Pariah (16 page)

Clint still didn't have a good enough view to tell what the other men were doing to the stage or its passengers. Once the rifle shots started whipping through the air around him, he knew those men's intentions weren't good.

Although someone was firing a rifle at them, Clint didn't worry too much about being hit until he got closer. Eclipse was doing a good job of running in a crooked line, which made it damn near impossible for anyone to hit him. Eddie and Tumen had already scattered, taking some of the fire along with them.

Clint was so wrapped up in what he was doing that he almost forgot about his passenger. Pulling back on his reins, he extended an arm behind him and said, “Go!”

Lylah understood him well enough to take the arm Clint offered and climb down from the saddle. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she huddled into a ball and wrapped her arms around her knees.

With a sharp yell from Clint and a touch of his boots, Eclipse was off and running. In no time at all, the stallion had regained nearly all the speed he'd lost by taking his short respite. Now that he was free of Lylah's extra weight on his back, Eclipse was able to weave even more sharply as the shots continued to come at him.

As he approached the stage, Clint could already see a few things very clearly. First of all, there were four men on horseback surrounding the wagon. There could have been another covering them from a distance, but the land was so flat that any marksman would either be in plain sight or too far away to be of any concern.

Second, the stagecoach was most definitely being forced to stay put. The two shapes on the ground beside the stage were too big and squirming too much to be anything other than men. Since the front of the stage appeared to be empty, Clint's guess was that those two men were the drivers.

Third, the men who'd stopped the stage knew what they were doing. Two of them remained near the front of the stagecoach to keep the horses under control while the other two were posted on the side next to the door meant for passengers to climb in and out. They had every important angle covered and didn't budge once the lead started to fly.

Having soaked up all of that in the space of a few seconds, Clint motioned for Tumen to circle around the side of the stage opposite the passenger door. He would have given an order to Eddie if the bounty hunter had bothered to look over at him. Instead, Eddie let out a holler and fired back at the stagecoach.

Just when Clint thought he had a chance of surrounding the stage and taking it back from the robbers, things changed. One of the robbers climbed onto the stage's roof, while another pulled himself up into the driver's seat. A few seconds later, the stage lurched forward and started to roll.

Clint drew his Colt and leaned forward over Eclipse's neck. The Darley Arabian moved like a finely tuned machine and charged straight toward the remaining two gunmen without paying any heed to the shots being fired. The closest gunman had dropped to one knee and raised a rifle to his shoulder to take proper aim. With nowhere else to go, Clint had to hope he could close the distance enough to get within pistol range before the other man pulled his trigger. With every second that ticked by, Clint was certain he wasn't going to make it.

Just as the hairs started to go up on the back of Clint's neck, he heard Eddie fire a quick series of shots at the closest gunman. The bounty hunter had managed to get ahead of Eclipse, and his aim was good enough to make the rifleman drop to a prone position before picking Clint from his saddle. There was still one more gunman to consider, but Tumen was keeping him occupied.

The big man raced at the second gunman while letting out a battle cry that filled the air around him. He charged at the gunman at a full gallop, and when he was close enough, swung one leg over and launched himself from his saddle. As he sailed through the air, sunlight glinted from the blade in Tumen's hand.

As much as he wanted to watch the collision, Clint shifted his focus back to the rifleman in front of him. Eddie had managed to distract the man on the ground for a second, but it was at the cost of drawing the rifleman's fire. Once again proving to be a professional, the rifleman turned and shot at the bounty hunter and then levered in another round.

Clint squeezed off a quick shot, which he knew would sail wide of its target. While he didn't hit the rifleman, Clint did force him to roll away instead of shooting at Eddie.

The bounty hunter forced his horse to a stop and jumped down from his saddle. He snarled like an animal as he pulled his shooting iron from its holster and fired from the hip.

