Standoff in Santa Fe (13 page)

Alicia's room was in the front of the Crystal, so she was able to look down at the street. She could see Clint and his friends fanned out in front of the saloon. She could not see Trench and his men, but she knew they were on the boardwalk beneath her. But she
was
able to see the men with rifles that Trench had placed on the roof across the street. And if they were on that roof, they had to be on the roof above her as well. Clint and his friends were sitting ducks.

“Oh my God,” she said, and ran downstairs.

*   *   *

Trench's men all looked to him for their cue. They were all assured of extra money if they came out of this alive. And it was enough money to make it well worth the risk that was involved with facing a bunch of Old West legends.

*   *   *

Craddock had his eyes on Tom Horn, who was looking right back at him. They only had eyes for each other, leaving the other men to deal with one another.

This was where Craddock expected to collect the considerable bounty he'd come for.

*   *   *

Killin' Jim Miller was simply in the mood to kill someone—anyone.

Why else would they call him Killin' Jim?

*   *   *

Clint was prepared for Trench to call the play, and the way he'd call it was to go for his gun. He was probably no fast draw, but a steady hand with a gun. A man who didn't panic, and could shoot, was much more dangerous than a fast gun. Fast guns often missed their first shot. A man with a steady hand did not miss.

Craddock was the same. He'd make his move smoothly and assured, not particularly fast. Clint decided to leave the bounty hunter to Horn.

But this surely wasn't all they would have to deal with. It couldn't be. His back was just itching way, way too much, and that was always bad news.

*   *   *

Trench took his time. He knew he was facing men of ability, men of experience, men who had killed before, but he still felt they had to be straining to pull their guns. And they were waiting for him.

Let them wait . . .

*   *   *

What the hell was holding everything up? Sheriff Burle wondered.

In his office Ben Conlon was waiting for the sound of shots.

Alicia was leading a man up the stairs to the second floor, and to the hatch that led to the roof.

Even the patrons of the saloon, who knew something was going on, were straining to hear.

Everybody was waiting for Trench.

*   *   *

Trench finally moved, and everything was set into motion . . .

Clint was impressed.

Trench not only drew coolly and smoothly, but was pretty fast. Still, while Trench made the first move, the first shot was fired by the Gunsmith.

And then all hell broke loose . . .

*   *   *

Horn and Craddock drew together, and as Horn heard the first shot, he extended his gun toward the bounty hunter. They were both very deliberate, and fired at almost the same time . . .

*   *   *

The others knew that Clint was going to take Trench first, and Horn would handle Craddock. Bat and Luke drew their guns and simply began firing at the bodies in front of them.

Heck Thomas drew and immediately turned to fire at the rooftops behind them, as planned. If there had been no guns there, he would have turned back, but he quickly saw that the assumption they had all made had been correct. Trench had set up an ambush.

Bass Reeves drew and turned his attention to the rooftops above and in front of them. Surprised that there were no guns there, he quickly turned and assisted Heck Thomas with the guns that were behind them. Rifles fell from that roof, and men tumbled after them . . .

*   *   *

Clint's bullet struck Trench in the chest and drove him back through the batwing doors into the saloon, where he landed on his back, dead. The bartender left the bar and ran up to Conlon's office.

“Boss,” he said, busting in, “Trench is dead!”

“Damn it!” Conlon said. He opened his top drawer, took out a gun, and set it on the desktop. “Get out!”

*   *   *

Craddock felt Horn's bullet as it punched into his shoulder. He fired, saw his bullet strike Horn in the side, but he knew it wasn't a killing shot. Neither was Horn's first, but his second hit Craddock in the chest, sent him crashing through the saloon window, where he joined Trench on the floor . . .

*   *   *

Killin' Jim Miller immediately saw that things were not going well. His horse was in front of the saloon, so he ran for it, mounted up, and rode out. No one cared that he was riding out, only that he wasn't shooting at them.

*   *   *

As Trench fell through the batwing doors, Clint turned his attention elsewhere. He also looked at the rooftops above them, but had no time to wonder why no one was shooting at them from there. He began firing at the uniformed security force, who seemed to be in a panic now that their boss was dead. Maybe they were wondering if they'd still get paid. But first they'd have to come through this alive.

