The Killing Blow (3 page)

“Oregon.”

“That'd normally be another day's ride, but this isn't exactly normal.”

“My son and I need to get there. Otherwise my family will worry.”

“And it seems they'd be right to worry,” Clint pointed out. “Especially since we were nearly killed by a bear—”

“Speak for yerself,” Ordell muttered.

Clint tossed the rifle he'd borrowed into Ordell's hands. “Most of us almost got killed by a bear,” Clint corrected. “And some of us don't have a wagon anymore.”

“The horses should still be around here,” the lady said while looking around in every direction. “Somewhere.”

“And we should find them before long. Right now, it's getting dark and we all could use a rest.” Holding a hand toward Ordell, Clint added, “Most of us do. We can get a fresh start in the morning. How's that?”

By now, the lady's breathing had calmed and she nodded warily. “If you wouldn't mind staying with us, I'd appreciate it.”

“My pleasure,” Clint said. “Although I can't speak for my trapper friend over there.”

Ordell was already wandering back into the trees with his rifle over his shoulder. “I intend on stuffing my gourd with fresh bear meat tonight. If you folks intend on building a good-sized cooking fire, I don't mind sharing.”

Clint made sure the lady was situated and then rubbed his hands together. “All right, then. Looks like we've got ourselves a picnic.”

It wasn't long before the sun was on its way down, but the shadows grew long way before that. The spot where Clint and Ordell set up the camp was a little ways off the trail and nestled within a thick batch of trees. The remains of the bear had been covered with enough dirt to keep the smell away, but the remains of the wagon weren't so easy to hide.

Half of the cart had been splintered and damaged beyond repair. The other half had been stripped away and the wood was put to plenty of other uses. One of those was to feed the large fire that was blazing brightly in the middle of a stone circle. Large chunks of meat were stretched over the flames, filling the air with the mouth-watering scent of dinner.

Clint walked into the camp, leading three horses by their reins. One of them was his own Darley Arabian stallion. Another belonged to Ordell and the third was still twitchy and jumping at every snap and crackle coming from the campfire.

“Where's Petey?” the lady asked.

Clint looked around and immediately spotted the young boy, so he figured that wasn't the child's name. “Petey?”

“The other horse,” she said. “He's a dark gray with—”

“Oh, the horse,” Clint said. “He was hurt pretty badly.”

“But I saw him run away once the harness was broken.”

“He didn't make it far. I found him with one broken leg and another that looked pretty twisted up. I had to . . . uh . . .” When he saw the child looking directly at him, Clint started struggling for a more delicate choice of words.

“You had to shoot him,” the boy said, beating Clint to the punch. Looking to the lady, he added, “It's best that way, you know.”

“Yes, sweetie,” she replied while rubbing the top of the boy's head. “I know.”

Clint sat down at the edge of the fire and nodded to Ordell. The bigger man was sitting on a stump and leaning toward the fire so he could tend to the cooking. The lady and the young boy were on the opposite side of the fire.

Now that there weren't any wild animals about or wagons that needed to be lifted, Clint actually had a moment to get a close look at the two folks who'd called him onto this section of trail in the first place.

The boy looked to be somewhere between eight and ten years old. He had bright blond hair and even brighter blue eyes. Although the blood had been wiped from his face, he still wore his ripped jacket proudly as if mimicking the tattered appearance of the big man cooking the bear meat. Despite weighing less than one of the wagon's busted wheels, the boy held up pretty well after the crash and ensuing bear attack. In fact, the little guy seemed to be enjoying himself as if this were just another camping trip.

The woman had darker blond hair and a slightly darker hue to her skin. Part of that seemed to come from the sun, but there was also something else that gave her a naturally exotic look. Her dark brown eyes smoldered like embers in the fire and her soft lips had yet to curl up into a smile.

“Now that I know the horse's name,” Clint said, “perhaps I should know yours.”

