The Sapphire Gun by J. R. Roberts Page B

you?”
    â€œIf you think I’m going to let slip where she is, you’re sadly mistaken.”
    â€œI’m not trying to get you to say anything,” Clint stated. “I figured you knew where we were headed, otherwise you would have hit Johnny earlier on. It would have been messier, but you can afford to pick your shot when you know where your target is going.
    â€œRather than race you to this town, I thought it would be more sociable if I just met you here. Unfortunately, Johnny isn’t around for this little reunion.”
    Franco let out a sigh and grunted, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Adams?”
    â€œAfter your little ambush, yeah. I am enjoying watching you squirm a bit.”
    â€œSo, I have squirmed,” Franco said as though he were squatting down in the muck to speak at Clint’s level. “What will you do now?”
    â€œI’m going to escort you out of town and away from these good people and make sure you aren’t able to lift a finger to hamper Johnny from making his deposit.”
    â€œFine. Let’s go.”
    Clint nudged Franco with his gun barrel to make sure the Spaniard was moving in the right direction. Once Franco was walking on his own, Clint quickly holstered the Colt without making a sound and nodded to an elderly woman crossing the street to go into the bank.
    As far as anyone else was concerned, Clint and Franco were just two amiable fellows out for a stroll.

FOURTEEN
    Clint and Franco didn’t speak as they walked down the second of Dover Shallows’s main streets. Every so often, Franco would test the waters by slowing his pace or looking for a spot where he could split away from Clint. Every errant glance or pause in his stride was met by a subtle prod from the barrel of Clint’s modified Colt.
    Since he was able to keep Franco in front of him, Clint could keep his gun holstered throughout most of his walk. Whenever he needed to put Franco back on track, he drew the gun, used it to give the Spaniard a shove, and holstered it again before anyone else noticed.
    Once they got away from the main streets, however, they both had a bit more room to breathe.
    Franco planted his feet and came to a stop in an empty lot behind a livery filled with wagons and carts in various stages of repair. He kept his hands at his sides and his eyes pointed straight ahead.
    â€œI’m not walking another step,” Franco announced.
    â€œThat’s up to you.”
    Although he knew Clint couldn’t see it, Franco smiled. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I walked to my horse, rode away, and our paths never crossed again?”
    â€œActually, that sounds nice.” After allowing Franco to take one step, Clint added, “But you and I both know that’s not how it will happen.”
    Slowly, Franco turned around to face Clint. Every fraction of every second that it took for him to do so grated on Franco’s nerves like a rake across a chalkboard. Despite being a little surprised to complete the turn, Franco put on a victorious grin. “You never took my gun from me.”
    Clint calmly nodded. “I know.”
    â€œThis was never about you, Adams.”
    â€œI know that, too. I got a vested interest in this from the moment you started shooting at me. That’s not something any man would let pass so easily.”
    â€œEspecially not a man like you.”
    â€œNo,” Clint said gravely. “Especially not a man like me.”
    Franco stood his ground and let his hand move to his holster. Although he didn’t make an attempt to draw his .44, he brushed his fingers past it just to make certain it hadn’t been taken from him somewhere along the way.
    The .44 was still there.
    As Franco’s hand lingered near the holstered pistol, he saw Clint’s hand tensing as it eased its way to his own Colt. Franco raising his arm until his hand was held straight out in front of him was