“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. I barely got him to say that much before he brushed me off and headed on to do his business.”

  “If a boy that age could brush you off when you’re looking as good as you are,” Clint said, “he must have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Either that, or he’s just not seeing straight.”

  Shelly smacked Clint’s shoulder just hard enough to get his attention. “This is serious, Clint.”

  Mumbling a few halfhearted grunts as he rubbed the spot where Shelly had hit him, Clint turned and looked around the saloon. “I don’t even see where he went.”

  Shelly turned on the balls of her feet and made the same turn to glance in all directions. Finally, she stopped and pointed toward the back of the room. “He’s right over there and he’s talking to some men that he’s got no business talking to.”

  Clint looked over there and spotted the kid without much delay. Henry was having a conversation with some men with dirty faces and guns on their hips, but nothing much was coming of it. “Looks like those fellas are about to push him toward the door. That’ll scare him out of here for a while.”

  “You’re acting like this is a joke.”

  “The boy’s not in any danger,” Clint explained. “I walked into my first saloon when I was younger than him and got thrown out not long after. If someone goes and tells him to leave, he’ll probably just look at it like a dare to come back later. So long as nobody gets hurt, there’s no problem.”

  “That’s just it. I’m afraid he’ll get hurt.”

  Clint looked at her and immediately recognized the seriousness in her eyes. “Do you know that kid or something?” he asked.

  “No, but I’ve seen others pulling the tricks you’re talking about. Believe me, a woman in my line of work is usually a young man’s first stop when he screws up the courage to walk into this place. That kid over there wasn’t like one of those others. He’s not here to drink or play cards and he’s not here to get under my skirts. He told me he was here to hire a gunman and I believe him.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Shelly nodded. “Serious as hell and I’d bet that kid is even more so.”

  “All right. I’ll go over and see what I can do.” Clint looked over to where Henry had been standing and found the spot to be empty. The rough fellows who’d been talking to the kid were glaring toward the front door, so Clint followed that line of sight to find Henry walking out with his head hung low.

  “Looks like the problem’s already solved,” Clint said. When he saw the gunmen stalking toward the door in Henry’s wake, he added, “Or it just might have gotten worse.”

  THREE

  When Clint spotted the kid on the other side of the street, he could tell that Henry had no clue what was walking up behind him. Clint could barely make out a side of the kid’s face and one arm, since the two armed men from the Whitecap Saloon were standing in the way. Those other two walked steadily toward Henry like dogs stalking their prey.

  Rather than rush across the street and force anyone’s hand, Clint stayed in front of the Whitecap and waited to see what would happen. For all he knew, the other two gunmen were continuing whatever conversation they’d been having.

  Henry could very well have asked the men to step outside for one reason or another.

  As long as things remained on this same track, Clint wasn’t too anxious to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong. After all, experience was still the best way for a kid to learn how to handle himself when he stepped through the gate of his parents’ house.

  Clint leaned against a post just outside the Whitecap and watched what happened across the street. Mostly, he kept his eye on the kid to see how he would react to the men that were just about to get his attention.

  If the kid was surprised, that meant he obviously wasn’t expecting them.

  If the kid was scared, he might take off running and give the gunmen a good laugh.

  If the kid was stupid, he might just get himself killed.

  That last possibility didn’t set too well with Clint, but it was definitely something he had to keep in mind. Just to be on the safe side, Clint stepped over to another post so he could lean against it and watch the other side of the street from a better angle.

  The kid definitely looked surprised as he turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. The wide-eyed expression on his face would have brought a smirk to Clint’s if not for the glint of panic in the kid’s eyes. That glint showed more than fear.

  To the other two gunmen, that glint was like raw meat dangling in front of them.

  Clint didn’t have to wait long to see the kid do something stupid. The moment he saw Henry pull his shirt up to reveal the gun stuck under his belt, Clint was bolting across the street like a shot.

  “That ain’t scaring nobody, kid,” the first gunman said. “So you might as well pull yer shirt back down and hand over that wad of cash yer carryin’.”

  Both of the gunmen looked to be more than double the kid’s age. They wore clothes that were tattered and held together by the stains soaked through the material, and both of them reeked of the liquor they’d been drinking. The first one had a barrel chest and a long beard that was filled with bits and pieces from a week of suppers. The second gunman was a bit younger and a whole lot thinner than the first, displaying a broken set of yellowed teeth in a slack-jawed, vaguely oblivious expression.

  Henry’s eyes darted back and forth between both of the gunmen as his hand wavered in front of the pistol stuck under his waistband. “If you don’t get away . . . I . . . I swear I’ll . . .”

  “You’ll do just what the man said,” Clint announced as he stepped behind the gunmen and planted his boots in his spot.

  Instinctively, both gunmen hopped to one side and turned so they could look at Henry and Clint with a minimum of fuss. That put both gunmen facing each other in between the other two. They hadn’t pulled their own weapons from the battered leather holsters around their waists just yet. At first, they didn’t look as if they needed to. Now they knew better than to make an overly hasty move.

