handsome woman and was unable to hide that fact no matter how high she buttoned her collar or how many shawls she wrapped around her shoulders. Since it wasn't nearly cool enough to warrant so many layers, it seemed she'd been doing her best to avoid this very situation.

After she'd transferred the boy's hand to the same one holding the girl's, the blonde turned so her body was between the men and the children. Without an ounce of fear in her eyes, she turned toward the men and declared, “You won't be seeing us at all!”

“Is that a fact, now?”

“It is. You'll go your way and we'll go ours.”

Hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, the man asked, “And what if my way just happens to lead under them pretty skirts of yers?”

“That'll be enough of that,” Clint said as he walked up to stand between the woman and all three men.

The blonde looked toward him with relief, but then gathered the children closer and eased away. “Thank you, but we'll be just fine. The sheriff will be along shortly.”

“I'm sure he will, ma'am,” Clint said. “Why don't you just go along and get him or do whatever it is you need to do. I'll stay and have a word with these three.”

The blonde backed away, but was hesitant to do so. Once she made it down the boardwalk a little farther, she sat the children down on a low bench and knelt so she was at their eye level when talking to them.

“Move along, asshole,” the first dirty-faced man snarled.

Clint looked at that man and then at the other two. “What's the matter? Can only one of you talk at a time?”

“What if I told you I was her husband and this ain't none of your concern?” the first man asked. The other two remained silent, but they took up a position on either side of him while glaring at Clint.