Free Death in the Desert by J. R. Roberts Page A

they’d reveal anything else.
•   •   •
    â€œI can hit what I shoot at, but I ain’t no fast gun,” Billy was telling Chris. “What about you?”
    â€œI ain’t never shot at another man,” Chris said. He appeared to be about ten years younger than the other men.
    â€œWell, you will someday,” Billy said. “Might as well be now.”
    â€œYeah, but there’s only three of us—”
    â€œRight now,” Billy said, cutting him off. “But you heard Steve. He’s already sent a message to get us six more men to help load and transport. So they might as well help us hunt, too.”
    â€œWell,” Chris said, “with that many men and guns, maybe I won’t have to kill anybody.”
    â€œMaybe not, if there’s only one man in town pickin’ us off,” Billy said, “but if there’s more, you better do your part, boy.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Billy,” Chris said. “I’ll do my part.”
    â€œYou better, if you want to get a full share,” Billy explained.
    â€œI will,” Chris said, “I swear.”
    â€œOkay,” Billy said. “Okay, look, you cross the street and we’ll cover both sides at once.”
    â€œB-But . . . Steve told us to stay together.”
    â€œYeah, well, we’ll just be across the street from each other. We’ll be able to see each other.”
    â€œI don’t know—”
    â€œCome on, kid,” Billy said. “We’ll finish up faster that way.”
    â€œYeah, okay,” Chris said. “But you keep your eye on me.”
    â€œAnd you keep your eye on me.”
    â€œAgreed.”
    Chris nodded, and started across the street . . .
•   •   •
    Very quickly, Clint made up his mind. He fell back, crossed the street, and took up a position in one of the empty businesses. All he had to do was wait for young Chris to come along and stick his head inside. Once he took him out, the other fellow—Billy—might just come running to see what happened to his partner.
    This was Clint’s opportunity to cut the odds down from three-to-one to even money.

TWENTY-THREE
    Billy Cabot walked from doorway to doorway, sticking his head in, looking the place over, then stepping out and looking across the street to check on Chris, who was doing the same on his side of the street.
    Chris Hunter was more tentative each time he stuck his head in a door, as if he was expecting to get it chopped off. Then he’d withdraw and look across the street for Billy, to make sure he was still there.
•   •   •
    Clint watched silently as Billy moved along, figuring Chris was right with him on his side of the street. Then he heard the sound of Chris’s boots on the boardwalk as he approached the store he was hidden in. He moved away from the window to the door.
    Chris’s footsteps came right up to the door. When the young man stuck his head in, Clint reached out and grabbed him, yanked him into the store. As the boy went by him, he snatched his gun from his holster so fast that Chris didn’t realize it was gone. He turned and reached for it. Only then did he realize it was missing.
    â€œWhat the—”
    â€œQuiet, boy,” Clint said, pointing Chris’s own gun at him.
    Chris looked at the barrel of the gun and swallowed hard.
    â€œKeep your voice down,” Clint said.
    â€œW-Who are you?”
    â€œMy name’s Clint Adams.”
    The boy’s eyes went wide.
    â€œThe Gunsmith?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhat’re you doin’ here?”
    â€œRight now I’m trying to keep from killing you,” Clint said. “You want to help me with that?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Clint spoke more slowly.
    â€œDo you want to help me not kill you?”
    â€œWell . . . sure,” Chris