Straw Men (4 page)

Abigail lay in the bathtub with her arms draped along the sides and her head resting on the dented metal edge. Even though she was basically simmering in a giant stewpot, she couldn't stop smiling. “This,” she sighed, “is the life.”

Having pulled on his jeans, Clint sat on the edge of the bed. Just watching her, he couldn't help smiling either. “It sure is. Now I don't have to look at your dirty face anymore.”

Snapping her head around to glare at him, Abigail swatted her hand against the water to send a generous splash his way. “You could always leave, smartass!”

“Not now. After what we just did, you got me all dirty, too.”

“Funny, you didn't seem to mind when it was happening.”

Walking over to the tub, Clint sat on the edge and looked down at her naked body in the water. “I sure didn't and I don't mind right now. I was just thinking our ride would be a lot easier if we were both clean.”

“Our ride?” Abigail asked. “You mean the both of us?”

“Sure. That is, unless you had better plans.”

She squinted and grabbed the soap that lay beside the tub. “I thought you were all wrapped up in your card game.”

Clint shrugged. “I'm ahead a bit, but a few heavy hitters came into town and are starting to clean up.”

“You sure they ain't just cheating?”

“They could be,” Clint replied. “What ever they're doing, they're costing a lot of people a lot of money. I'm not overly fond of Colonel Farelli, but it sounds like he may have a genuine problem.”

“What do you have against the colonel?”

“I was doing a favor for a supply sergeant a few years ago. Everything from guns and ammunition to boots and coats were disappearing from a couple different Army posts and I was asked to track down the robbers. Let's just say the robber I found wasn't exactly what the supply sergeant was expecting.”

“Farelli?” Abigail asked.

“You got it.”

She chuckled and scrubbed at a stubborn spot on one of her forearms. “I bet his hide was tanned something awful.”

“Farelli wasn't working alone and one of his partners was ranked high enough to get the matter handled pretty quietly. By the time I left, it looked like the robbers' pay was going to be docked and their records would get a smudge, but that was about it.”

“Knowin' them Army fellows, they probably swept it all under the rug because they were embarrassed.”

“Probably,” Clint said. “Either way, I know Farelli wasn't too happy with me when we parted ways. Come to think of it, he's not exactly my favorite person, either.”

“So why would he want to hire you for a job?”

“Because when I caught him red-handed stealing those supplies, he drew a gun on me,” Clint explained. “I drew mine faster. A lot faster.”

“Did you shoot him?”

After a pause, Clint shook his head. “No, but I could have. He knows it, too. Seeing as how he just got a stiff fine and a blemish on his ser vice record while still making it to colonel, I'd think he came out of it a lot better than if I'd have shot him.”

“So maybe the colonel's trying to make up for what happened?”

“I doubt that,” Clint said. “This sounds like a dangerous job that could get someone hurt or worse. I'd bet on Farelli wanting to ask me to do it rather than risk his own men. If I come through, he looks like a good leader. If I get hurt…well…I doubt he'll be heartbroken.”

Abigail let out a snorting laugh and said, “I don't see why you'd want any part of a job like this.”

“I've heard about these Indian attacks,” Clint replied. “Soldiers and innocent folks are getting hurt. I know this is a real thing and Farelli and I both know I could do something to help. If I have to put up with a weasel like Farelli to save some lives down the stretch, I'm willing to grit my teeth and put up with him. If he's trying to pull something else, I'll deal with that, too. I sniffed him out once, and I can do it again. It's not like he was a very good liar anyway.”

Nodding as she got back to scrubbing, Abigail said, “That's all well and good, but what if he really is holding a grudge? What if he wants to hurt you for what happened the last time you crossed paths?” The more she thought about it, the more she shook her head. “If I were you, I wouldn't trust a man like him.”

“I don't trust him, Abigail. I trust my own eyes, though. I know there's blood being spilled, and if he's stationed at a fort anywhere near those attacks, he'd be the one to deal with them. From what I've seen, I know he'd need help with a job like that.”

“And if he's after you?” Abigail asked.

Clint was quick with his reply. “If he's after me, he's got a regiment of fighting men and at least a few among them would follow his orders if he backed them up with enough pay. He'd be able to come after me no matter what I decide to do with this letter.”

Although Abigail nodded, she seemed more uncomfortable than agreeable. “Seems like you're not too bothered by someone out to shoot ya.”

“Have you ever heard of me before we met?” Clint asked.

“I heard a few stories.”

“There you go. I've had men a lot nastier than Farelli coming after me.”

“Why do you want me to come along with you?”

“Because you're the best one for the job.”

“How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

Clint blinked and replied, “Simple. You told me so.”

