Pariah (12 page)

It was a dusty ride to the Whetstone Mountains. The range wasn't one of the most impressive Clint had ever seen, since they rose up from the ground more like a tall set of ridges instead of mountains as majestic as the Rockies. Still, they were a sight to behold as they drew closer. When he motioned for Eddie to stop, Clint kept his eyes on the mountains and looked for anything that might be a camp.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

Eddie brought his horse to a stop and reached for his canteen. After splashing a good portion of water upon the front of his shirt, he wiped his mouth and grunted, “Ride toward that southern slope. The Baht moves his men around a lot, but the camp more or less stays put.”

“Did you say Bat?”

“Bahhht,” Lylah said. Until now, she'd been so quiet that Clint had nearly forgotten she was there. Her arms had been locked around him all day and her head was almost always pressed against his shoulder. When Clint turned to look at her, she pulled down the scarf that had been wrapped around her face to keep the dust from her mouth and pronounced the name a little slower.

“All right,” Clint replied. “Who is that?”

Lylah didn't have an answer for that, so she nestled in behind him again.

“Baht is the head honcho at that camp,” Eddie explained. “I've dealt with him a few times, so let me do the talkin'.”

“How about you get us there first?”

“Sure enough. Follow me.” With that, Eddie snapped his reins and rode toward the southern portion of the mountain range.

Despite the fact that they could see the mountains plain as day, it took a few more hours before they got close enough to look for the camp. Just when Clint was about to accuse Eddie of leading them in circles, he picked out a trail of smoke that resembled a smudge in the sky leading down to a spot at the base of the mountains. They rode toward that for a little while longer before Clint spotted something else in the distance.

“Is that your friend?” he asked as he pointed to a cluster of four men on horseback a little ways ahead of them.

“There's one way to find out.” Eddie tapped his heels against his horse's sides, prompting the animal to break into a gallop.

Clint patted Lylah's hands, which caused her to cinch her arms a bit tighter around his midsection. Since she was squared away, Clint allowed Eclipse to tear after Eddie amid a thunder of hooves. Not long after catching up to the bounty hunter, Clint heard the hiss of something whip between him and Eddie. The crack of a distant rifle soon followed.

“I thought you recognized them!” Clint said.

Eddie pulled hard on his reins and steered his horse sharply off its previous course. “That's Baht, all right,” he groaned. “We might have left off on a sour note the last time I was out this way.”

Another shot was fired that got close enough to make Clint duck down out of reflex. “Sour enough to shoot us on sight?”

Although the bounty hunter didn't give a straight answer, he squirmed enough to tell Clint what he wanted to know.

“Some partner I got,” Clint snarled.

More shots hissed through the air above Clint's head and on either side. Either those men were deliberately trying to miss or they all needed spectacles. Gambling on the former, Clint drew his pistol and looked over at Eddie. “Do you trust me?”

The bounty hunter grinned widely and drew his own gun. “We gotta drop every one of these men before they can send word back to their camp, but if anyone can do it, we can!”

Two of the four riders broke off from the group to hang back and watch Clint, Lylah, and Eddie. The remaining two thundered straight ahead as if they fully intended on stampeding directly over all three of the new arrivals.

“You'll do what I say and follow my lead?” Clint asked.

“Hell yes!”

“Good,” Clint said as he placed the barrel of his Colt flush against Eddie's forehead. “Now holster your pistol and keep your mouth shut.”

The bounty hunter clenched his jaw with enough force to crack his own teeth. Whether it was his faith in Clint or the gun pointed at him, he followed orders to the letter.

Since Eddie seemed to be under control, Clint looked toward the approaching riders. The two that hung back were sighting down rifles and the first two had slowed to a trot as they drew closer. In addition to that, several other men on horseback appeared on one of the lower ridges of the mountain range. Clint didn't need to use his spyglass to know that they were most likely taking aim at him with rifles of their own.

One of the riders who approached was a young man with dark skin and blunt features. He had a wide nose, narrowed eyes, and a thick mustache hanging from his upper lip like a tattered curtain. When he spoke, it was with an accent that was close enough to Lylah's to let Clint know they'd come to the right place.

“Drop your guns and come with us,” the rider said.

“The hell I will,” Clint replied. “I dragged this son of a bitch this far and I'm not about to lower my weapon now.”

“You had it lowered before. You can lower it again.”

“That was before we got here. Are you Baht?”

The rider nodded as he sized up all three people in front of him.

“My name's Clint Adams and I heard you got a bone to pick with this man.”

“That's right.”

“You willing to pay to get your hands on him?”

Baht smirked and nodded. “We can offer you a few things. If he's a prisoner, why does he carry a weapon?”

“Because he didn't know he was a prisoner until now,” Clint replied. “Since there's more than just me and a woman to deal with him now, I can finally turn him over and stop acting like his friend.”

“You son of a bitch,” Eddie growled. If he was acting, the bounty hunter was doing a fine job, because he looked more than ready to pull Clint's head off.

Baht switched his pistol to his left hand so he could take a sawed-off shotgun from the boot of his saddle. Not only had the barrel been shortened, but the grip had been replaced with a chunky version of a pistol grip to make it easier to hold without being braced against a shooter's shoulder. Baht handled the awkward weapon well enough to show that he knew how to use it just fine.

“We can offer food, provisions, and perhaps some money for this one,” Baht said. “Agreed?”

“There's a favor I need to ask,” Clint said. “I need someone to translate.”

“Translate?”

“That's right.” Pointing at Lylah, Clint said, “She doesn't speak English and I need someone to help translate. I'm told she speaks your language.”

Looking at him as if Clint was speaking nonsense, Baht said, “English is my language.”

