Under a Turquoise Sky (10 page)

“Where will we be stopping to camp?” Clint asked Chance.

“Actually, we'll camp at Beale Springs, and then start up to the mine from there tomorrow morning.”

“What is Beale Springs like?” Markstein asked. “Is it a town?”

“Used to be a settlement,” Chance said, “then a fort for a few years. There's still water there, but that's pretty much all it is now, a water stop.”

“Is Kingman the closest place to get supplies?”

“Mineral Park used to be the place to go for supplies, but since the Atlantic and Pacific railroad came into Kingman, it's become the hub of this area. There's even a rumor that the newspaper—the
Miner
—might move from Mineral Park to Kingman.”

They had stopped to rest the horses, so the three men were sitting abreast with the packhorse behind them.

Markstein fidgeted in the saddle and Clint asked, “Are you okay?”

“I'm not used to these western saddles.”

“You'll get used to it,” Clint told him, but on the other side of Markstein, Chance was rolling his eyes.

“What about the men following us?” Markstein asked. “Are they still there?”

“I only saw one,” Chance said. “Strikes me as odd.”

“Unless the other one is ahead of us,” Clint said.

“Why would they do that?” Markstein asked.

“Split up and take us from two sides,” Chance said. He looked at Clint. “What about Beale Springs? What if he's waiting for us there?”

Clint stretched in his saddle and gave it some thought.

“It doesn't make sense for them to split up, unless…”

“Unless what?” Markstein asked.

“Unless there's more than two of them,” Chance said. “One's tailing us, while two or three or more go ahead of us to Beale Springs to wait and set up an ambush.”

“And why would they do this?” Markstein asked.

“Well, they're not after me, so it's one of you,” Chance said. “The way I see it, they either want your mine, or they want a chance at the Gunsmith.”

“They're not going to get possession of his mine by killing him on the trail,” Clint said.

“Unless…” Chance said.

“Unless what?” Markstein asked again.

“Unless someone else sent them,” Clint said. “Someone who will benefit if you get killed on the trail.”

“My God,” Markstein said. “You mean…my partner? My new partner would try to have me killed?”

“You said only one of them would sell out. What's your partner's name?” Clint asked.

Markstein thought, then said, “I don't know the whole name—all I know is J. English.”

“J?” Clint asked. “The letter J?”

“That's all I know.”

“Joe,” Chance said.

“What?”

“Joe English,” Chance said. “That's his partner's name.”

“You seem familiar with him,” Clint said. “Would this Joe English have Markstein killed in order to take total possession of the mine?”

“I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“Not the type,” Chance said.

“Then what kind of type are we dealing with?” Clint asked.

Chance shrugged. “You'll find out when you get there. Let's keep moving.”

As they started forward again, Clint asked, “Can we get there and bypass Beale Springs?”

“I'm already thinking about that,” Chance said.

By the next time they stopped, Chance had a plan. They dismounted to rest the horses—and Markstein. The topography was rocky and hard, with enough boulders for them each to find one to sit on. They passed around a canteen of water while Chance explained.

“Right now we're between the Hualapai and Cerbat mountains,” he said. “The Blue Lady is in the Cerbats. I think I know a way to bypass Beale Springs and approach the Cerbat peaks from another direction—if it's clear.”

“If it's clear?” Clint asked.

“There's a possibility that the pass I have in mind could have been blocked by an avalanche. We had some bad weather last month, which could have caused it. If it's clear, we'll have a good route to the Cerbats. But if it's blocked, we'll have to double back.”

“And if we bypass Beale Springs, we'll have to conserve water, because we won't be able to fill up, right?” Clint asked.

“There might be a cistern of some kind, but technically you're right.”

“I would like to get there as soon as possible,” Markstein said. “You could be wrong about the ambush, could you not?”

“Sure we could,” Clint said.

“If we're right, there'll be trouble,” Chance said.

“Which I'm sure you and Mr. Adams can handle,” Markstein said. “After all, I saw what Mr. Adams did to that fellow Dolan.”

