They walked to the hotel together and Clint stopped in the lobby.

  “What are you going to do?” Emrys asked.

  “I’m going to walk around town, see what I can scare up.”

  “What do you hope to scare up?”

  “Information, hopefully,” Clint said. “And maybe I can get the shooter to make a try for me.”

  “And miss again, I hope.”

  “Exactly,” Clint said, “but I won’t miss.”

  “You’re going to kill him?”

  “If I can,” Clint said. “Better than him killing me, or you.”

  “I have to agree there.”

  “Remember,” Clint said, “keep clear of the wagon.”

  “I will certainly remember.”

  Clint stood there and watched Emrys go up the stairs to his room, then he turned and left the hotel.

  • • •

  Clint tried a few saloons, where he heard people talking about the incidents of the afternoon. Most people seemed to think the shooting was part of the act. And they thought it was pretty damn good.

  But he knew there was one man in town who didn’t think it was good.

  Clint had a beer in the third saloon. How was he going to pick the shooter out? He should have paid more attention to him on the trail, doubled back to take a look at him, but he was convinced at that point that the man was no danger.

  Some of the customers in the saloon with him looked nervous, but he had learned long ago that he had that effect on certain men.

  He was finishing up his beer when the sheriff walked in, came to the bar to join him.

  “Sheriff,” Clint said, nodding. “Beer?”

  “I have a standin’ order,” the lawman said as the bartender handed him one.

  “Oh.”

  The lawman sipped his beer and said, “So everyone I’ve talked to who saw the shooting says the magician was shot in the chest. What do you say?”

  “It certainly looked that way to me.”

  “But he’s unharmed.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What do you make of it?” the sheriff asked. “Magic?”

  “You know,” Clint said, “a few days ago I’d have said no.”

  “What do you say now?”

  “Now I say . . . maybe.”

  “I still don’t believe in magic,” the man said. “Let’s talk about something we both believe in.”

  “The shooter?”

  The sheriff nodded.

  “I checked the rooftops, found some scuff marks, and a spent cartridge for a Winchester. You didn’t even get half a good look at ’im?”

  “Just a glance as he pulled back from the roof,” Clint said. “I ran across the street, but found nothing. I know we were followed from Ten Sleep, but I didn’t think he had this in him.”

  “Well, if he had it in him this time,” the sheriff said, “maybe he’ll try again.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you sure he tried for the magician and not you?” the lawman asked. “I mean, that would make more sense.”

  “If he tried for me, then he’s a terrible shot,” Clint said. “He missed by a mile.”

  “Well, watch your back,” the sheriff said. He drank half his beer and put the mug down. “Gotta make my rounds. Paul Wright says you’re leavin’ in the mornin’.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, do me a favor—try not to get killed, or kill anybody, until then.”

  “I’ll do my best, Sheriff.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Clint went back to his hotel. When he got to his room, he sidled up to the window so he could peer out. The problem was, he didn’t feel eyes on his back anymore. Now he was looking across the street, hoping to spot somebody watching the hotel, but nobody was there.

  He had allowed this to go on too long, because his attention had been on Emrys and his strange behavior. His “magic.” Because of that, Emrys—or even he himself—might have been killed this afternoon.

  So he had to forget about whether Emrys’s magic was real or not. The bullet that had been fired was real, and he had to find the man who’d fired it. That probably wasn’t going to happen in town, though. Since the shooter missed, he’d probably follow them when they left Kirby. So his identity was going to be discovered out on the trail, and not in town.

  • • •

  Morley was in Kirby’s whorehouse.

  He decided he needed some relaxation. Once he was relaxed, he could make a decision about his next move. He was too wound up at the moment, especially after missing his shot—if he had missed.

  In the parlor of the whorehouse he picked out a little Chinese gal and went upstairs with her. She was the only Chinese he saw in the place, and he had a liking for their long, straight black hair and their almond-shaped eyes.

  “What you like?” she asked him, sitting on the bed next to him.

  “I want to relax,” he said.

  “I can give you massage,” she said. “That make you relax.”

  “A massage?” he said. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “I show you,” she said. “You get naked.”

  She didn’t have to tell him twice. He took off all his clothes, dropped his gun belt on the floor next to the bed. When he grabbed for her, she slapped his hands away.

  “Hey!” he said.

  “You not touch me,” she said. “I touch you.”

  “Well, okay,” he said.

  “Lay down.”

  He lay down on his back, his hard cock already jutting up from his groin.

  “Hmm,” she said, stroking it with her long nails so that it jumped, “I take care of that later. You roll over.”

  He rolled onto his stomach.

  She stood next to the bed, unbelted the filmy robe she was wearing, and let it drop to the floor. He turned his head so he could see her small, brown-tipped breasts and the black patch of hair between her legs.

  “Now you relax,” she said, climbing onto the bed with him.

