Under a Turquoise Sky by J. R. Roberts

than me?” Clint asked.
    Chance looked at him.
    â€œYou’re faster with a gun, and you have the faster horse,” Chance said, “but I’m younger and faster on my feet than you are.”
    Markstein looked at Clint and said, “I believe he might be right.”
    Clint took only a few seconds, then said, “Yeah, well, okay, he might be right.”
    â€œI won’t even have to circle around,” Chance said. “I can climb up on top of a boulder and then knock him off his horse.”
    â€œWhat if we capture the fellow and he won’t talk?” Markstein asked.
    Clint and Chance exchanged a look, and then Clint said, “Oh, he’ll talk.”
    Â 
    Aaron Edwards was angry that this thankless job had fallen to him. If the three men were heading for Beale Springs, why couldn’t they all have just gone on ahead? What was the good of trailing them?
    All they did was ride and rest, ride and rest.
    He lost sight of them now up ahead for a few moments, and then they came back into view. Once he entered that dip, he’d lose them again for a few seconds, but they were always there, just ahead of him…Wait, was that a rider-less horse?
    Before he could figure out what that meant, he was hit from the side and snatched right off his horse.

TWENTY-SEVEN
    As soon as Chance hit the man and pulled him from his horse, Clint handed the reins of the packhorse to Markstein and rode back to help. By the time he reached the two men, though, Chance had the other unarmed, the gun stuck into his belt, and had a knee in his back. He also had a gash in his chin where he’d struck the rocks.
    â€œNeed help?” Clint asked.
    â€œIt would be nice,” Chance said. “I’d like to stop the blood that’s gushing from my chin.”
    Clint dismounted, approached the two men and examined Chance’s wound.
    â€œDon’t be a baby,” he said. “It’s not gushing.”
    â€œHey, what about me?” the man on the bottom demanded. “My back hurts.”
    â€œYou I don’t care about,” Clint said. “Just shut up and don’t talk until we’re ready to talk to you.”
    â€œI don’t know what’s goin’ on—”
    Chance slapped the man on the back of the head, causing his forehead to bounce off the hard ground.
    â€œThe man told you to shut up!”
    â€œMy friend is going to take his knee out of your back,” Clint said. “I want you to stay where you are.”
    â€œWhy can’t I get—”
    â€œIf you move at all, I’ll shoot you.”
    That shut the man up, but only for a moment.
    â€œYou wouldn’t—”
    â€œTry me,” Clint said. “My friend and I don’t like being followed. If I don’t shoot you, he will.”
    â€œYou got all that?” Chance asked.
    The man didn’t respond.
    â€œYou want me to hit you on the back of the head again?” Chance demanded.
    â€œI thought you didn’t want me to talk,” the man whined.
    â€œTalk when you’re talked to,” Chance said. “Got it?”
    â€œOkay, okay, I got it.”
    Chance removed his knee from the man’s back and stood up. The man immediately tried to run. He scrambled up, but before he could get very far Clint drew and fired. His bullet took the heel of the man’s right boot clean off.
    â€œJesus!” The man fell to the ground and grabbed for his foot, convinced it had been shot off. “You shot me!”
    â€œI told you I was going to shoot you if you tried to run,” Clint said. “Maybe you understand that now?”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” the man said, “I understand.” He looked at his foot and heaved a sigh of relief to see that it was still there. Then he realized what Clint had done. “You shot my heel off.”
    â€œI was aiming for your ankle,” Clint told him. He ejected the spent shell, reloaded and