Cord 6 by Owen Rountree

Author:Owen Rountree
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: louis lamour, colt 45, action heroes, piccadilly publishing, us old west, outlaws and lawmen, owen rountree, westerns 1880s, silver minining
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Ten

Cord had been dreaming some vague dream of a fantastical facedown, but he knew in-

Stantly that the gun muzzle was real. It was cold and there was pressure behind it and it was laid up against Cord’s forehead.

“Not a move,” a raw voice muttered, and: “Let’s have light.”

A match flared and the coal oil lamp on the sideboard sputtered and flared. The man who had awakened him was a stranger. The other man, standing back near the window, was one of the two faceless gun-boys who were always backing Culley. The first man stepped back from the bed and gestured with his gun.

Cord rose from the bed in his union suit. When he reached for his britches, the gunman said, “Forget it. We ain’t got time. You’ll come along in your drawers.”

Cord damned himself for retiring without a gun in his hand; that sort of forgetfulness, which Cord blamed on going to bed sober, was deadly. Maybe Chi was right: He was going soft.

“We are going out and down the back stairs,” the gunman said. “There’s a wagon waiting. We don’t want to wake up the town, but we’ll shoot if you make us. All the same, far as we’re concerned. Nobody can touch us.”

For now they had the guns, but Cord figured he’d have to change that and fast. They were going to kill them pretty soon now, him and Chi.

Chi. Where was she?

The gunman herded Cord out to the hallway. In front of the next door a third member of the gang had the drop on Chi. She was dressed, her serape in place as always, but Cord saw her Peacemaker stuck in the man’s belt. Chi’s dark eyes brimmed with anger. She knew as well as he that once they allowed themselves to be hog-tied in the back of a buckboard, they were dead.

“Pigs,” Chi spat. “Sons of stinking shit.”

“Shut up.”

Chi took a step at him. “Bastards of Hell,” she challenged.

Cord turned his head far enough to make sure the man covering him was taking in this little play. He was. Fools and worse fools: They were his only salvation.

Cord rammed his elbow into the man’s gut, hard enough to rupture something. The man groaned and folded, and as he grabbed for his belly, Cord picked the Colt out of his hand. His partner swung his gun around, and Cord put the Colt into his ribs and pulled the trigger. The man fell away.

Chi caught her man along the jawline with her fist. He stumbled back but did not fall, lining his gun on her middle.

Chi swept back the skirt of her serape, and there was a double explosion of gunfire. The gunman spun half around and hit the far wall and went down.

Blood bubbled from the mouth of the man at Cord’s feet. He tried to draw breath, and his chest gave an awful rattle. But Cord was watching Chi. She held a little Remington over-and-under derringer with inlaid nacre grips.

“What the hell?” Cord started.

“Insurance.” Chi cracked the breech of the Remington, dumped the casings, and loaded fresh .

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