Clint had a clear shot at the rifleman's back, but hesitated before taking the shot. Even with the fight having already commenced, he was reluctant to shoot another man in the back. Of course, there were always ways around those sorts of dilemmas.

“Hey, asshole!” Clint shouted.

Rather than turn to face the insult, the rifleman popped up to one knee so he had both Clint and Eddie in his sights. Clint rode right up to him and kicked the rifleman in the shoulder, sending the man rolling to one side. The rifleman recovered quickly enough to aim and fire before Clint could do anything else.

The bullet whipped through the air, shredding Clint's sleeve and digging a bloody trench through his forearm as if it were the talon of a passing hawk. In the time it had taken for him to fire that shot, the rifleman gave Eddie a chance to close in on him. Eddie pounced, introducing the side of his pistol to the side of the rifleman's head.

The second of the two gunmen had put up a bit of a fight, but Tumen made him pay for that mistake. The big man's knife never stopped moving as he carved the gunman up like he was a Christmas goose. With those two well in hand, Clint focused upon the stagecoach. It had built up some speed and was well outside of pistol range, but that wouldn't last very long. Eclipse was still raring to go, and the horse tore after the stage like he'd been shot from a cannon.

Clint held his Colt in one hand while gripping his reins in the other. As Eclipse raced to catch up with the stagecoach, Clint shifted his weight to accommodate the stallion's every move. He barely had to nudge Eclipse to steer the Darley Arabian one direction or the other. The ride was so seamless that Clint might as well have been doing all the running himself.

One man lay on top of the stage, facing Clint. He held his fire until Eclipse got a little closer and then sent a shot that hissed within inches of Clint's right shoulder. Rather than try to line up a shot of his own, Clint coaxed a bit more speed from Eclipse to pull up within five or ten yards of the stage. From there, he aimed as if he was pointing his finger at his target and cut loose with a few quick shots.

The first shot chipped away the upper edge of the coach.

The second drilled into a piece of luggage the gunman was using for cover, and the third drew blood.

It didn't look like a fatal injury, but it hurt the gunman enough to straighten him up and present a bigger target. By that time, Clint had also moved in a little closer, so hitting his mark was child's play. His bullet caught the gunman in the chest with enough force to knock him off the top of the stage. Considering the rocky ground beneath the coach's wheels, Clint didn't even bother looking back to see if the gunman was going to present any more trouble.

Clint flicked his reins to get a little more speed out of Eclipse, but then tugged them back a little so he could draw up beside the stagecoach without going too far. Just as he was attempting to strike a balance that would keep him away from the man who'd taken over the driver's seat, that same man leaned out to get a look at him.

It was Jesse, the fat man who'd tried to gun Clint down soon after he'd been given Maddy's letter. “Appreciate you comin' back to us,” Jesse said as he fired a shot from his .44. “Saves us the trouble of comin' for you!”

Clint didn't need to watch the fat man's face, so he kept a close eye on the gun he carried. By keeping track of the angle of the barrel, he could make a good guess as to where Jesse was aiming. Clint's first guess was good enough to clear a path for one bullet, but he wasn't about to try his luck with many more. Instead, he pulled on his reins so Eclipse dropped back toward the rear of the stage.

Jesse leaned out and fired wildly at Clint. Sooner or later, the fat man would get lucky, and Clint didn't want to be there when he did. In fact, he didn't even want Eclipse to be there. That left him with one good option.

Before he could think better of it, Clint holstered his pistol and rode up a bit closer to the stage. Standing up in one stirrup, he hoisted himself off Eclipse's back so he could jump onto the stage. Clint reached out with both hands to grab the top ridge of the coach. His fingers quickly found something to grip, but his feet weren't having such an easy time as they scraped and bounced off the side of the bouncing carriage.

A few more shots were fired, but they seemed to be wilder than the others. And since they weren't accompanied by any more talk, Clint hoped that Jesse had lost sight of him altogether. Clint lifted one leg to use a ridge on the side of the coach as a toehold. It wasn't much, but it allowed him to pull himself up and onto the roof. Just as he was about to climb all the way up, he saw Jesse look back at him.

