The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 2 by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online

you take it now?”
    Something in his manner seemed strange. Clip glanced down at the gloved hand. Then he took it. Amazement came into his eyes.
    â€œYes,” Rafe said, “you’re right. It’s iron. The blacksmith in Goldfield made it, several years ago. I lost both my hands after a fire.”
    Clip looked up, his face tight. “Rafe, I—”
    â€œForget it. As for Ruth—”
    The doors burst open, and Clip wheeled. Wade Manning stood in the door, Buff McCarty beside him. “The Barlows are coming!” he exclaimed, his face tense. “Both of them, Clip, and they’ve been bragging all morning that they’ll kill you on sight!”
    He stepped into the street, his steps echoing hollowly as he stepped across the boardwalk. He stopped in the edge of the dusty street and looked north.
    The Barlows, Joe and Gonny, were standing on the porch in front of the old hotel building. Then they saw him, and started toward the steps.
    Somewhere a horse whinnied, and in the saloon, a man’s nervous laughter sounded strangely loud. Clip Haynes walked slowly, taking measured steps.
    Joe Barlow’s hand was poised over his gun. Gonny waited carelessly, slouching, a shock of hair hanging down over his eyes.
    When they were fifty feet apart, the Barlows stiffened as though at a signal, and drew. Joe’s hand moved; Clip Haynes shot.
    The street broke in a thundering roar through which he found himself walking straight toward them, his guns hammering. He knew the first shot he had taken at Joe had been too quick. Suddenly it seemed as if a white hot branding iron had hit his left shoulder. He dropped that gun, feeling the warm blood run down his sleeve. His arm was useless—but his right gun kept firing.
    Suddenly, Joe was falling from the steps, and almost as in a dream Clip saw the man straighten out, arms widespread, blood staining the dust beneath him.
    Clip started to step forward, and realized suddenly that he was on his knees. He got up, feeling another slug hit him in the side. Gonny was facing him, legs spread wide, a fire-blossoming gun in either hand. A streak of red crossed his jaw.
    Clip started toward him, holding his last bullet. Something slanted a rapier of pain along his ribs, and one of his legs tried to buckle, but still Clip held his fire. Then, suddenly, about a dozen feet away from Gonny, Clip Haynes turned loose his gun.
    Almost before his eyes Gonny’s gray flannel shirt turned into a crimson, sodden mass. The gunman started to fall, caught himself, and lifted a gun. They were almost body to body when the shot flamed in Clip’s face. Something struck him a terrific blow on the side of the head, and he fell.…
    Actually it was only a minute, but it seemed hours. Men were running from every direction, and as Clip Haynes caught at somebody’s leg and pulled his bloody body erect, he heard Wade gabbling in his ear. But he didn’t stop. It was only a dozen feet, but it seemed a mile. Step by step, he made it, fumbling shells into his gun.
    Weaving on his feet, he stopped, facing Doc Greenley. His eyes wavered, then they focused.
    Doc’s face went sickly with fear. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to speak. Then suddenly he broke, and went for his gun.
    It was just swinging level when Clip shot him. Then Clip pitched over on his face, and lay still.
    He must have been a long time coming out of it because they were all there—Ruth, Rafe Landon, Wade Manning, and Buff McCarty—when he opened his eyes. He looked from one to the other.
    â€œDoc?” he questioned weakly.
    â€œYou got him, Clip. We found the gold in his safe. He never moved an ounce of it, just sand. We made Porter confess. He robbed Tommy of the three thousand dollars, and later Doc Greenley made him plant it on you. One of the Barlows slugged you.
    â€œWe found the note you left in the jail. You were right. It was Doc who killed Tommy, trying to kill