Clay Nash 9 by Brett Waring

Author:Brett Waring
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: western, wells fargo, colt 45, the american old west, clay nash, western ebook series, gunfighters and lawmen, usa frontier
Publisher: Piccadilly

Six – Wrath of a Town

Clay Nash could feel the tension in the town as he rode down Howard’s main street.

There were not many folks on the walks and those who were, weren’t simply strolling along. They seemed to be either gathered in groups, talking pretty seriously, judging by the looks on their faces, or else hurrying down to the far end of the town where he could see a church steeple rising above the elms.

Some faces appeared at windows and stared at him as he rode. He didn’t know what it was but something was wrong here; something had happened in this town recently, and it looked to him like the people were still reeling under it. He veered his mount across to the livery stable but there was no one there to help him so he unsaddled and stalled his horse, then gave it a brief rub-down. Carrying his warbag on his left shoulder, and his Winchester in his right hand, he stepped out again into the sunlight.

Clay stopped and looked around. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. During the ten or fifteen minutes he had been in the livery stable, the streets had emptied of people. He glanced down towards the church and thought he saw a couple of people hurrying into the shadows of the elms. Frowning, he let his eyes roam over the buildings, unimpressed, having seen similar clapboards and false front affairs in a hundred towns he had ridden into. His gaze came to rest on a building opposite and down the block aways. There was a shingle hanging out that said, simply, SHERIFF. It didn’t appear to be as weathered as much as the other wood or most of the other signs.

Nash strode down that way and noticed the door was open. He walked down the middle of the street, looking at the other buildings, noting that the stores had padlocks on their doors. Even the saloon’s doors were closed behind the batwings. There were no faces at the windows now. Puzzled more than ever, Nash stepped up onto the law office porch and walked to the door, not expecting to find anyone inside.

He was surprised to see a big man sitting at the battered desk. The man glanced up, his face hard and tight with a simmering anger.

“What do you want?” growled Pres Alton.

Nash dumped his warbag and propped his rifle against the wall beside it. He thumbed back his hat as he turned to look at the lawman.

“I’ll get around to that soon enough,” Nash told him equably. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s happened out there?”

Alton glared. “Town meetin’,” he snapped. “Look, stranger, you picked a bad time to arrive. If you’re just driftin’ around, I suggest you keep ridin’. If you got business here, you’d better tell me what it is. I’m Sheriff Alton.”

Nash stared at him levelly. “Guess you’re the man I’m lookin’ for then. Clay Nash.”

Alton frowned, looking sharply at the tall man. “Seems I’ve heard the name.

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