“Then what about someone else in your camp? This woman is Mongolian and—”

“Yes, I can see what she is,” Baht snapped. Obviously impatient to shoot Eddie and be done with it, he said, “A few old men in our camp speak the old tongue. They'll be happy to translate once I bring this one's head in a sack.”

“Can't let you do that,” Clint said.

“Why not?”

“I want to bring him in alive. You wouldn't want to lose what he took from you.”

Baht scowled at Eddie and then lowered his shotgun. “No, I suppose not.” Staring at the bounty hunter the way a hungry cat might fix upon a dead fish, he said, “Give me his weapon.”

“You heard the man, Eddie,” Clint said. “Hand it over.”

The bounty hunter complied and stayed still as his knife was taken out of the scabbard hanging from his belt and the rifle was taken from the boot of his saddle. The other dark-skinned man who'd ridden with Baht circled around to ride behind Clint and Eddie as Baht led them all toward the mountains.

They found a narrow path winding between some piles of rocks that led up a ridge and down another trail. The Whet-stones were just big enough to offer sanctuary from the dusty winds and keep the camp out of plain sight. By the time they arrived at the settlement, Clint saw several men watching them from various lookout points around the camp's perimeter.

The camp was made up of several tents crafted from pelts and furs instead of canvas. Shelters of various sizes, all with rounded tops, were clustered together like a bunch of dirt mounds that had been left behind by some very large prairie dogs. People roamed among the shelters, tending to animals, washing clothes, and preparing food at one of the fires that had sent up the smoke Clint had spotted earlier.

Baht dismounted and walked away, letting one of his men point a gun at Clint and Eddie.

“Off the horses,” the man said.

Once all three had dismounted, more men appeared to take the reins. Eclipse protested immediately, but Clint calmed the Darley Arabian with a few pats on the muzzle.

“How'd you know I took somethin' from these men?” Eddie whispered.

“I figured it was a safe bet, considering how badly they wanted to shoot you. If I was wrong, I could have told them you
did
take something and I'm sure they would have believed me.”

As much as Eddie looked like he wanted to defend his character, he couldn't put together a convincing argument. “So you just hand me over to these savages? They can kill me at any time, you know.”

“They could have killed all of us when we first arrived,” Clint pointed out. “Considering that you didn't mention the reception we might get, I wouldn't mind killing you myself.”

Once more, Eddie was unable to come up with a good defense. “I thought you were better than this, Adams. Stab-bin' a man in the back ain't your style.”

The man who came over to collect Eddie stood a full head taller than the bounty hunter. He was a solid, imposing figure covered in thick layers of muscle that made him as big around as a tree trunk. His glistening white teeth could barely be seen through the thick beard that covered the bottom portion of his face and hung down to well past his neck.

“What did you take from these people, Eddie?” Clint asked. “Tell me quick.”

“Some gold trinkets. They looked old.”

Clint nodded and stepped back as the big fellow moved in close enough to snarl at him like a wolf claiming a fresh kill. “Take him away but don't harm him,” Clint warned.

“Why?” the big fellow asked.

“Because I was promised some things and I want to make sure I get them.” Noticing the predatory gleam in the bigger man's eyes, Clint added, “You kill him and you'll never get your gold back.”

The big man gnashed his teeth and snarled.

Stepping around the big man while patting him on the shoulder, Baht said, “Take him to sit with the horses, Tumen. I want to have a few words with Mister Sanchez, and he'll need his tongue for that.”

Tumen liked the sound of that, so he grabbed Eddie by the scruff of his neck and shoved him farther into the camp.

“Come with me,” Baht said. “There is someone you might like to meet.”

Some of the larger structures at the center of the camp were set up with rough wooden frames. Once he was inside one of them, Clint could see the frames were actually put together in complex patterns that supported the animal skin shell over the space that might be occupied by a small cabin. There was a small cot within the shelter, along with a few chairs and a table that looked as if it had fallen off the back of a wagon while on its way to a rich man's sitting room.

Baht motioned toward the shelter's only other occupant, who was a short, solidly built man with scraggly gray hair that was gathered at the back of his head and held in place with a leather thong. “This is Chuluun,” Baht said. “He grew up in the old country and knows the old tongue.”

“You know the old tongue just as I do,” Chuluun scolded. “At least, you would know it if you had listened when I tried to teach you.” Before Baht could say anything, the old man stuck a finger out at him and said, “Many times, I tried to teach you! You never listen.” Looking at Clint, he added, “He never listens.”

Clint shrugged. “Kids.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed. So,” the old man said as he studied Clint's face, “who are you?”

“This is Clint Adams,” Baht replied. “He brought back the bounty hunter who stole our coins.”

“Are the coins here?” Chuluun asked.

“He says he wants a favor first.”

“Nobody does kind things for free anymore,” the old man sighed. “Then again, I suppose it is just as well, since we stole those coins in the first place.”

“Took them from a grave-robbing Army caravan!” Baht corrected. “Those are ours by right!”

Chuluun waved at the younger man as if he was growing more tired of the conversation by the second. “Everything comes around. What's the favor you want, Clint Adams?”

Clint reached back until he felt his hand bump against the woman who had been all but forgotten by the rugged, dark-skinned men who lived in the camp. “This,” he said, “is Lylah. At least, that's the name she was given by the woman who used to be taking care of her.”

Examining her the way he might examine a horse, Chuluun asked, “She is your favor?”

“Kind of. I'm told that she's Mongolian. I was also told that you might be able to help translate for me so we could ask her a few questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“There's a man we're after,” Clint replied. “A killer. He killed the woman who used to care for Lylah and he's killed several others. He's also a kidnapper and a slave trader.”