She shook her head and laughed under her breath. “I guess I did.”

“The fact of the matter is I've never been to Fort Winstead. All I'd need is a guide there. It would make things a lot easier.”

“Fine,” Abigail said with a smirk. “I was headed back that way anyhow. I just hope you can keep up with me.”

Clint spent the rest of that day wrapping up his business in town. Of course, since he was mainly in town for the game, that business included sitting in on a few more hands to add to his winnings. As it turned out, he lost more than he won. As the sun set and more new faces drifted into the Jackrabbit, the Evans game was taken to new heights. The few locals who still had money left were sitting at the same table with known professional gamblers. Later that night, more tables were added to the mix and the gamblers truly rolled up their sleeves.

The games that followed quickly turned into the poker equivalent of a bloodbath.

Eddie the barkeep shook his head and chuckled as Clint walked up to the bar and supported himself with both hands against the chipped wooden surface. “Not your night?”

Clint looked up and replied, “Let's just say I'm happy to be leaving tomorrow.”

That washed away the bartender's smirk real quick. “Tomorrow? What for?”

“Just moving on. By the looks of it, you won't miss having me around.”

“It ain't so much the business, but it's dangerous out there. I heard there was another Injun attack.”

“What do you know about those?” Clint asked. “How bad was this one?”

“Pretty damn bad. Left four men dead and a few women.”

“Jesus.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. “A couple wagons headed north got set upon by them damn Navajo.”

“Hasn't the Army done anything about it?”

“It won't be long, I'm sure,” Eddie replied. “And whenever word gets out about them Injuns being shot down like mangy dogs, it won't be soon enough. Anyways, you weren't headed that way, were you?”

“I was thinking about it,” Clint replied. “Now I know for sure.”

“Just don't be stupid and you'll be fine. It'd be a shame for the Gunsmith to end his days before he could let everyone know where he played some of the best poker in his life.”

Clint rolled his eyes but knew better than to get too bent out of joint by Eddie's request. After all, saloons didn't become famous and poker games didn't become events by printed advertisements. “I'll see what I can do, but there's really not much. You might not like the kind of men that would come running if they knew I might be in a particular saloon.”

“I'd be willing to take my chances!”

Rather than continue the debate, Clint paid off what he owed and waved good-bye. Eddie wasn't the first to try and get Clint to draw people to one business or another. There was a fellow who owned a billiard hall in Albuquerque who offered to pay Clint a thousand dollars to talk the place up when he visited California. Then again, that man promptly went broke a few months later. Clint would never stop being surprised at the boneheaded ways some men would try to get rich without breaking a sweat.

After leaving the Jackrabbit, Clint walked over to the livery down the street. He walked straight back to the last stall on the right and found Eclipse, his black Darley Arabian stallion, waiting there patiently as if he'd been expecting the company. “You ready for a run, boy?” Clint asked as he patted the horse's nose.

“He'd better be ready,” came a familiar voice from the stall behind him.

Clint jumped and reflexively reached for his gun as he turned around. His hand was still on the grip of the Colt when he said, “That's a good way to get yourself hurt!”

Abigail held her hands up and kicked open the gate to the stall. “If you've got reflexes like that, I feel a lot better about taking this ride with you.”

“What in the hell were you doing in there?”

Looking over her shoulder as if she didn't know what Clint could be referring to, she replied, “Checking my horse. I could'a asked who you were talking to, but I didn't.”

Clint took a few more steps toward Abigail's stall so he could get a better look inside. The horse in that stall was a white mustang with a few large brown spots on its flank. There was also a saddle buckled in place on its back. “Leaving so soon?” Clint asked.

Once more, Abigail looked around. This time, she didn't pretend to wonder what Clint was talking about. “I just thought I could scout ahead to night to see if there were any Injun camps nearby. I got a nose for sniffing them out and it'd help us get a good start tomorrow.”

“You don't have to guide me. Simple directions to Fort Winstead would suffice. I could even get those from someone else.”

“I wasn't gonna leave. I swear!”

Clint nodded and turned to walk away. “Come or go as you please. If you're here in the morning, we can ride together. If not, have a safe trip.”

As he walked away, Clint heard an aggravated sigh. He left the livery and walked to the hotel where he'd walked in on Abigail's bath. Even before he approached the front desk, he was being greeted by a prim old lady with a high-collared dress who was now working there.

“Hello, there,” she said. Suddenly, her face soured as she glared at Clint through thick spectacles. “Oh. It's you again.”

“Have we met?” Clint asked in a friendly tone.

“I meant to bring some more bath salts to the woman upstairs after you went up. I knocked, but you seemed to be…busy in there.”

