The Killing Blow (13 page)

The thought of those stakes slamming into him was more than enough to force Clint to adjust his weight and balance perfectly upon one bent leg. Somewhere along the way, Clint felt a sting in his ankle as if something had just bitten him.

As much as he would have preferred a beetle in his sock, Clint knew that the barbed wire had just eased through the leather and clamped down on his boot. It was a miracle the trap hadn't been sprung. The creak of the branch was only getting louder. It was just a matter of time before it snapped forward.

Clint pulled in a few breaths to steady himself.

He tossed the rifle he'd been holding behind him and focused his eyes upon the branch with those stakes lashed to it.

Easing his arm to his side, Clint slowly bent his right knee and stretched his left leg to the safest possible spot.

He could feel his supporting leg begin to strain and his knee grow warm with the effort of holding all of his body's weight. He could also feel his other leg start to cramp up after being held in such an awkward position for too long.

Clint struggled to keep his eyes from focusing upon the wooden stakes and the nasty tip each one of them possessed. He did his best to keep from thinking how terrible the pain would be if even one of those spikes were driven into him. He tried not to think about how long he would be lying there after getting impaled before anyone might find him.

Clint pushed past all of those things and focused instead upon the branch to which those stakes were tied. He couldn't make out exactly how the branch was being held back, but Clint could see the wood was taxed to its limit and was too strong to break.

After letting out a breath, Clint crouched down a bit lower, gathered up his strength and then pushed himself backward from that one leg.

As he dropped toward the ground, he stretched out the leg that was snagged in the barbed wire, just to give him as much extra time as possible. The trigger had already been pulled, however, and the branch let out a creaking groan as it snapped forward. Those stakes sliced through the air right until Clint plucked the Colt from his holster and fired off a quick shot.

Aiming more on reflex than anything else, Clint pointed the Colt like he would point his finger. He didn't even know if his bullet hit the mark until after his back had slammed against the ground.

Through the rush of blood in his ears, he could hear the snapping of wood followed by the heavy thump of the branch landing in the bushes beyond the tree.

Clint forced himself to open his eyes and reflexively patted himself down. There was nothing impaling him, which brought about a loud sigh of relief.

The branch was now just a jagged stump and was still smoking after being cut by hot lead.

Clint lay in the spot where he'd landed as if waiting for another device to be sprung. The next thing that concerned him was the sound of his shot still rolling through the air. If Ordell was in the general vicinity, it was a safe bet he'd heard that shot.

Before getting up, Clint reached down and pulled the barbed wire that was still lodged in his boot. Sure enough, that damn wire even managed to catch in his finger before coming free.

Clint fought the urge to shoot the wire just to make himself feel better. Instead, he started checking around for more traps so he could prepare for Mark Ordell's arrival.

Ordell arrived with as much warning as a shadow gave when it crept along the ground. He slipped in through one of the patches of trees that looked too thick to cross and somehow did it without stirring more than a few stray leaves.

His face was smeared with blood and dirt, turning it the same color as his long, gnarled beard. The big man stopped like a buck testing the edge of a lake and then took a few cautious steps toward the cabin. His eyes darted back and forth, soaking up every last detail of the clearing.

When he approached the cabin, he stopped at a spot between the door and window as if he were somehow able to stare through the wall. Finally, he leaned to one side and took a quick look through the window. Without even trying the door, he continued his search of the paths leading away from the clearing.

Almost immediately, he spotted a patch of ground indicating where Clint had headed. There wasn't much more than some dirt and a few pebbles on the ground, but Ordell saw enough there to put a smile upon his face. His eyes traced the path that Clint had walked, ending right at the spot where his trap had been sprung.

Ordell held his rifle in both hands and straightened up a bit as he walked toward his trap. Nodding to himself as he pieced together what must have happened, he grinned even wider when he saw the exposed length of barbed wire.

Slowing his steps as he approached the tree, he reached out and ran one fingertip along the spot where the deadly branch had been broken. Ordell then heard the rustle of leaves, but was too late to move before the pistol barrel lowered itself down to his head like a snake dropping from its nest in the tree.

“Hello, Mark,” Clint said as he reached down to hold the Colt to Ordell's forehead. “I was wondering when you'd show.”

Ordell froze in his tracks, in much the same way that Clint had done when he'd felt his boot snag upon that wire. His eyes flicked up to follow the pistol all the way up to the arm that was holding it. From there, he could barely make out the spot where Clint had nestled himself in the tree just over the sprung trap.

“You the one I almost got in that trap?” Ordell asked.

“Sure am. That was a hell of a device.”

“Thanks. I came up with it myself. You're the first to get out of it.”

“I'm honored.”

“So, you gonna stay up there or are we gonna talk like two men 'stead of one man and a cat?”

Rather than give his answer in words, Clint dropped down from his perch and landed with just a slight stumble. Since he hadn't given Ordell a warning, Clint was able to steady his aim again before the other man could make any sort of a move against him.

“What's the meaning of this, Clint? Do you really need to point a gun at me?”

“I don't know. From what I've heard, you're a pretty dangerous man. Speaking of which, drop the rifle.”

“I could say the same about you,” Ordell replied as he tossed the big gun into the bushes. “Fact is, your reputation's got a whole lot more color than mine.”

“I'm not here about my reputation. I'm here to get the facts about you.”

“If this is about Josh, I already said my piece on that.”

“Fine,” Clint said. “Then maybe you could tell me about Ed Gray or those Indians that you scalped.”

“Scalpin' ain't illegal if it's the army that pays for me to do it.”

“That doesn't make it right, either.”

