The Stranger from Abilene

The old man was stung, and for a moment his thinking slipped a cog. Anger can push a man into dangerous territory, and Hinton stepped over that boundary.

His cheekbones burning, he said, “Or maybe you’ve slowed down on account of them years of doin’ nothin’ and you think this stranger can shade you with the iron.”

A second passed, another. Kelly stood stock-still. Then he moved.

His hands blurred and suddenly the Bulldogs were hammering, his bullets kicking up straw and dirt around the old man’s feet.

Hinton screamed, did a frantic jig, then fell flat on his back.

Talking through the ringing echoes that followed, Kelly said, “Still fast enough for you, Benny?”

“You’re crazy!” the old man shrieked. “Plumb loco!”

Kelly grinned. “No, I’m not crazy. Like I said, I’m bored.”

Clayton heard shouts, and doors opened somewhere in the street outside.

The marshal, still grinning, stepped to the barn door and held up his hands.

“Go back to bed, folks,” he yelled. “Just some plumb loco rooster shooting at the moon.”

“You all right, Marshal?” a man’s voice said.

“I’m fine. Now go home, and take them others with you.”

After the mutterings of his would-be rescuers faded into silence, Kelly turned in the doorway and looked at Clayton.

“Did you think that was fast, Mr. Clayton?” he said.

“I’ve never seen faster,” Clayton said.

“Hell, and I wasn’t even half trying,” Kelly said.

Chapter 5

Cage Clayton woke after an hour of restless sleep.

Kelly was gone and Hinton had locked himself in his office, making a point of slamming the bolt home so Clayton would hear it.

Clayton glanced at his watch. It was two thirty, the dead of night. He rose, dusted straw off his pants, and stepped to the livery door. The town was quiet, sleeping under a lilac sky aflame with stars. The air smelled of pine, carried on the wind off the Sans Bois Mountains a few miles to the south, and to the north, out on the prairie, night birds called into darkness.

Clayton walked a few yards away from the barn and looked down the shadowed street. Somewhere out there was a man who would try to kill him. Not tonight, but maybe the day after or the day after that.

He lit a cigarette. He knew that if he stepped out of line, Nook Kelly would gun him. But where was that line?

Only the marshal knew, and he wasn’t telling, at least not yet.

Kelly told Hinton he was bored, wanted to see what would happen. But when it did happen . . . what then?

Clayton might have to kill a man Kelly didn’t want dead. The little gun exhibition he’d given tonight wasn’t really directed at Hinton. It was a warning to Clayton: Cross me and I’ll kill you.

The rancher’s cigarette had gone out. He lit it again, the match flame reflecting orange on the lean planes of his face. Clayton had no crystal ball. He couldn’t predict the future. But one thing he did know—he could never match Nook Kelly’s skill with a gun. Not in this lifetime or in any other.

He ground out the cigarette butt under the sole of his boot and shook his head. All he could do now was take things as they came. There was no use building barriers on a bridge he hadn’t even crossed yet.

Yet, as Clayton lay again on his uncomfortable bed of straw and sacking, a man was already plotting his death.

He didn’t know it then. But he would know it soon.

Chapter 6

“He’s here. The man you said would come.”

Two figures were silhouetted in the dark room. One on his feet, one sitting up in bed.

“Bounty hunter?” the man in the bed said. His voice was the weak whisper of a man who found it hard to breathe.

“Rancher. Or so he says.”

“How do you know?”

“Egan Jones, the ferryman. Rode into town on a lathered mule, maybe an hour ago, to spread the news. Kelly told him he already knew, so Jones came here, figured you’d want to hear it.”

“He did right. But he knows too much, that damned ferryman, or guesses too much.”

“You want me to get rid of him permanent?”

“No, not yet. Give him ten dollars and tell him to keep his big mouth shut.”

“Sure.”

“What’s this man’s name?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t give Jones his handle. Said he was from up Abilene way, though.”

“Then this has got to be the work of that Kansas farmer, damn him to hellfire and perdition. How can a man nurse a hate for twenty-five years?”

The man in the bed grabbed a bottle from the table beside him and rattled two pills into his hand. His tall companion poured him water and watched as the sick man palmed the pills into his mouth.

He lay back on the pillow, his voice even weaker now. “You’ll get rid of him?”

“Of course.”

“I want it done quickly and quietly. Oh, and let the Fat Man know you’re taking care of the situation. One other thing: Make it look good for Kelly. I don’t want him on the prod.”

“I got rid of the Pinkertons. You hear anybody complain, Kelly included?”

“No, you did well and helped me repay a favor.”

The sick man on the bed raised a white hand with blue veins. “Lee mustn’t know about this. I want her kept well out of it.”

“She never found out about the Pinkertons.”