“That was one man,” Chance said. “We don't know how many we might be facing at Beale Springs.”

“It could be only one more, right?” Markstein asked.

“Or two, or three, or a dozen,” Clint said.

“Well,” Markstein said, “there must be a way to find out.”

“Sure,” Chance said, “name it.”

Markstein stared at the two of them for a few moments, then asked, “Why don't we ask him?”

“Ask who?” Chance said.

“The one who's behind us.”

Clint looked past Markstein at Buck Chance and said, “Why don't we ask him?”

“I suppose we could,” Chance said. “If we change direction, we won't want him tailing us, anyway.”

“One of us could circle around behind him,” Clint said, “get the drop on him.”

“There's a place just ahead, a dip, where he'll lose sight of us for a few moments,” Chance said. “One of us could break off then and circle around.”

“Once he sees that there's only two of us, he'll get suspicious, figure something's up,” Clint said.

“Then whichever one of us it is will have to move fast,” Chance said. “That means me.”

“You can move faster than me?” Clint asked.

Chance looked at him.

“You're faster with a gun, and you have the faster horse,” Chance said, “but I'm younger and faster on my feet than you are.”

Markstein looked at Clint and said, “I believe he might be right.”

Clint took only a few seconds, then said, “Yeah, well, okay, he might be right.”

“I won't even have to circle around,” Chance said. “I can climb up on top of a boulder and then knock him off his horse.”

“What if we capture the fellow and he won't talk?” Markstein asked.

Clint and Chance exchanged a look, and then Clint said, “Oh, he'll talk.”

 

Aaron Edwards was angry that this thankless job had fallen to him. If the three men were heading for Beale Springs, why couldn't they all have just gone on ahead? What was the good of trailing them?

All they did was ride and rest, ride and rest.

He lost sight of them now up ahead for a few moments, and then they came back into view. Once he entered that dip, he'd lose them again for a few seconds, but they were always there, just ahead of him…Wait, was that a rider-less horse?

Before he could figure out what that meant, he was hit from the side and snatched right off his horse.

As soon as Chance hit the man and pulled him from his horse, Clint handed the reins of the packhorse to Markstein and rode back to help. By the time he reached the two men, though, Chance had the other unarmed, the gun stuck into his belt, and had a knee in his back. He also had a gash in his chin where he'd struck the rocks.

“Need help?” Clint asked.

“It would be nice,” Chance said. “I'd like to stop the blood that's gushing from my chin.”

Clint dismounted, approached the two men and examined Chance's wound.

“Don't be a baby,” he said. “It's not gushing.”

“Hey, what about me?” the man on the bottom demanded. “My back hurts.”

“You I don't care about,” Clint said. “Just shut up and don't talk until we're ready to talk to you.”

“I don't know what's goin' on—”

Chance slapped the man on the back of the head, causing his forehead to bounce off the hard ground.

“The man told you to shut up!”

“My friend is going to take his knee out of your back,” Clint said. “I want you to stay where you are.”

“Why can't I get—”

“If you move at all, I'll shoot you.”

That shut the man up, but only for a moment.

“You wouldn't—”

“Try me,” Clint said. “My friend and I don't like being followed. If I don't shoot you, he will.”

“You got all that?” Chance asked.

The man didn't respond.

“You want me to hit you on the back of the head again?” Chance demanded.

“I thought you didn't want me to talk,” the man whined.

“Talk when you're talked to,” Chance said. “Got it?”

“Okay, okay, I got it.”

Chance removed his knee from the man's back and stood up. The man immediately tried to run. He scrambled up, but before he could get very far Clint drew and fired. His bullet took the heel of the man's right boot clean off.

“Jesus!” The man fell to the ground and grabbed for his foot, convinced it had been shot off. “You shot me!”