  Clint nodded in appreciation of the gunmen’s restraint. “Might as well take a breath and walk away, you two. Surely this boy ain’t worth all this fuss.”

  “You’d think twice about that if you saw the cash he’s carrying,” the second gunman said. “There’s enough for all three of us to split and be on our way before someone steals my spot from the bar.”

  Henry listened to that and pressed himself against the front of the saloon that was across the street from the Whitecap. Even though the door was a few steps away, he didn’t seem able to move his feet enough to get him there. Instead, he kept backing himself up until he was flattened against the side of the building.

  Turning toward Henry, the first gunman lowered his head and stepped forward. “Hand over that money, boy, and be quick about it.”

  “You . . . you said you wouldn’t do the job.”

  “I’m doin’ all I need to get that money right now. If it don’t work, I can always take it from yer pockets after I beat you to death.”

  Despite the fact that he looked as if he was going to crawl up the side of the building in order to get away from those gunmen, Henry swallowed and said, “You do the job and I’ll pay you.”

  The first gunman stopped and glanced over at the second. Both men looked at each other silently for a moment before breaking out into laughter. “You hear that?” the first gunman said. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Clint standing behind him and watching what was taking place. “That kid’s got some balls, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Balls, but no brains,” the second gunman added. He reached to a scabbard at his belt, pulled out a rusty hunting knife and said, “Maybe I’ll cut his balls off and toss ’em to a dog.”

  Henry began to tremble as sweat trickled down his face.

  Clint moved forward to pull the man with the knife away, but spotted movement from Henry before he could get there.

  The kid made the worst move possible when he reached for the gun tucked under his belt.

  Seeing what the kid intended to do, Clint spat out, “Don’t do that!”

  Henry didn’t listen.

  FOUR

  The kid drew his gun in a surprisingly fluid motion. Because he hadn’t been drinking for several hours beforehand, Henry appeared to be much more skillful than the other two gunmen in front of him. Those two men made up for their lack of sobriety in plain viciousness as they both took steps to kill Henry for the money in his pockets.

  The man with the knife lunged forward like a snake and almost escaped Clint’s grasp. With a little extra effort on his part, Clint grabbed hold of his shoulder and spun him around before that man could swing his blade at Henry.

  Rather than draw his modified Colt, Clint balled up his right fist and delivered a sharp jab directly into the gut of the man with the knife. His knuckles drove deep into the man’s stomach, pushing most of the air from his lungs in the process. Somehow, though, the man kept hold of his knife while also staying on his feet.

  Clint’s eyes were on the first gunman as he delivered a quick knee to the man in his grasp. He felt an impact with what he thought was that man’s head, but tossed him to one side before checking to make sure. After that, Clint lowered his shoulder and threw himself into the man who was now drawing his pistol to fire at Henry.

  The gunman caught Clint’s shoulder in the small of his back. Letting out a pained wheeze, he was tossed to one side while also tightening his finger around his trigger. The gun went off in the gunman’s hand with a roar that swallowed up Henry’s surprised scream.

  Henry watched what was happening with confusion and fear etched onto his face. He’d drawn his gun, but hadn’t even gotten his finger on the trigger yet. That changed when he saw the man with the knife rushing straight toward him.

  As Clint wrestled with the first gunman, he heard another shot fired. It was a different sound than the first shot, which told Clint that it had come from another weapon. Clint took a quick look behind him to see if Henry was still standing.

  Not only was the kid still on his feet, but the man with the knife was reeling backward and clutching his side.

  Clint knew better than to turn his back on the first gunman for one more second. Whipping around to face him, Clint saw the man closest to him grit his teeth and raise his gun to take a shot at him. Watching those movements were more than enough for Clint to know just how sluggish that man was. Rather than draw and fire his Colt, Clint snapped his gun hand out to snatch the pistol from the gunman and send it flying at the man with the knife.

  The flying gun caught the other man in the forehead with a jarring crack and dropped him into an unconscious heap.

  Clint turned to face the other gunman once more, while drawing his Colt in a smooth motion. All Clint had to do from there was scowl at the gunman as if he was one second away from pulling his trigger.

  The gunman’s hands shot up into the air and he immediately stumbled backward. “All right, all right,” he shouted. “Take the money. It’s yours.”

  “If I see you pulling anything like this again, I’ll drop you where you stand,” Clint warned.

  “Fine! Just don’t kill me.”

  “If I hear about you looking at this boy again, I’ll find you.”

  The gunman didn’t even have enough left in him to speak. He just nodded and kept backing away.

  “Get the hell out of my sight,” Clint said.

  Running as if the devil was nipping at his heels, the gunman took off and rounded the nearest corner to leave his friend laying in the dirt.

  Clint holstered the Colt and looked down at the unconscious man. The knife was still in the man’s hand. There was a fresh wound just below his left armpit, but it wasn’t much more than a deep scratch.

  Henry was looking down at the man on the ground. His gun was still in his hand and shook just as much as the rest of him. “Is he . . . ? Did I . . . ?”

