Clay Nash 7 by Brett Waring

Author:Brett Waring
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: colt 45, western ebook, piccadilly publishing, old west gunfighters, 1880s old west adventures, brett waring author
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Six – The Burning Fuse

Considine sat in the Hangtree Saloon soaking up whisky during the hot afternoon. His thoughts were centered on Clay Nash.

Ever since Nash had gunned down Lucas Enderby and Morgan Wheeler Considine had felt uneasy. At first, he figured it was because he was indebted to someone and might not get the chance to square things before they went their separate ways. That was something he didn’t like; being under an obligation. He liked to square away his debts pronto.

Some men would have figured that just allowing Nash to talk to him the way he had without retaliation was sufficient to call the debt cancelled, but not Considine. No, he paid back dollar for dollar, or in kind. Nash had saved his life. Nothing would do but for him to save Nash’s in return. And that he had done, not long ago, outside the law office. Maybe the trail men would not have killed Nash, but he might’ve been crippled-up some and keeping that from happening to a man was as good as saving his life, Considine reckoned. Nash had seemed to think it called things quits between them, anyway.

But he still had a strange feeling that there was something ‘special’ about this Clay Nash hombre. It was a deep, gut-feeling that he couldn’t shake. It hadn’t gone away or even diminished after he had saved Nash. That fact was enough to make him look at it even more closely. He had seen Nash’s gun speed when he had smoked down that cowpoke outside this very saloon. He was no slouch, but on the basis of that draw, Considine figured he could outgun him. Still, the memory of the scene kept nagging at him; Nash whipping up that six-gun and blasting in a smooth, fully coordinated motion, muscles flowing in a natural rhythm ...

Then he realized what it was that bothered him. He had the feeling that Nash, though reacting fast, hadn’t really been doing his best. It had been sufficient to handle the situation of the moment, drawing against a cowpoke who already had a gun out. But how would Nash react in a deliberate, cold-deck square-off? When he knew he had to outdraw and outshoot the other hombre? That was what was nagging at Considine; he wanted to see just how good Nash really was.

It had been a long time since Considine had been bothered by thoughts like this. Nowadays, if he was in a gunfight, it was because somebody else started it, threw down the challenge ... which he would never ignore. But he didn’t go looking for gunfights these days, unless as sometimes happened, he was drunk and feeling mean.

Right at the back of his mind, gradually creeping through into his consciousness, was the thought that maybe Nash was The Man, the one every gunfighter met sooner or later, the one with the faster gun and the deadlier aim. No gunfighter worthy of the name could walk away from something like that.

Considine downed his glass of whisky and stood up, just a suggestion of unsteadiness in his movements.

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