Free The Devil's Collector by J. R. Roberts Page A

Rayfield stood up, grabbed his hat, and followed his brother out the door, still chewing on a piece of ham.
    â€œMr. Rayfield doesn’t seem very happy to see us,” Clint said.
    â€œPapa is just a sourpuss,” Betty said.
    â€œBetty!” Mrs. Rayfield said. “Clear the table.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œWhat brings you back here with your friend, Jack?” the older woman asked. She and her husband were probably in their fifties, but hard work had aged them beyond those years.
    Betty, on the other hand, was very young and pretty, and Clint could see why Sonnet was smitten.
    â€œMa’am, we’re concerned about the men who tried to kill Jack those months ago. Jack doesn’t remember much about what happened.”
    â€œWe didn’t see anything, Mr. Adams,” she said. “We only found Jack after the fact.”
    â€œDid he say anything?”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œWho might have shot him,” Clint said. “Where he was coming from?”
    â€œHe didn’t say anything that I heard,” she said, “but it was Betty who was nursing him most of the time. Betty?”
    â€œYes, Mama?”
    â€œCome here, girl.”
    The farmer’s daughter came over to the table. She appeared to Clint to be eighteen or so, very blond and very healthy looking. She stood at least five-eight and was very solidly built.
    â€œWhile poor Jack was unconscious, did he say anything?” Mrs. Rayfield asked.
    â€œWell,” she said, “he was mutterin’ some, but I couldn’t rightly understand everythin’ he was sayin’.”
    â€œDid you understand any of it?” Clint asked. “Maybe the name of a man, or a town?”
    â€œWell . . . he mentioned Busby once.”
    â€œBusby,” Clint said. “What is that? A man?”
    â€œBusby is a town about ten miles west of here,” Mrs. Rayfield said.
    Clint looked at Sonnet.
    â€œYou remember being in Busby?”
    â€œNo,” he said, “not at all.”
    â€œI guess we’ll have to take a ride over there and find out.”
    â€œWhen will you be leaving?” Mrs. Rayfield asked.
    â€œProbably in a few minutes,” Clint said. “There’s no reason for us to stay around here and get in the way.”
    â€œJack . . .” Betty said a bit reproachfully.
    â€œDo you mind if we go for a walk?” Sonnet asked Mrs. Rayfield.
    â€œNot if you don’t keep her from her work,” she said. “And stay away from her father. He’ll just snap at you.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    Sonnet stood up, and he and Betty went out the door quickly.
    Clint had an idea what they were in a rush to do, and he sincerely hoped they wouldn’t run into her father while they were doing it . . .
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    â€œWhat has that poor boy been up to since he left us?” the woman asked.
    â€œMa’am, I think somebody might have been using him, taking advantage of his thirst for revenge and sending him after the wrong men.”
    â€œInnocent men?” she asked.
    â€œWell . . . not exactly innocent, but possibly innocent of killing his brother.”
    â€œAnd has he already killed?”
    â€œHe has.”
    â€œThat is a shame,” she said. “He has all the makings of a fine young man.”
    â€œI agree, he does.”
    â€œBut now he is a killer.”
    â€œWell, I wouldn’t—”
    She stood up and said, “Once you leave here, you will please make sure he never comes back.”
    â€œI don’t know if I can do that, ma’am.”
    â€œIf you do not,” she said, “he and my husband will come to blows, and the result with be tragic.”
    Clint hesitated, then said, “I can see that.”
    â€œThen please,” she said, “I ask for your help.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can