The Stranger from Abilene

Chapter 65

“Kid brought this for you,” the desk clerk said, stopping Clayton on his way out the door.

He handed over the envelope.

Clayton slipped out the folded paper, opened it up, and read.

The message was straightforward enough, but he scanned it twice to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

I can help you put a rope around Lissome Terry’s neck.

Meet me at the Southwell Ranch at sundown.

There was no signature.

“Did the kid say who gave this to him?”

“No, he didn’t,” the clerk said. “Bad news?”

Clayton shook his head. “Good news, maybe.”

Before the clerk could question him further, he stepped onto the hotel porch and glanced at the sun.

There were still a couple of hours until dusk.

Clayton glanced over at the marshal’s office, but there was no sign of Kelly, and that was good.

He planned to do this himself without Nook’s meddling.

Clayton had no illusions about the note. The chances were high it was bait on a dangling hook designed to lure him into a trap.

He could be bucking a stacked deck, but he was willing to accept the odds.

St. John himself might have written the note, pushing for a showdown, as anxious as Clayton himself to get it over with.

He nodded to himself, his face grim.

Well, that suited him just fine.

But then another thought struck him—St. John was a careful and cunning man.

He wouldn’t come alone.

Clayton walked to the livery and threw his saddle on Shack Mitchell’s black.

Benny Hinton angrily stepped beside him. “Here, where are you taking that hoss?”

“Out.”

“No, you ain’t. The owner is deceased and his animal is now town property.”

Clayton’s nerves were stretched almost to the breaking point and he was in no mood to suffer fools gladly.

Suddenly his gun was in his hand, the muzzle jammed between Hinton’s shaggy eyebrows. “Are you going to give me trouble, old man?”

Hinton stepped back, scared, but still angry.

“You’re bad news, Clayton. I knowed that the minute I set eyes on you. Take that hoss and I’ll see ye hung fer it.”

Clayton ignored the man and led the black from the stable.

Hinton followed him.

“After you steal the horse, why don’t you keep on riding, Clayton?” he said. “Bighorn Point was a peaceful town until you got here.”

“When I got here, old man, Bighorn Point was a cesspit and it still is.”

He swung into the saddle and smiled at Hinton. “You take care now.”

“And you go to hell.”

Clayton stared down the dusty street, the shadows already stretching longer as the sky tinted red.

“Seems to me, hell is where I’m at,” he said.