Ordell let out a breath and straightened to his full height. Hooking his free hand over his shoulder, he said, “I got some perfectly good chairs in that cabin. How about we head in there to talk?”

Clint shook his head. “Considering how well you've got this area trapped, I'd rather not take a chance to see what surprises you have inside.”

“All right, then. You're the one that came all the way out here. You're the one that climbed a damn tree and waited up there for God knows how long so you could say what you needed to say. Just say it and be done with it. I've got things to do.”

“Tell me about Ed Gray,” Clint said.

“He was a selfish prick who got what was coming to him, just like those filthy redskins who I scalped. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Only if it's the truth.”

Ordell cocked his head to one side and thought it over for a few moments. “Actually . . . it is the truth.” Once he saw that Clint didn't have anything ready to say to that, Ordell asked, “Now what?”

“And what about a man named Howlett.”

“He's dead, too?”

“No. How do you know him?”

Ordell shrugged. “I got into a disagreement with a few of his friends. Maybe a family member or two also. It's been a while, so I don't honestly recall every last detail.”

“What sort of disagreement?” Clint asked.

“They wanted to stay alive and I disagreed.”

“This isn't a game, Mark.”

“Isn't it? Ain't every part of life just one big game? Ain't it a gamble whether or not we make it through disease and every other manner of hell that's out there just so we can grow up?”

“What are you trying to do, exactly?” Clint asked. “Talk me into your idea that killing is all just some kind of game like everything else?”

Ordell's eyes widened hopefully and he smiled. “Yes! I knew you'd understand.”

“Leave that kind of bullshit for the philosophers. Better yet, run it past a judge and see if it gets you out of a murder charge.”

Nodding slowly as his smile faded, Ordell shifted on his feet. “I've got a gamble for you. I'll bet that you won't shoot an unarmed man in the back.”

Tensing as he saw Ordell turn around, Clint took a step back so he would be out of range if Ordell tried to take a swing at him. “Don't do this, Mark. I'd rather not kill you, but I will.”

Ordell acted as if he didn't hear a word Clint said. He even acted as if he didn't know a gun was pointed at him. Instead, he kept his hands at his sides and started walking slowly down the path and away from the cabin.

As a warning that no man could ignore, Clint thumbed back the hammer of his Colt. The distinctive metallic click rattled through the air like a snake's rattle. “You want to explain yourself? You'll have all the time in the world to talk on the way back into town.”

“In front of a judge and a jury box full of pasty-faced worms? I'd rather get my judgment out here.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Or I could keep on gambling.”

Clint's stomach clenched as he sighted along his barrel and lined up a killing blow.

“I bet you're not willing to take your chances with the rest of these traps just to catch me.”

Lowering his aim a couple of feet, Clint squeezed his trigger and sent a round intended for Ordell's leg. Instead, the bullet hissed through empty air since Ordell had leapt into the bushes the moment his last word had escaped his lips.

Clint's impulse was to chase after him, but he quickly remembered the other trip wires he'd seen when he was stuck in that barbed wire. Looking down that path, he could still see those snares and could only imagine what was out there that he couldn't see.

Swearing under his breath, Clint backed up and let Ordell go.

No matter how much he could have cursed himself out for not putting a bullet into Ordell when he had the chance, Clint choked that down so he could wait and watch for Ordell's return. The hunter had dropped his rifle and there was no way in hell the man was going to leave it behind.

Clint put his back to the cabin and watched the bushes. Before long, he felt his muscles tense and lock into position. His breathing slowed so he could hear every last thing that was going on around him. Soon, he had a real good idea of what Ordell felt when he was hunting.

Not wanting to turn his back for a second, Clint stayed in that spot and waited. He knew the hunter would be back. No matter how many other weapons Ordell might have had, he would go back for that rifle. Ordell thought like a warrior and that gun was more than just a rifle to him. Much like Clint's pistol was more than just another Colt.

After a while, Clint's senses became so sharp that he could practically hear the leaves scraping together with every breeze. That's what made it so strange when he heard absolutely nothing at all where Ordell was concerned.

Tentatively, Clint inched his way toward the bushes. He kept his body low and one hand stretched out in front of him so he could feel for any more snares or other possible traps. Thinking back to what he'd seen and what Ordell had said, Clint felt like a fool.

The thought hit him like a sharp, sudden rap on the nose and it caught his attention in a similar fashion.

There were definitely other traps out there, but Ordell knew Clint was wary of them. That's why he'd put it in Clint's head to be afraid of them as if every tree were rigged to turn against him after one misstep. It was the worst kind of bluff: the kind that had a kernel of truth at its core.

Although he kept on the lookout for more traps, Clint didn't let that prevent him from doing what needed to be done. He had to find that rifle, since it was one sure piece of bait that would draw Ordell straight back into Clint's sight.

Unfortunately, Ordell's bluff had held up just long enough.

The rifle was nowhere to be found.

After waiting and then searching for over an hour Clint had to admit defeat. He might not have seen exactly where it had landed, but the rifle was too damn big to disappear under some bushes. It wasn't there, plain and simple. Clint had to admit that no matter how much it stung.

Clint stood up in the bushes and looked around. When he saw nothing but more shades of green and brown, he shook his head and let out an exasperated breath. That rifle was big and Ordell was bigger, but somehow both of them had snuck out right from under his nose.

Backing out of the bushes, Clint went to the cabin and dropped down into the same spot where he'd been waiting before. This time, he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him and his head leaning back against the wall.

He was tired.

At that moment, that one fact was all that could enter Clint's mind. He was tired and every muscle in his body ached. He'd been put through the wringer and every last bit of it chose that second to rush up on him. The thought crossed his mind to just let Ordell keep running and scamper through his woods.