The Man with the Iron Badge Read Online Free Page A

out you ate with another woman.”
    As she left, he realized they still knew nothing about each other, and he didn’t even know her last name.

EIGHT
    Clint was standing at the bar in Rick’s Place, nursing a beer and talking to the new bartender, Lew Kelly, when Dan Starkweather came walking in.
    â€œHere’s that kid,” Kelly said. “I think he’s a good one to stay away from.”
    â€œWhy don’t you put a beer on the bar for him, and then you can do that,” Clint suggested.
    Clint didn’t like Kelly. He’d have to tell Rick that before he forgot.
    â€œThat for me?” Starkweather asked.
    â€œIt is.”
    Starkweather stepped forward and picked the beer up.
    â€œI wasn’t sure if you’d still be talking to me,” the kid said.
    â€œSure, why not?” Clint asked. “No harm was ever done by talking.”
    â€œLook,” the kid said, “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what I was thinking, suggesting that we face off. I’m just . . . anxious.”
    â€œDo you know where your father is?” Clint asked.
    â€œExactly? No,” Starkweather said, “but I’ve got a general idea.”
    â€œAnd where would this general idea take you?” Clint asked.
    â€œNew Mexico.”
    â€œAnd if I don’t go with you, will you go alone?” Clint asked.
    â€œYes, sir,” Starkweather said. “This is something I’ve got to do.”
    â€œDo you think your father will come in with you?”
    â€œNo, sir,” Starkweather said honestly. “In fact, he might not even believe I’m his son.”
    â€œAnd if he doesn’t, he’ll try to kill you.”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œAnd there’s no way I can talk you out of this?” Clint asked.
    For what seemed to be the hundredth time Starkweather said, “No, sir. No way.”
    Clint sighed.
    â€œDrink your beer, kid,” he said. “I’ve got some thinking to do.”
    At that moment the batwings slammed open and six men rushed in. Clint recognized Brody and his two friends. He didn’t know the other three, but they must have been friends the others had recruited.
    â€œThere!” Brody shouted, pointing at either Clint or Starkweather or maybe both.
    The six men went for their guns. Customers dove for cover.
    Clint and Starkweather drew their guns.
    The air was filled with hot lead, smoke, the sounds of breaking glass, and the unmistakable sound of lead hitting flesh.
    Clint made every shot count, putting a slug first in Brody’s chest, then in one of the other men. As he shot the third, he readied himself for the onslaught of lead. He turned his gun toward the fourth man, but noticed that there were no other men standing. All six were on the floor, either on their stomach or their back.
    He turned and looked at Starkweather. The boy stood tall, didn’t seem to have been hit.
    â€œHow many shots did you fire?” Clint asked.
    â€œThree,” Starkweather said as he reloaded.
    Same amount he had fired.
    People started getting themselves up off the floor. Lew Kelly crawled out from behind the bar, and Rick Hartman came running from his office, gun in hand.
    â€œEasy, Rick,” Clint said. “It’s all over.”
    â€œWhat the hell—”
    â€œBrody came back with his friends, and with some help,” Clint said. “Guess he figured they had the numbers on their side.”
    â€œYou gunned all six?” Hartman asked.
    â€œI fired three shots,” Clint said, “and so did my friend.”
    Hartman walked over to the fallen bodies, checked them each.
    â€œAll dead,” he said, “plugged dead center. Come on, boys, give me a hand getting these bodies out of here.” He looked at Clint and Starkweather. “Go wait in my office. I’ll handle the law.”
    Clint turned to retrieve his beer, and found that a stray bullet had shattered the