Guns of the Vigilantes by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2023-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“I wish I was close enough to put a rifle bullet into Clay Kyle,” Fish Lee said. “Then we could all turn and go home with a clear conscience.”

“There are others, and they’re just as guilty as he is,” Dan Caine said. “And what about Black-Eyed Susan?”

“What about her?” Fish said. His horse shook its head at a fly, the bit chiming in the late morning silence.

“You gonna put a bullet in her?” Dan said.

“She’s a problem, ain’t she?” Fish said.

“What kind of problem?” Clint Cooley said. “Apart from her being a woman, that is.”

“Apart from her being a woman, he says.” Fish looked serious. “That’s exactly the dang problem, gambling man. You ever shot a woman?”

Cooley smiled. “I don’t think so, but I’m sure I’d remember if I had.”

“Well, I ain’t never shot a member of the female sex afore, and I never will,” Fish said. “So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“Hear that, Estella?” Cooley said. “You’re safe around ol’ Fish. He don’t hold with gunning ladies.”

“Mr. Lee is a gentleman,” Estella said. “That’s more than can be said for some around here.” And then, “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Clint Cooley.”

“The Kiowa’s coming in,” Dan Caine said, smiling, his gaze reaching into the distance.

* * *

“The river is close, and there’s a shallow crossing,” the Kiowa said. “Kyle and his men forded there maybe two days ago.” He glanced at the menacing sky. “Thunderstorm coming. Lightning among those peaks will not be pleasant.”

“We’ll chance it,” Dan said. “I don’t want to lose Clay Kyle in the mountains.”

“Wiser if you’d said that you don’t want to meet Clay Kyle in the mountains,” the Kiowa said. “He has many gunmen with him.”

“Indian, answer my question with something wise,” Cooley said. “If we meet up with Kyle what are our chances?”

“None,” the Kiowa said. “I could give you advice, but the white man never listens.”

“I’m listening,” Dan Caine said.

“Then wash the warpaint from your faces and go home quietly, like beaten warriors,” the Kiowa said.

“That is not my intention,” Dan said.

The Kiowa nodded. “I know I waste my breath. White men are deaf to good advice from an Indian.”

To the north, still at a distance, angry thunder growled like a hibernating bear roused from sleep, and a rising wind rushed across the long grass. The air smelled strange, of ozone and far-off rain, and the horses grew restless, sensing what their riders could not . . . the violence to come.

“What about you, Kiowa?” Fish Lee said. “Come now, state your own intentions. Will you tuck your tail between your legs and run?”

“I told deputy Caine that I will lead him to Clay Kyle,” the Kiowa answered. “As I’ve said before, my job is not yet done.” He again glanced at the threatening sky. “When Kyle is within rifle shot, I will leave. I have no quarrel with the man.”

It was growing darker as though the too-heavy black thunderclouds were falling to earth, and a few dismal drops of rain rode the wind and cooled the scorching heat of the day.

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