“I told you I was going to shoot you if you tried to run,” Clint said. “Maybe you understand that now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man said, “I understand.” He looked at his foot and heaved a sigh of relief to see that it was still there. Then he realized what Clint had done. “You shot my heel off.”

“I was aiming for your ankle,” Clint told him. He ejected the spent shell, reloaded and holstered the weapon.

Chance had a bandana pressed to his chin.

“Who's gonna question him?” he asked Clint.

“I will,” Clint said. “You're bleeding too much.”

“You told me I wasn't bleeding that bad!”

“I lied. I guess you might be younger and quicker, but you bruise easily. You better take care of it.”

Clint looked at the man seated on the ground.

“What's your name?”

The man did not reply.

“You want the other heel shot off?” Clint asked. He touched his gun. “Maybe this time I'll actually hit your ankle.”

“No,” the man said, putting his hands out to ward off a bullet. “My name's Edwards, Aaron Edwards.”

“And what are you doing following us?”

Clint could see Edwards trying to decide what to say. He decided to help him by drawing his gun and cocking the hammer back.

“Okay, okay,” Edwards said. “It wasn't my idea, it was Carl's.”

“Carl who?”

“Breckens.”

Clint looked at Chance who, still holding the bandana to his wound, shook his head. From behind them they could hear Markstein, who had finally maneuvered his mount and the packhorse over to them.

“We don't know him,” Clint said. “Who is he?”

“He's…just a guy I ride with.”

“And why is he having you follow us?”

“Because he went ahead to Beale Springs to wait.”

“Wait for us?”

Edwards nodded.

“Is he alone?”

“No, he has two other men with him,” Edwards said. “If you want their names, you'll have to gimme a minute to think.”

“That's not necessary,” Clint said. “Who or what are they after?”

Edwards used his chin to point and said, “Him.”

Clint and Chance turned and looked at Markstein, who was still mounted.

“Me? Why me?”

“He wants your mine.”

“And he's willing to kill to get it?” Clint asked.

“Yeah—well, not him, so much. The guy who hired us is.”

“You were hired to kill me?” Markstein asked.

“Yes.”

“By who?” Clint asked. “Exactly who?”

“I dunno.”

“Edwards—”

“I really don't,” the man said. “Carl does all the thinkin' for us.”

“And all the negotiating,” Chance said.

“Right.”

“So you have no idea who hired you?”

“No,” Edwards said. “I was just goin' along with Carl, who said we'd get paid a lot of money.”

“Why the other two men?” Clint asked.

“Once Carl realized we were gonna have to deal with you and him,” Edwards said, indicating Chance, “he figured we needed some help.”

Clint turned to look at Chance and Markstein.

“Any questions?” he asked them.

“Not for him,” Markstein said, “but I have a few for you.”

“Not in front of him,” Clint said. “They'll have to wait until we get on the trail again. Chance, how long would it take this fella to walk to Beale Springs.”

“With only one heel on his boot? He'd be lucky to get there tomorrow mornin'.”

“What?” Edwards said. “Walk? I can't walk—”

“Would you rather be tied up out here?” Clint asked.

“Well, no—”

“Or dead?” Chance asked.

“Hell, no!”

“Then you'll walk,” Clint said. He looked at Chance. “You up to watching this jasper while I retrieve his horse and yours?”

“Sure, why not?” He looked at his bandana. “I think the bleeding stopped. Ain't so bad.”

“Good.”

Clint mounted up and caught both horses. Once Chance was mounted, he gave him the reins of Edwards's horse while he grabbed the pack animal again.

“Ya can't leave me here,” Edwards said. “I'll die.”

“You won't die,” Chance said. “If you walk back the way we came, you'll get to Kingman faster than you'd get to Beale Springs.”

“Gimme a gun, man,” he said. “There's mountain lions out here.”

“No gun,” Clint said.

“B-but…at least leave me some water.”

Clint reached over and took the canteen from Edwards's saddle. It felt half full. He tossed it to the man.

“Drink sparingly,” he advised. To Markstein and Chance he said, “Let's go.”