The Sapphire Gun by J. R. Roberts Page A

restaurants, right down to the decorative curls built into the awnings and shutters. It was painted white and green to match the well-kept rows of flowers planted along the front walk.
    Folks in Dover Shallows all seemed happy to be there. Even though his wound was still aching and gave him hell every time he moved the wrong way, Franco was also happy to be there. He stood outside a restaurant called Minnie’s, which was across the street and down a little ways from the bank. From there, he could pat his belly as if he was still full from lunch and tip his hat to all the other happy folks who walked by. More than a few women let their eyes linger on Franco’s handsome face, and he rewarded them with a gleaming smile.
    Franco checked his pocket watch and then snapped it shut. According to his calculations, Johnny Blevin should have arrived to make his deposit a little while ago. There was always the possibility that he’d been hurt even worse than Franco thought, but that was probably overly optimistic.
    Thinking back to the last shot he’d fired at Johnny, Franco recalled every second, the way a young man might dwell on memories of the first time he’d bedded a woman. Franco could remember every sound and every movement. The sight of Johnny reeling back onto the wagon’s driver seat was embedded in those memories.
    There had been a lot of blood spilled by that shot. In fact, there had been a little too much blood spilled. Given how far Johnny was twisted to one side, Franco became even more convinced that his bullet had been a messy grazing shot, at best. Since he hadn’t found a trace of the wagon or Adams the morning after he’d had a chance to tend his own wound, Franco knew both men had most likely made it.
    All of this had flown through Franco’s mind by the time his watch had hit the bottom of his pocket. When he looked up again, he caught sight of another passerby in the corner of his eye.
    Only, this one didn’t pass by.
    Instead, the figure stayed at the edge of Franco’s field of vision. Before Franco could turn to tip his hat, he felt the distinctive touch of a gun barrel tap against his back.
    â€œIf you think I’m still against shooting you in the back,” Clint said softly, “you’re more than welcome to put me to the test.”
    Franco remained still. His casual smile even remained plastered onto his face. “Not a very private place for an execution,” he pointed out.
    â€œNo, but it is a fine spot to nab a bank robber.”
    â€œI had no plans on robbing a bank.”
    â€œAnd if I marched you into that marshal’s office, he wouldn’t recognize your face or that fancy gun of yours in connection to any other wrongdoings of late?” Clint asked.
    Turning just enough to look over his shoulder at Clint, Franco put an extra dose of smugness into his smile and replied, “I’d be more than happy to visit the marshal. My guess is that you have more kills associated with your name than I do.”
    Clint paused to allow another pair of locals to walk past Minnie’s.
    â€œAnd I am not the one holding a man at gunpoint right now,” Franco said confidently. “If I raise my voice, I might even be able to get you arrested.”
    â€œYou won’t do that,” Clint said. “Because then you wouldn’t be able to pick Johnny off before he could deposit his money. Actually, I’m surprised to find you here rather than watching the roads from farther out. But that’s what your partner was supposed to be doing, right?”
    Hearing that last part, Franco turned slightly around and was stopped by Clint’s gun.
    Clint knew he’d struck a nerve, so he struck one more time with “She’s got a good eye. I’ll bet she’s a great scout. She is only human, though, which means she can’t look in every direction at once. But you know how that feels right about now, don’t