Benedict and Brazos 34 by E. Jefferson Clay

Author:E. Jefferson Clay [Clay, E. Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2022-06-30T23:00:00+00:00

Three lean riders loomed against the vast crimson glow of the skyline where the sun had died minutes before. They rode slowly for there were long, hard miles behind them. A rifleman challenged them from the deep shadows of a rusted jiggling machine, then waved them on when he recognized his own henchmen.

The horsemen turned into Big Strike Street and rode towards the lights spilling out into the dusk from the dusty windows of the Bonanza Saloon.

Racking the horses out front alongside other mounts, the trio climbed the creaking steps, jingled past a bearded giant with a Remington Repeater .32 and passed through the batwing doors.

Clementine Jones stood at the warped mahogany bar with Buck James and Clint Fallon. She turned as Frisco, Tolliver and Quinn approached, knocking alkali dust from their clothes with their hats.

“Well?” Her voice carried the unmistakable ring of authority.

Frisco drew off his riding gloves. Clementine Jones’ top trailsman was about forty years old with a lean and hawklike face.

“Nothin’ yet, Clementine,” he reported.

“What do you mean—yet? You’ve had all day. If you haven’t found their sign by this I’d say you’re not going to, wouldn’t you?”

“Saw circlin’ buzzards way off west just on sundown, boss lady,” Frisco replied. “Could mean somethin’ worth checkin’ on come mornin’.”

“Why don’t you admit that Archer was always better at blotting sign than you are at reading it, and let it go at that, Frisco?”

“They took to the lava rock country after quittin’ Chaparral Springs, boss lady,” reasoned Quinn, a smoky-eyed killer not yet out of his teens. “A man could drive a wagon and team over that lava and not leave enough sign to stick in your eye.’’

“Who asked you, junior?” Clementine retorted, towering over Quinn as she worked the whip in her hands. She wasn’t always this hard on her men, but could be unbending when the mood took her. “The simple truth is that Archer has got away from us and I just want to hear you admit it.”

“I ain’t never denied Teal was a top man on the trails, Clementine,” Frisco said stubbornly. “But I ain’t givin’ him best. If I don’t find him, then I don’t mean to quit until I find out where he’s headed.”

“That’s if he ain’t hidin’ right here in town,” weighed-in dust-coated Tolliver, third member of the scouting party.

“Somebody’s hiding here,” Clementine said darkly, her eyes moving to James and Fallon. “But we haven’t been able to flush them out yet. I’m beginning to believe that when it comes to finding people, my famous band of desperadoes isn’t worth a damn.”

“Boss lady—” Frisco began, but was drowned out by the sudden crack of the whip.

Clementine coiled the whip again and stood wide-legged, heavy breasts heaving. “Leave me!” she ordered imperiously. “Get the hell out of my sight before I lose my temper!”

They obeyed with alacrity; five gun hung hellions trooping out meekly rather than risk the wrath of a woman and a whip.

“Not a man amongst them!” Clementine Jones said aloud, yet her tone was more complaining than critical now.

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