“Git,” Clayton said. He threw a wisp of straw at the kitten. “You scat!”
The animal ignored him, purring, as it walked soundlessly toward him.
Clayton cursed. Now the bushwhacker would know exactly where he was—the damned cat was pointing him out.
“Scat!” Clayton said again.
The kitten ran to him and jumped onto his lap, then got up on her hind legs and rubbed her forehead over his chin.
“Cat, you’re gonna get us both killed,” Clayton said.
The kitten purred, smiled at him, and kept on with what she was doing.
Clayton shook his head. Well, that settled it, he couldn’t stay here all day and let the bushwhacker flank him or get around behind him. He lifted the kitten and set her down. He jumped to his feet, his Colt up and ready.
Clayton sprinted for the cover of the trough, firing at the ridge as he ran.
He knew he’d made a bad mistake when he heard the flat hammer of gunshots. He dove for the shelter of the shed, his right shoulder coming up hard against its weathered timber.
To his surprise, he hadn’t been hit.
Then he heard the reason why.
“Cage, you lunatic, get the hell out of there!”
Nook Kelly’s voice.
Instantly, Clayton was suspicious. Was Kelly the hidden rifleman?
“Come up here, on the ridge,” Kelly yelled. “Unless you’ve crapped your pants; then stay right where you’re at.”
Warily, Clayton stepped away from the cover of the shed, his Colt still in his hand. He saw Kelly on the rise, looking down at the misshapen bundle at his feet. Clayton walked closer and saw that the bundle was the body of a man.
When he was close enough to Kelly to speak without shouting, he said, “Who is it?”
He saw the lawman’s quick, white grin.
“You should be honored, Cage. This here is, or was, Mr. Shack Mitchell, the highest-paid regulator and allround bounty hunter in the business.”
Clayton walked closer. “Did he speak? Did he say who hired him?”
“Hell no, he didn’t speak. I put four rounds into him. I don’t know who hired him, but I can tell you this, the services of ol’ Shack didn’t come cheap.”
Clayton joined Kelly on the rise and looked at the dead man.
He was a gray-haired man, small, thin, somehow shrunken in death. He wore a black suit, threadbare, faded to a dark gray color, and a black plug hat. A Spencer rifle lay under his body and he had a belted Colt around his waist.
“He don’t look like much,” Clayton said.
“Maybe not, but Shack was something. If I hadn’t happened along and heard the shooting, he would have killed you fer sure.”
He looked hard at Clayton. “What the hell was that fool play, running like a rabbit from one place to another, all the time getting nearer to Shack’s rifle?”
“My own rifle was on the horse. I needed to get a lot closer to use the Colt.”
“He could’ve blown off your damn head, a grown man prancing around down there like a girl at her first barn dance.”
Clayton felt a flush of cold anger but bit back the sharp retort he’d been about to make. Keeping his voice even, he said, “You said you happened along. Why did you do that, just happen along?”
“I talked to Moses Anderson in town. He said you were still here.”
“So you came out after me.”
“Yeah, I had a bad feeling about you being out here alone.” Kelly grinned. “And I was right.”
He frowned. “Hell, how long were you moping around in there?”
Clayton shook his head. “I don’t know—minutes, I guess.”
“More like hours.”
“It could have been. I lost track of time.”
“Shack was waiting for you to come out. He was a patient man.”
“Seems like. Did you come up behind him?”
“Yeah. I saw him draw a bead on you and shot him in the back. Hell of a way to kill a man.”
Kelly shrugged. “Pity, because I guess ol’ Shack deserved better. But you were in trouble and I had to act.”
Clayton smiled. “Nook, my troubles are just about to begin. And yours.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll see.”
Kelly glanced at Clayton’s feet. “What the hell is that?”
The kitten twined through Clayton’s legs, rubbing herself against his boots.
“It’s a kitten,” Clayton said. Then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, “Her name is Miss Lee.”
Chapter 58
Shack Mitchell’s horse was tethered in a stand of wild oak behind the ridge.
Clayton threw a loop over the man’s feet and dragged him to the front of the ranch house. Mitchell was small and light and he threw him over the saddle without any trouble.
“I’m going into the house for something,” Clayton said. “Keep an eye on him.”
“He ain’t going anywhere,” Kelly said.
“Here,” Clayton said, picking up the kitten, “hold Miss Lee. I don’t want her wandering away.”
He walked to the house, then stopped and turned when he heard Kelly yell.
The kitten was struggling mightily to get out of the lawman’s grasp.
“Hell,” Kelly said, “it’s like holding a roll of barbed wire.”
He dropped the kitten and, after an outraged glance at the marshal, she followed Clayton into the house.
Clayton returned with a sheet of notepaper from Parker Southwell’s desk and a yellow pencil. He held the paper against the door and wrote:
HE FALED.
Kelly looked over his shoulder. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means Mitchell failed to kill me. What else would it mean?”
“There’s an I in failed. F-A-I-L-E-D.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Clayton inserted the I, then showed the paper to Kelly.
HE FAiLED.
“Satisfied now?” he said.
Kelly nodded. “It’s close enough. Now what are you going to do with it?”
“You’ll see when we get back to town.”
The marshal gave Clayton a lingering look. “I have a feeling that what you’re planning doesn’t bode well.”
“For some folks it doesn’t,” Clayton said.
Bighorn Point was tinted with lilac light, the store windows rectangles of yellow, when Clayton and Kelly rode into town.
The dead man hanging over the horse attracted attention and a small crowd gathered, then followed the riders, eager for any diversion.
Clayton drew rein and turned to Kelly. “Maybe you don’t want to see this.”
The lawman smiled. “Look around you, Cage. You’re the only excitement in town. I guess I’ll stick.”
“You won’t like it, Nook.”
“Try me.”
“Your funeral,” Clayton said.
He rode to the bank and swung out of the saddle
“Here,” he said to Kelly, “hold Miss Lee.”
Nursing scratches, the lawman said, “Just set her down. She won’t run away.”
“Suppose a big dog comes?”
“I’ll shoot it.”
Kelly watched, amused, as Clayton pinned his note to the back of Mitchell’s shirt. Then he led the horse with its nodding burden onto the boardwalk in front of the building.
The double doors were large, ostentatious, their glass panels engraved with scenes from Greek mythology.
Clayton opened both wide, ignoring the outraged cries from the clerks inside. He led the horse to the entrance, slapped its rump, and sent it charging inside, Mitchell’s body bouncing across the saddle like a rubber ball.
Turning on his heel, Clayton walked away, leaving chaos behind him. The frightened horse tried to bolt in every direction, its flying hooves upsetting desks, smashing furniture, overturning cabinets, putting the fear of God into everyone in the bank.