  “He’s still alive,” Clint said. “You didn’t kill anyone.” Walking up to the kid, Clint reached out and took the gun from him. As much as he wanted to crack the kid upside the head with the pistol, Clint took a deep breath instead. “But if you didn’t want to take the chance of killing someone, you shouldn’t have even brought this pistol with you.”

  Still staring down at the unconscious man, Henry nodded.

  Clint grabbed Henry by the front of his shirt and shoved him back against the building. He didn’t knock the kid very hard against the wall, but he sure as hell got the kid’s attention. “Are you listening to me? You could have killed someone with that gun! You most likely would have gotten yourself killed.”

  There was still fear on the kid’s face, but he choked it down and did his best to meet Clint’s eyes. “I can handle myself,” he sputtered.

  “Yeah, you did a real fine job here!”

  Clint stared the boy down until Henry looked away. By that time, Clint’s blood was cooling off and the tension from the scuffle was fading away. Letting out a breath, Clint loosened his grip on Henry’s shirt and took a step back.

  “Are you all right?” Clint asked.

  Henry wasn’t able to maintain his defiant glare, so he averted his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. What about him, though?”

  Looking down at the man on the ground, Clint replied, “He’s fine, too. Your shot just grazed him.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. His bleeding’s already stopped. He’ll be in some pain, but he’ll be able to walk back into that saloon once he wakes up. You want to stand here and wait for that to happen?”

  “No,” Henry said quietly.

  “All right, then. Where do you live?”

  “I can get home on my own.”

  Clint let out a laugh and held up his hands in surrender. “Fine by me. I just thought you might like some backup in case this fellow wakes up or if his friend circles around to catch up with you.”

  Sure enough, those words sparked a fearful glint in Henry’s eyes. Clint fanned that spark into a flame as he turned his back on the kid and started walking as if he was more than happy to wash his hands of him. After the count of four, Clint heard Henry’s voice drift through the air.

  “You really think that man’ll come back?”

  Clint stopped and turned around. Not only had the kid allowed one more second than Clint had guessed before stopping him, but Henry also managed to keep his chin up and his chest out.

  “He may or may not come back,” Clint said earnestly. “It’d be wiser to be ready for the first choice than be surprised by the second, though.”

  Nodding as if everything that had passed was his idea, Henry said, “I could use some backup.” His eyes brightened as he added, “And I could repay you for helping me out.”

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  “I can buy you a drink.”

  The smile on Clint’s face came more from genuine surprise than anything else. “Buy me a drink?”

  “To thank you. One man to another. It’s the least I could do.”

  Clint started walking back toward the Whitecap. “Sounds good. Let’s go.”

  A good chunk of the bravado that Henry had displayed left him when he looked at that saloon. “Actually, I was thinking about another place.”

  “This one’ll do. If you’re going to act like a man, you can face up to your actions.” With that, Clint walked toward the front door of the Whitecap Saloon.

  Although Henry wasn’t happy about following him, he was even less happy with the prospect of staying on the street by himself.

  FIVE

  When Clint walked into the Whitecap, only a few of the men inside looked his way. When Henry stepped through that same door, however, he got plenty of lingering glances.

  Some of those glances were from armed men who looked at the boy with the same intent that had been displayed by the two gunmen outside. A few looked surprised to see the kid up and walking, and at least one face looked relieved.

  Shelly rushed forward and took the boy’s face in her hands. “Are you all right?” she asked quickly.

  Henry’s first impulse was to grin from ear to ear at the sudden show of affection. “I’m just fine. A little scraped up, but I’ll survive.”

  Clint rolled his eyes and said, “The kid’s a regular quick draw. Actually, I believe his feet were a little quicker.”

  While Henry didn’t appreciate Clint’s comment, Shelly barely even noticed it.

  “I’m just glad you’re alive,” she said.

  After Shelly finished fussing over him, Henry took a few moments to collect himself before he was ready to say anything to her. By the time he was ready, he found her back was already to him and she’d moved on to other things.

  “What happened out there, Clint?” Shelly asked. “I heard shooting.”

  Clint shook his head and signaled for the bartender. “Just a few panicked shots, is all. No harm done.”

  “Better not be any harm done,” the bartender said. “Them two are some good customers.”

  Clint locked eyes with the man behind the bar and said, “Don’t worry. They’ll be back to drink your whiskey soon enough. Maybe they’ll get a discount for trying to rob a kid outside your own place without you lifting a finger against it?”

  “I didn’t know what they were up to!”

  “Is that so?”

  Although the bartender was ready to come to his own defense, he faltered under the brunt of Clint’s accusing stare. He looked away and grunted, “Serves the kid right for flashing so much money around here.”

  Clint ordered a beer, which was quickly set in front of him. After that, the bartender found some more pressing matters to attend to at the other end of the saloon.

  “The man’s got a point, you know,” Clint said. “What were your plans for all that money?”

  The kid lowered his eyes, folded his arms and rested his elbows against the bar. Before too long, he felt a pinch at his ear as he was dragged upward once more.

  “Answer him, Henry,” Shelly said as she pulled roughly on the kid’s ear. “What were you . . .” She looked around suspiciously and then finished her question in a much lower voice. “What were you doing with that money?”