Clint shrugged, but he wasn't about to blush. “Oh, well, did that woman check out already?”

“I had her removed,” the old lady snapped. “I will not tolerate such lewd behavior in my hotel. And if you see that…woman, tell her she still owes me for the water damage done to my throw rug.”

While Clint might not be the sort to blush, he did give a little wince when he realized the woman was deadly serious about some rugs getting wet due to some creatively splashed water. Removing some money from his pocket, he slapped it on the desk and asked, “Will that cover the damages?”

Obviously flustered, the old woman said, “Yes, I suppose, but—”

“That's settled, then,” Clint interrupted. “You have a good evening, ma'am.”

The old woman sputtered a few words and then tried to toss out a few halfhearted thank-yous, but Clint didn't bother looking back as he headed for the door. In fact, after he heard the disgust in the old woman's tone when she'd referred to Abigail, Clint wished a bit more damage had been done to the coot's precious room.

When he got back to the livery, Clint snuck in and found Abigail in the stall with her horse, situating a bedroll in a pile of hay in one corner. “Come on,” he said while she was still trying to cover up her blanket. “You're coming with me.”

“Where to?” she asked.

“To the most expensive hotel I can find.”

Clint and Abigail woke up fairly early, wrapped in silk sheets. The hotel was actually one town over, but it had been a short ride and was worth every step. They had some sort of fancy omelets for breakfast and washed it down with some ridiculously expensive coffee. Even after taking their time in getting ready, they were in the saddle ahead of schedule. It helped that both of them already had everything stuffed into saddlebags and ready to go.

“You really shouldn't have done all that,” Abigail said later that afternoon.

“You mean the breakfast?”

“The breakfast, the hotel, all of it. I would've been fine where I was.”

“Sure,” Clint replied, “but it wouldn't have been as fun.”

She smirked and said, “No, but still…”

“Enough,” Clint cut in. “Most of that was winnings from the game. I plan on squeezing more than enough from Colonel Farelli to make up for it anyway.”

Abigail held her reins easily and glanced over at Clint as she swayed along with every one of her horse's movements. The way she rode made it seem as if she were more comfortable in the saddle than anywhere else. “I haven't known you for long and I already know that's a load of dung.”

“Maybe. Does it matter?”

“After sleeping in them sheets and eating that breakfast, it don't matter one bit.”

“That's what I thought.”

They shared a couple seconds of laughter before Abigail snapped her head around to look in the opposite direction. She stared into the distance with more than enough conviction to put Clint on his guard.

“What is it?” he asked.

But Abigail swung her hand at him in a motion that quickly shut him up. Soon she eased up a bit and then pointed in the same direction she'd been watching. “Someone's coming from that way,” she hissed.

“Are you sure? I didn't—” And then Clint heard it.

The sound was faint and he might have missed it if Abigail hadn't already alerted him, but Clint could most definitely hear hooves pounding against the packed earth from that direction. “Could be anyone,” Clint pointed out.

Before Abigail said a word, a gunshot crackled through the air. It wasn't a shot fired at them. The shot wasn't even close enough for Clint to be threatened by it. But since there were several more shots that followed it, someone not too far away was very threatened indeed.

Clint and Abigail looked at each other for a moment before both of them snapped their reins. Abigail's mustang got moving first, but Eclipse was hot on its heels.

They were headed up a gradual rocky slope that rose easily toward a jagged edge. As Clint got closer to the edge, he could tell it dropped off steeply on the other side to look down upon an open stretch of sand-covered ground. Gunshots were still being fired and seconds before Clint was close enough to look all the way down to what was happening below, shouts could also be heard.

Clint pulled back hard on his reins to bring Eclipse to a skidding halt at the edge of the rocks. Abigail was right beside him and leaned so far forward in her saddle that it seemed as if she might fall out. “Aw hell,” she said. “Looks like another Injun attack.”

The scene below was a chaotic mess of several horse men weaving among one another, firing their weapons and shouting. Although it was hard to tell who was fighting who, Clint had no trouble picking out the wagon stuck in the middle of it all. One of the two horses in the wagon's team had been killed and was crumpled awkwardly in its rig, while the second horse struggled to keep its footing with all those shots being fired back and forth.

“I can barely tell what's going on down there,” Clint replied. “But it sure doesn't look good.”

“There's one way to find out!” With that, Abigail pointed her mustang toward a slope that would take her down to the storm that was raging beneath them.

Clint didn't like the idea of charging into a fight without knowing what it was about, but he also didn't know a way to keep Abigail from doing that very thing. “Damn,” he grunted as he pointed Eclipse in the direction Abigail had gone and snapped the reins.