With Friends Like These . . .

Clint had been hoping to talk the sailors out of killing McBeth, but that wasn’t going to happen. As one gunman turned on him, he drew and fired one shot. Clint hit the man dead center, drove him back off the dock and into the water with a splash. Then Clint turned his attention to the other three men, who had charged at their target, and he could tell by the way they held their knives that they were not experienced knife fighters.

McBeth dropped to the ground and managed to trip up two of the men. They went sprawling. McBeth disarmed the third man, then deposited him into the water. McBeth turned as one of the other men was getting up. They faced each other, each holding a knife. Then the sailor—not liking the new one-to-one odds—jumped back and ran away.

Clint approached McBeth. “You need one of them to tell you who hired them?” Clint asked.

“No,” McBeth said, picking up his bag. “It was the captain of this ship. He was a friend of mine.”

“Was?”

“Well, he tried to have me killed,” McBeth said. “I think the friendship is over . . .”