Cemetery Jones 5 by William R. Cox

Author:William R. Cox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action hero, wyatt earp, tombstone, western series, piccadilly publishing, gunfighters and outlaws, william r cox, best western ebooks, the ok corral
Publisher: Piccadilly

Seven

Old Man Clanton sat on his porch in the moonlight and watched John Ringo face-off a rattlesnake.

Ringo had a throwing knife upraised. He circled the coiled snake, just out of striking range.

The snake’s rattles made a steady whirring sound in the night as it swayed its head back and forth, seeking its chance to strike.

The old man watched silently, thinking, Any sensible man’d just shoot the damn snake and be done with it.

But not Ringo. Ringo had nerve, but no nerves.

Always trying to prove something.

From inside the house came the boys’ voices—Phin, Ike, and Billy. Grown men but playing a little-kid card game. Somebody shouted something about cheating. The old man made a face.

Ringo feinted with his throwing arm. The snake reared back. For that moment of uncertainty its head hung steady in the air. In a flash Ringo took one long stride forward into the danger zone and flicked the knife.

The old man saw the snake fall back. It wriggled in spasm and then lay inert. The light wasn’t clear, but he knew the knife must have decapitated it.

“Hell,” the old man growled, “s’pose you’d missed? You’d be pullin’ his fangs out of your leg now.”

“That’s why I didn’t miss,” Ringo said. “Trouble with you, old man, you lost your sense o’ fun.”

“I never seen fun in takin’ risks for no cause.”

“See? That’s what I mean,” Ringo said. He peered down into the darkness where the snake had flopped back under a greasewood clump. After a moment he found his knife and picked it up. The old man saw him wipe it on his pants and slide it back into the sheath inside his left sleeve.

Ringo said, “Pretty good, aren’t I, old man?”

The old man snorted. “I’ve seen roadrunners do as good.”

“If it’s that easy, I’d like to see you give it a try yourself.”

“When I was young and foolish I might’ve.”

You didn’t give orders to Johnny Ringo. You had to approach him just right to get him to do what you wanted. The trick, the old man thought, was to know how to do that. It decided who was boss.

The old man said, “Cemetery Jones is in Tombstone.”

“Is he now?” Ringo stood bolt still and watched him.

“Say he’s fast.”

“I’ve heard that,” Ringo said in a dangerous voice.

“Say he’s the fastest.”

“He’s not.” Ringo’s lip curled.

“Some of the boys been bettin’ on who’d be faster—Cemetery Jones or John Ringo.”

Ringo stood below the porch and brooded up at him. He was an average-size man with an ordinary kind of round face and a receding hairline; he didn’t look prepossessing until you looked close into his eyes. A killer’s ice-cold eyes.

The old man sank his own knife then: “Know who’s the favorite? They puttin’ heavy odds on Cemetery Jones to put you in the ground with your boots on.”

Ringo’s face went even darker. He didn’t say anything. He walked away toward the bunkhouse.

The plunging resentfulness of his stride indicated the old man’s words had hit home. Ringo wouldn’t rest now until he killed Cemetery Jones.

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