  She straddled him so that he felt the coarse pubic hair on his bare butt. He was about to say “the hell with it” and flip over when she started leaning on him, kneading his flesh, rubbing his back.

  “Oh, yeah . . .” he said.

  “That good, right?” she asked.

  “That’s very good.”

  Her perfume filled his head; her touch eased all the stress out of his muscles. She used her palms, the heels of her hands, her pointy elbows, and even her hard nipples. Morley was excited, but he was also drifting off, he was that relaxed.

  “Oh yeah,” he said again . . .

  • • •

  Clint decided to go to one of the saloons and have a beer. He chose one of the smaller ones, so there’d be less to distract him.

  He ordered a beer, and when the bartender set it down in front of him, he asked, “Hey, ain’t you with that magic guy?”

  “I am.”

  “Say, is he really doin’ magic?”

  “That’s what he says.”

  “Yeah, but whatta you say?”

  Clint sipped his beer and said, “I’m like everybody else, friend. I’m watching and wondering.”

  “I thought you was partners.”

  “No,” Clint said, “I’m just traveling with him for a while.”

  “So he don’t tell you how them tricks work?”

  “He doesn’t tell me anything,” Clint said.

  “Huh,” the man said, and moved on down the bar.

  Clint used the mirror behind the bar to look at the room. He was being watched, possibly because of who he was, but more likely because of Emrys. It all seemed to be idle curiosity, though. From years of experience, he knew when trouble was looking for him, and he didn’t have that feeling here.

  He finished his beer, decided to go back to the hotel to see if Emrys wanted to get something to eat.

  • • •

  The Chinese whore said her name was Ling. It sounded like a stupid name to Morley, but that was how those Chinese girls were.

  She continued to work on his upper back, his lower back, eventually began to knead the muscles in his butt, and then his thighs.

  At that point she reached between his thighs to touch his balls, stroke them, then reached farther and took hold of his hard cock.

  “Now you turn over,” she said huskily.

  He rolled over and she moved up on him, braced her hands on his belly, and rubbed her coarse pubic hair up and down the length of his cock. As she did that, she grew wet, wetting him at the same time.

  “Goddamnit!” he said in awe. She was like magic.

  She lifted her hips, reached between them, grabbed his cock, and held it so she could sit on it. The spongy head of his penis slid right into her, and she sat down on him, taking the length of him inside.

  “You relax,” she told him again, “and I do all the work.”

  He didn’t argue . . .

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Clint and Emrys ate supper in the hotel dining room.

  “No point in going out with targets on our backs,” Clint told him.

  “I will be guided by your wisdom, Clint.”

  “Emrys,” Clint said, “why don’t you tell me something.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Anything,” Clint said. “Tell me how you make things float through the air. Tell me how you managed to escape being shot. Or tell me about your name. Did you really choose it because it was Merlin’s last name?”

  “My friend,” Emrys said, “there are truths I could tell you that you simply would not believe. What would that do to our friendship?”

  “Friendships don’t usually last, Emrys, when one friend is keeping secrets from the other.”

  “I understand how you feel, but . . .”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “okay, a friend also doesn’t push another friend when he doesn’t want to be pushed. Let me go back to the beginning. Tell me . . . something.”

  The waiter came with their steaks. They waited until he had served them and departed.

  “Very well,” Emrys said. “My name. It is indeed true that it was the last name of Merlin.”

  “So that’s why you took it?”

  “It is as good a name as any.”

  “Any chance you’ll tell me your real name?”

  “Well,” Emrys said, “there is always a chance.”

  • • •

  Morley had the Chinese whore on her back and was pounding her, driving his rigid cock into her as fast as he could. She was making groaning and squeaking noises, and he was building up a sweat until he finally exploded with a wild yell. It felt as if her insides were grabbing him and milking him. When she had taken every drop from him, he fell over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

  “Shitfire, gal,” he said. “You near to killed me.”

  She giggled, rubbed her small hand over his sweaty chest.

  “You needed that,” she said. “First the relaxing, and then the fucking.”

  He looked at her and said, “You got a mouth on you.”

  “You no like dirty talk?”

  “I like it fine.”

  “You stay longer with Ling,” she said, “and you see what else Ling can do with mouth.”

  “Good God,” he said. He looked down at himself, saw that he was getting hard again. “Talk dirty some more.”

  She giggled and said, “I talk dirty all night,” she said, and grabbed ahold of his cock.

  • • •

  Clint and Emrys finished their suppers and headed back to the hotel.

  “No one is watching us,” Emrys said.

  “Everybody is watching us.”

  “No, I mean no one who means us any harm.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I can feel it.”

  “Did you feel it when somebody was on the roof, getting ready to shoot at you?”

  Emrys didn’t answer.

  “You did, didn’t you?” Clint asked. “You had something under your robe, to protect you from the bullet. That’s why you weren’t hurt.”

  “You examined my robe.”

  “You’ve got more than one robe.”

