CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I knew one of them,” James Duran said. “His name is Clint Cooley and he’s a gun. The rest, a rube lawman, a half-grown boy, a couple of old men, and a girl, won’t give us any trouble. There was an Indian with them, but he didn’t seem interested.”
“And they say they’re vigilantes here to hang Clay Kyle?” Dave Shannon said.
“That’s what they say.”
Seven of Shannon’s surviving gunmen were present, and all laughed heartily, Duran himself joining in the mirth.
Finally, Shannon said, “Come again, who is the ranny you knew?”
“Clint Cooley,” Duran said.
That drained the laughter from Shannon mighty fast. “Could that be the New Orleans Clint Cooley, made a name for himself on the steamboats and fought all those duels?”
“Not many duels, maybe three or four, but he always killed his man,” Shannon said. “What the hell game is he playing, running with a hick lawman and a bunch of rubes?”
“It seems he’s had a long spell of bad luck, ever since he shot Five Ace Phil Coates in New Orleans that time,” Duran said.
“I remember that name. Phil Coates had a gun rep, killed more than his share.”
“Yeah, he was good with a gun was Phil, but Cooley was better.” Duran shrugged. “It’s no concern of ours. Kyle will take care of Clint Cooley. The lawman doesn’t even figure. He’s a nobody.”
“So Kyle takes care of Cooley and then we take care of Kyle,” Shannon said. “Is that it?”
“Seems about right,” Duran said. “What about the woman with him?”
Shannon winked. “We’ll take care of her too.”
“Are we still scouting Kyle?” Duran said.
“Yeah, Reb Walker and Ezra Flint are keeping an eye on him,” Shannon said. “The last I heard, he still hasn’t moved from his position under the rock shelf, damn his eyes. Well, I’ll give him another day to take care of the vigilantes, and then we’ll dig him out of there.”
“How many men does Kyle have left?” Duran said.
“I don’t know, the woman and maybe a couple more, but that’s a guess,” Shannon said. “The way they were holed up, all of them flat on their bellies, it was hard to say.” He nodded. “Yeah, I’d guess he lost two, maybe three.”
“Kyle still has enough to take care of the vigilantes, as they call themselves,” Duran said. “But if I was him, I’d be a tad worried about Cooley. He’s fast and he hits what he aims at.”
“I don’t care how fast he is, he ain’t faster than Clay Kyle,” Shannon said.
“I don’t know about that because I never saw Kyle shoot,” Duran said. “But I saw Cooley kill Phil Coates across a card table in New Orleans. I reckon my heart beat once, and it was all over . . . and that was two shots . . . Bang! Bang! Hell, I can’t even say it as fast as it happened.”
“Kyle can take him,” Shannon said. “I got no doubts about that.”
“We’ll soon find out,” Duran said. “Cooley and them rubes are about due to ride right into him.”