The Stranger from Abilene

This had never happened to him before and it wounded his professional pride.

He’d anticipated an easy kill and hadn’t put his whole concentration into the job. Well, now he would. He wouldn’t miss a third time.

The mark was pinned down at the cattle pens and he had nowhere to go. All he could do now was wait until dark and make his move.

And Mitchell would be still waiting and ready.

He was angry now, angry at himself, and as mean as a teased rattlesnake.

All right, the man called Clayton would get it in the belly.

And he’d die slow.

Mitchell smiled at the thought.

Wait . . . now what the hell was this?

The mark was on the move. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Mitchell’s smile grew into a grin as he shouldered his rifle.

Clayton considered the Southwell Ranch was a bad luck spread, and now a tiny, striped kitten proved it.

The little animal stepped toward him, stopped, and looked up at his face with luminous green eyes.

“Git,” Clayton said. He threw a wisp of straw at the kitten. “You scat!”

The animal ignored him, purring, as it walked soundlessly toward him.

Clayton cursed. Now the bushwhacker would know exactly where he was—the damned cat was pointing him out.

“Scat!” Clayton said again.

The kitten ran to him and jumped onto his lap, then got up on her hind legs and rubbed her forehead over his chin.

“Cat, you’re gonna get us both killed,” Clayton said.

The kitten purred, smiled at him, and kept on with what she was doing.

Clayton shook his head. Well, that settled it, he couldn’t stay here all day and let the bushwhacker flank him or get around behind him. He lifted the kitten and set her down. He jumped to his feet, his Colt up and ready.

Clayton sprinted for the cover of the trough, firing at the ridge as he ran.

He knew he’d made a bad mistake when he heard the flat hammer of gunshots. He dove for the shelter of the shed, his right shoulder coming up hard against its weathered timber.

To his surprise, he hadn’t been hit.

Then he heard the reason why.

“Cage, you lunatic, get the hell out of there!”

Nook Kelly’s voice.

Instantly, Clayton was suspicious. Was Kelly the hidden rifleman?

“Come up here, on the ridge,” Kelly yelled. “Unless you’ve crapped your pants; then stay right where you’re at.”

Warily, Clayton stepped away from the cover of the shed, his Colt still in his hand. He saw Kelly on the rise, looking down at the misshapen bundle at his feet. Clayton walked closer and saw that the bundle was the body of a man.

When he was close enough to Kelly to speak without shouting, he said, “Who is it?”

He saw the lawman’s quick, white grin.

“You should be honored, Cage. This here is, or was, Mr. Shack Mitchell, the highest-paid regulator and allround bounty hunter in the business.”

Clayton walked closer. “Did he speak? Did he say who hired him?”

“Hell no, he didn’t speak. I put four rounds into him. I don’t know who hired him, but I can tell you this, the services of ol’ Shack didn’t come cheap.”

Clayton joined Kelly on the rise and looked at the dead man.

He was a gray-haired man, small, thin, somehow shrunken in death. He wore a black suit, threadbare, faded to a dark gray color, and a black plug hat. A Spencer rifle lay under his body and he had a belted Colt around his waist.

“He don’t look like much,” Clayton said.

“Maybe not, but Shack was something. If I hadn’t happened along and heard the shooting, he would have killed you fer sure.”

He looked hard at Clayton. “What the hell was that fool play, running like a rabbit from one place to another, all the time getting nearer to Shack’s rifle?”

“My own rifle was on the horse. I needed to get a lot closer to use the Colt.”

“He could’ve blown off your damn head, a grown man prancing around down there like a girl at her first barn dance.”

Clayton felt a flush of cold anger but bit back the sharp retort he’d been about to make. Keeping his voice even, he said, “You said you happened along. Why did you do that, just happen along?”

“I talked to Moses Anderson in town. He said you were still here.”

“So you came out after me.”

“Yeah, I had a bad feeling about you being out here alone.” Kelly grinned. “And I was right.”

He frowned. “Hell, how long were you moping around in there?”

Clayton shook his head. “I don’t know—minutes, I guess.”

“More like hours.”

“It could have been. I lost track of time.”

“Shack was waiting for you to come out. He was a patient man.”

“Seems like. Did you come up behind him?”

“Yeah. I saw him draw a bead on you and shot him in the back. Hell of a way to kill a man.”

Kelly shrugged. “Pity, because I guess ol’ Shack deserved better. But you were in trouble and I had to act.”

Clayton smiled. “Nook, my troubles are just about to begin. And yours.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see.”

Kelly glanced at Clayton’s feet. “What the hell is that?”

The kitten twined through Clayton’s legs, rubbing herself against his boots.

“It’s a kitten,” Clayton said. Then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, “Her name is Miss Lee.”

Chapter 58