“There you are!” Jesse said as he brought a shotgun up to aim at the back of the stage.

Clint had less than a second to keep his head from being blown completely off his shoulders. He used that time to grab the rail that ran along the top of the stage and swing himself over the edge. His fingers locked around the rail with every ounce of strength he could muster. When his arms reached their limit, his entire body slapped against the side of the stage with an impact he felt all the way down to his toes. Clint's shoulders screamed for mercy, but he somehow managed to hang on as the shotgun blast tore a chunk from the section of roof where he'd just been.

Clint dangled from the stage like a flag at half-mast. His fingers burned, but he couldn't tell if they'd been hit by some buckshot or if they were simply about to snap from the pressure of keeping the rest of his body off the ground. It didn't really matter either way. Between the sweat from his hands and possibly blood added to the mix, Clint wasn't going to stay on the coach for long. Every jostling bump that rattled the stage caused him to slip a little farther.

Clint could hear the screeching of his palm sliding against the rail as if it was the only sound on earth. Any second now, he expected to feel his boots knock against the ground. After that, the pain of snapping bones was sure to follow.

Instead of anything so bad, however, Clint felt something entirely different. At first, he thought something had just fallen from the roof to brush against his side. Then he felt something press against his ribs, work its way toward his back, and take hold of his shirt.

“Hang on, mister!” a man from inside the stagecoach said. “I got ya!”

Clint looked down to find a man leaning out through the window of the coach's side door. He must have had someone inside keeping him from falling out, because he stretched out to grab Clint with both hands as if he meant to lift him onto the roof. The man didn't have the strength or the proper angle to do that much, but he steadied Clint against the coach and gave him a few moments to get a better grip.

Once he stopped flapping against the stagecoach, Clint could catch his breath, tighten his hands around the rail, and finally set his toes against something that would allow him to climb back up again. “Thanks, but get back inside,” he said.

The other man was hesitant to let go. “Are you sure you won't fall?”

Before he could answer, Jesse leaned over to see what Clint was doing.

“I'm sure,” Clint said. “Get in and keep your head down!”

“Yer some kinda goddamn tick!” Jesse said. “We'll just see about that.” He began to steer the coach as if he were weaving between telegraph posts. The horses whinnied at the wild tugging of their reins, which only caused the coach to shake more.

But Clint was past the point of being shaken loose. Now that he'd gotten a firm hold, he was able to stay low and work his way onto the roof. Once he was on top of the stage, he had plenty to grab as he slithered toward the driver's seat.

Whenever the coach hit a large enough bump in the road, Clint's entire body lifted off the roof and came back down again with a jolt. Those brief moments allowed him to cover even more ground since his belly wasn't scraping against the top of the coach. By the time Jesse had his shotgun reloaded and turned to look for a target, Clint was close enough to grab the weapon and yank it from the man's hands.

“You're a stubborn fucking tick!” Jesse snarled as he drove a meaty fist into Clint's face.

Clint turned away from the punch to keep his nose from getting busted, but he still caught a good portion of the fat man's knuckles. The moment he felt Jesse try to reclaim his shotgun, Clint rolled onto his side so he could grip the weapon in both hands. He might not have been able to aim it properly, but Clint got one finger on the trigger and pulled it.

The shotgun let out a deafening roar that washed away the sound of the stage's wheels, along with everything else. Neither man was hit by any buckshot, but Jesse's hand had been on the barrel when the gun went off. The scents of singed flesh and burnt powder drifted through the air. As the ringing in Clint's ears eased up, he could hear the fat man screaming in pain.

Rather than waste time trying to fool with the shotgun, Clint threw it away and clambered into the driver's seat. Along the way, he shoved Jesse to one side and gave him a right cross to the chin for good measure.