Finally, the lady smiled and she lowered her head as a blush found its way onto her cheeks. “It's Allison Stapp. This is my son.”

“Joseph,” the boy said, beating her to the punch. He stood up straight and stuck his hand out toward Clint.

“Clint Adams,” he said while shaking the boy's hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

When he saw the Stapps looking in his direction, the bigger man leaning toward the fire said, “Mark Ordell.”

“Normally, I'm more mindful of my manners,” Allison said.

“You from Georgia?” Ordell asked.

“Why yes. How'd you know?”

“Georgia girls have the prettiest accent there is.”

Maintaining her blush, Allison averted her eyes and wound up looking toward Clint.

Rather than try to ease her embarrassment, Clint simply shrugged and said, “It's true.”

She nodded and sat up since she wasn't about to get much comfort from anyone around that fire. “Thank you,” she said.

Ordell chuckled and nodded appreciatively. “And there it is. Sweet as honey.”

Both men laughed as Allison picked up a pebble and tossed it at Ordell. When she got up, Allison curtsied and spoke like she was the belle of the ball. “If you gentlemen don't mind, ah'd like to freshen up a bit. Ah do believe there's a lake nearby.”

After watching her leave, Ordell shifted back around and prodded the bear meat sizzling over the flames.

“You said that bear was famous,” Clint remarked. “What did you mean?”

“It's a man killer, is what I mean. Took out a bunch of men at a lumber camp a few miles from here as well as a few . . .” He paused and shot a quick glance toward Joseph. “As well as a few others at a house up in the hills.”

Clint nodded. “I suppose there's a reward for the hide?”

“Yep.”>

“I can help you clean up the carcass and stretch out that hide, then.”

Ordell narrowed his eyes a bit and asked, “You ex-pectin' a piece of the reward?”

“After I went through the trouble of flushing him out and running him straight to you?” Clint asked indignantly. “Actually, no. After all you've done, I thought I could lend you a hand as a way to say thanks. The reward's all yours. You earned it.”

“If you want to thank me, you'd fix the damage you caused to my baby.”

“Huh?”

“My rifle,” Ordell said as he reached over, picked up the huge weapon and tossed it to Clint. “See for yerself.”

Clint caught the rifle with both hands and immediately felt the imperfection in the way it felt. The weapon resembled a musket at first, but the hammer and firing mechanism were much more up-to-date. The stock had obviously been around for a long time and was marred by notches and other markings all up and down the wooden surface.

Although those parts of the gun caught Clint's professional interest, it was the barrel that immediately caused his hackles to rise. The thick iron was bored out and the rest was thickened to accommodate the work. Despite the sturdiness of the iron, however, being used as a lever was enough to put a nasty bend a quarter of the way down from the sights.

“What caliber is this?” Clint asked.

“Fifty-two,” Ordell said proudly. “I made it myself and I make the ammunition as well. None of that matters if the damn barrel is bent worse than a pig's pecker.” Quickly looking to Joseph, he added, “Don't repeat none of that to yer mother.”

The boy covered his mouth and grinned widely behind his hand.

“Can you fix it?” Ordell asked.

“It'll take a bit of time and I might need to visit a blacksmith, but I should be able to straighten it out. I can also modify your firing mechanism. I've got those tools in my saddlebag.”

“Honest?”

“I should be able to give you a bit more accuracy and I might be able to rig up something to speed up your reloading as well. You think that might put us square?”

Ordell made a show of thinking it over. Reluctantly, he shrugged and turned the meat over the flames. “We'll see.”

It turned out that Ordell was one hell of a good cook. Even though Clint didn't have a lot of experience with preparing freshly killed bear, he couldn't deny that the meat melted in his mouth like the best steaks he'd ordered in a restaurant.

Afterward, Clint and Ordell had started skinning the bear and then the trapper insisted on finishing up on his own. Rather than argue for more of the dirty work, Clint went back to the fireside and worked on the rifle. Allison and Joseph spent the night telling stories and a few jokes before the boy drifted off to sleep. Clint couldn't keep his eyes open for much longer, himself.