As uniformed men fell in the street, the remaining force tossed their guns down and put their hands up.

It was over . . .

*   *   *

They checked the bodies to be sure they were dead. Clint looked around, expecting to see either Sheriff Burle or Ben Conlon, but neither man appeared.

“What happened up there?” Bat said, looking up at the rooftops. “Why put guns behind us, but not above us?”

“I don't know, but—”

At that moment the batwings opened and four men in uniforms came out, their hands in the air, with Elfego Baca behind them. He holstered his gun and smiled at Clint.

“These
pendejos
were on the roof. I think perhaps they were looking for trouble. I saved them.”

“Much obliged, Elfego,” Clint said.

“That was sure a big help,” Heck Thomas said.

“Por nada, mis amigos,”
Baca said. “I am happy to help. And am I to assume there will be no wake?”

“Probably not,” Clint said, “but we were just going to go and check on that.”

“Bueno,”
the young lawman said. “I will remain out here and help.”

Since the sheriff had not appeared, Bass Reeves—still wearing his deputy's badge—took control of the situation.

“Ready to go see Conlon?” Clint asked Bat.

“Yeah,” Bat said. “But this time I think I'll shoot him.”

Clint and Bat marched into Conlon's office without knocking. From down the hall, Alicia came out and crept to the open doorway.

From behind his desk, Conlon looked up at them. His gun was still on the desk in front of him.

“Time for us to take a look at that body, Conlon,” Bat said.

“Trench?”

“Dead,” Clint said, “along with a bunch of his men.”

“There are still some men in that room with the casket,” Conlon said.

“Well, you're gonna tell them to open the door and put down their guns,” Bat said.

“What for?”

“So we can see the body,” Clint said.

“There's no need,” Conlon said. “It's not him.”

“So you have been lying,” Clint said.

“Yes. But it wasn't my idea.”

“Whose was it?” Clint asked.

“It was mine.”

Clint and Bat turned, saw Sheriff Jim Burle holding Alicia in one hand and his gun in the other.

“You boys are under arrest,” he said.

“For what?” Clint asked.

“For ruinin' my plans,” Burle said. “But I'm gonna try to save them by putting you in my jail before you can talk and tell people what you know.”

“What about the others?” Clint asked. “Bass Reeves, Heck Thomas, the rest. They'll talk.”

“They'd only be guessing,” Burle said. “You two are the only ones who know for sure.”

“We'll tell them,” Bat said, “even from jail.”

“Not if you're killed tryin' to escape,” Burle said with a smile.

“You know,” Clint said, “I really underestimated you, Burle.”

“Yeah, I know,” Burle said. “That was part of the plan, too.”

Burle was overconfident. He was standing with Alicia only partially shielding him.

“Well then, no,” Clint said, “we won't be going to jail.”

Burle waggled the barrel of his gun and said, “I think you are. Now drop those guns.”

“I don't think so,” Clint said. “Bat, you take Conlon. I'll take the sheriff.”

“You'd shoot a man wearin' a badge, Adams?” Burle asked.

“You don't deserve to wear it.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Burle asked. “Draw on me? With my gun already in my hand? And shoot me through this woman?”

“Bat?”

“Ready.”

Too late Conlon grabbed for his gun. Bat drew and shot him through the chest.

Clint drew before Burle knew what was happening and shot the crooked lawman in the forehead. His eyes went wide, then he released both Alicia and his gun, and toppled over backward.

“Oh my God!” Alicia said, stunned. “You could have hit me!”

“Never,” Bat assured her. “He only hits what he shoots at.”

“Alicia,” Clint said, “you better go down and get those men out of that room, tell them it's all over.”

“What about the wake?” she asked.

“There's no wake, because there's no body,” Clint said. “At least, not the body of Tanner Moody.”

“Oh.”

“And I think with Conlon dead,” Clint said, “this place goes to you. What do you think?”

She grinned and said, “I think that's fine.”

As she left, Bat said to Clint, “What are we going to tell those people downstairs?”

“That Tanner Moody is still alive out there somewhere,” Clint said. “Those who really wanted him to be dead can go and look for him, and take care of
it themselves.”