Bargain at Bravebank by J R Frontera

Author:J R Frontera [Frontera, J R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wordwraith Books LLC
Published: 2020-03-09T22:00:00+00:00

PART XII

BEHOLD A PALE HORSE

The canon of a gun she carried roared and spit fire, and I realized it made the same sound I’d heard earlier, comin’ from inside the house. The gun that had silenced all the other guns.

Her horse threw up its head and pinned its ears at the flash and the noise, wild-eyed and jumpy, but she drove it onward with her heels, her finger never comin’ off the trigger.

Baron Whittaker was just bringin’ his pistol up toward her when a wild spray of slugs punched into his chest and sent him sprawlin’ into the ash. Blood splattered across his slaves. They shrieked and flattened themselves against the ground.

The baron’s four men around me scrambled fer their guns, too. Only one of ‘em had his ready, the one with the rifle. He’d just sighted down the length of it when she mowed him down, and I shoved myself over sideways just as the storm of bullets filled the air where I’d just been.

The three remainin’ men dropped heavily all around me, big, gapin’ holes punched through ‘em. I coughed in the cloud of ash they stirred up.

Heard the hoofbeats circle around, then come to a stop.

I lifted my head and looked through the haze to see Charlotte had dismounted, looped the reins of her nervous horse over a charred two-by-four still stuck in the ground, and was now stridin’ in my direction, the canon still gripped in both hands.

I couldn’t rightly tell by the look on her face if she meant to rescue me … or kill me, too. I opened my mouth to ask, but the words got stuck.

She ignored me fer the moment and propped the giant gun back against one shoulder, then bent down to retrieve the heated crowbar, still glowin’ a faint orange on one end.

Fer a second I was afraid she planned to use it on me again, but then she turned away and went to the baron’s body.

No … he weren’t dead yet.

I could see him twitchin’, hear the rattle of his breath as he gasped fer air.

Charlotte marched right over to his side, standin’ over him with the canon-gun in one hand and the hot crowbar in the other, her skirt and blouse streaked again with dirt and soot, her wavy red locks, once neatly pinned atop her head, now in disarray and fallin’ down around her shoulders.

“Y-you…” the baron gurgled.

“Me,” she said. And then she jammed that hot crowbar up between his legs, right into his goods.

I grimaced.

The baron screamed, high and terrible.

The nervous horse whickered and rolled its eyes, dancin’ in place.

Charlotte jabbed the crowbar at his face then, into his eye.

His shriekin’ raised the hairs on my arms. And yet, it was the kind of justice a man like him deserved.

She took his other eye, too, lettin’ him scream and blubber and choke and rattle, hands weakly flailin’, tryin’ to find her, or tryin’ to find his gun. Then she threw the crowbar away and drew my pistol from the sash at her waist.

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