Suddenly, Clint snapped awake and reflexively grabbed for the modified Colt at his hip. The gun was right where it should be, but there wasn't anything in sight for him to shoot. Clint's heart was thumping in his chest and his breathing was ragged. When he closed his eyes, he felt as if he were once again bolting from tree to tree with a rampaging monster at his back.

Although it didn't take long for him to shake himself out of that somewhat dizzy state, Clint found he'd also shaken himself too far awake to go back asleep. He sat up and stretched his arms while pulling in a lungful of air, which still smelled like burning wood.

It was still dark, but the promise of sunrise hung in the eastern sky. There wasn't enough light to see more than a few feet in front of him, but the dampness in the air and the sound of rustling birds made Clint certain that light would break in just over an hour or so.

Since he wasn't about to fall asleep right away, Clint got up and took a quick survey of the camp. That was all he needed to realize that they were missing one person. In particular, they were missing one person with a sweet Georgia accent.

Clint was careful not to wake up Joseph as he stepped over the boy. Judging by the way the kid was snoring, it would have taken another rampaging bear to wake him up. Oddly enough, Ordell slept without making a sound or even stirring a muscle. He sat with his back to a tree, his head slumped forward, and his hands wrapped around a sheathed hunting knife.

At this time of the day, the sound of slowly churning water easily caught his ear. Clint made his way toward that water and pushed aside a thick curtain of hanging branches to find the small lake that they'd all been using for drinking and washing since making camp. Clint hunkered down at the edge of the water and dipped both hands into it. Eventually, he turned to look along the shore of the lake to find Allison sitting there with her arms wrapped around her knees.

“You couldn't sleep, either?” she asked.

“I was doing fine until I ran out of breath. I guess part of me still thinks I'm running.”

She smiled and laughed under her breath. “You were kicking your legs. Kind of like an old mutt we had back home.”

“That's good to know,” Clint said. “You're more than welcome to scratch behind my ears.”

This time, she laughed a bit louder. Allison caught herself and quickly covered her mouth before making too much noise. “I don't want to wake up Joseph. He's had a rough couple of days.”

“He seems like a strong boy.”

“I still worry. It's a mother's job, you know.”

“How long have you been sitting here?” Clint asked.

“Maybe an hour. I was just going to get a drink of water, but it's quiet enough for me to hear Joseph from here.”

Clint let his eyes wander while focusing solely on his ears. Sure enough, without much effort he could hear the boy's snoring just as plainly as he could hear the early birds chirping among themselves.

“I could also hear you once you started moving around,” she added. “I was hoping you'd find your way here.”

As she spoke, Allison stood up and walked over to him. She kept her hands in front of her and smoothed out the folds of her skirt right up until she was close enough to speak to Clint in a whisper. “It's only been me and Joseph all the way from Georgia. We've been on trains, stage-coaches, ferries and a few wagons.

“I can protect my son, but I've also had to deal with a lot of men along the way. Most of them look at me like Mark does. I know he probably doesn't mean any harm, but there's something in his eyes that makes me nervous. You, on the other hand . . .” While her words trailed off, Allison reached out with one hand as if to brush something off of Clint's shoulder.

She straightened his collar and let her hand linger a bit so she could feel the skin on his neck. “I like the way you look at me.”

“Has it been just you and Joseph for long?”

“Joseph's father was killed just over a year ago. That's why we decided to come all the way to Oregon so we can be by my family. It's taken me this long to raise the money as well as the courage to set off across the country.”

“I'll bet it feels good to be this close to the end of your trip.”

Slowly taking her hand away from him, Allison sat down close enough to Clint's side that she could keep talking without disturbing the tranquility of the lake. “It does and it doesn't. I'll be glad to give Joseph a solid home again.” Grinning, she added, “But part of me will miss all of the adventure.”