  “Perhaps,” Emrys said, “the man has decided to simply leave us alone.”

  “You think so?” Clint asked. “I don’t.”

  “What, then? Where is he?”

  “Probably getting his bearings,” Clint said. “He thought he killed you, and then he hears you’re still alive. He must be wondering what the heck is going on. Why should he be any different from the rest of us?”

  “So what is next, then?”

  “We leave tomorrow,” Clint said. “Head for the next town on my list. Let’s see if he continues to follow us. If he does, I’ll double back and grab him.”

  “You have a list?”

  “Yes,” Clint said. “When we leave here, we’re going to Sheridan. It’s a big town—bigger than any of these. You’ll be able to sell a hell of a lot of tickets. In fact, you might be able to do your show more than one day.”

  “I usually only stay in a town one night,” Emrys said.

  “Is that a hard-and-fast rule?” Clint asked. “You could make a lot of money in a place like Sheridan.”

  “Not a rule really,” Emrys said. “It is just the way I have been doing things.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “you can make up your mind once we arrive there.”

  “When shall we leave?”

  “Early,” Clint said. “We can have breakfast first thing and get on the road.”

  “Do we need to see anyone first? The sheriff? Or Mr. Wright?” Emrys asked.

  “We don’t need to check in with anyone before we leave,” Clint said. “All the sheriff cares about is that we go. He doesn’t want any more shooting in his town. I suspect Mr. Wright feels the same.”

  “This all suits me nicely,” Emrys said. “I am just about finished with the town of Kirby.”

  “To tell you the truth,” Clint said as they reached the hotel, “so am I.”

  • • •

  The Chinese whore massaged Morley’s cock until it was hard again. Then, while continuing to stroke it, she started to kiss his chest, his belly, moved down to his thighs, and finally, swooped in and took his cock in her mouth.

  “Oh, geez,” he said as she started to suck him. She had an incredibly educated mouth, and he was helpless to do anything but enjoy it. He reached down to hold her head in place, hoping she wouldn’t stop . . . ever.

  Ling knew she had the man in her power, which meant she’d be able to milk a bunch of money out of him. She had him so enthralled she thought she might even be able to get him to fall asleep after, and stay all night. And if he woke, before he could decide to leave, she’d start working on him again with her hands, and her mouth. Few men could resist her, especially when she used that broken English accent on them, and talked dirty.

  Men loved that dirty talk, especially from a tiny little Chinee gal.

  She felt him start to tense, leaned her forearms on his thighs to hold him there, continued to suck him while he exploded, making sure that he’d be totally spent, and exhausted, by the time they were finished.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Clint awoke the next morning with the first light streaming through his window. He washed and dressed, tossed his saddlebags over his shoulder, picked up his rifle, and left the room. When he got downstairs, Emrys was sitting there, waiting for him.

  “I have checked out,” he said.

  “It’ll take me a minute.”

  Clint also checked out, paid his bill, and then he and Emrys went into the dining room for breakfast.

  • • •

  Morley woke up in the Chinese whore’s bed. She was lying beside him, snoring lightly. He frowned. He’d never intended to stay with her all night. This was going to cost him a lot of money.

  She’d also kept him busy all night, so he hadn’t had time to think his situation over.

  “Damnit,” he swore, sitting up.

  “Hey, lover,” the whore said. “You want nice morning wake-up?”

  “No,” he said, getting to his feet. “Listen, I did not say I wanted to stay all night.”

  “You so relaxed—or worn out—you fall asleep,” she said. “I no have heart to wake you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to pay for the whole night,” he said, hopping on one foot, pulling on a boot.

  She folded her arms and frowned at him.

  “You better pay up, buster,” she said in perfect English, “or we have ways of getting the money from you.”

  He stopped hopping and stared at her.

  “Hey, you talk good English!”

  “Yeah,” she said, “and my name ain’t Ling. But you’re still paying what you owe. We got bouncers here that are bigger than a mountain.”

  He stared at her, then said, “Goddamnit!” He’d been took, and took good. She was really good at this job. “Okay, damnit. How much is it?”

  • • •

  After breakfast, Clint and Emrys walked to the livery to collect the wagon and their horses. They hitched the mare up and then walked her and the wagon around to the front. There they settled their bill, and Emrys climbed up into his seat.

  “How long will it take us to get to Sheridan?” he asked.

  “At least two days,” Clint said, mounting Eclipse. “Maybe during that time you might tell me something else about yourself? Or show me a thing or two?”

  “Maybe,” Emrys said, picking up his reins. “One never knows what might happen.”

  • • •

  Morley paid his bill and got out of the whorehouse with only a few dollars to spare. He’d allowed the Chinese whore to distract him completely. Now he had to race over to the hotel to make sure Clint Adams and the magician were still there.

  Taking a chance that he might meet up with them in the lobby, he entered and rushed to the front desk.