EDGE: The Big Gold (Edge series Book 15) by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman [Gilman, George G.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Lobo publications (A High Plains Wesrern)
Published: 2013-03-18T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

“OH dear, dear me!” Singh exclaimed, pushing his face hard against the ground and covering the back of his head with his hands. “I have no wish to die here.”

The movement Edge had seen was that of a polished rifle barrel as it swung to the aim and the sun glinted on it. But after that first shot which had killed the stallion instead of him, there was more than just a rifle to see. Eight men crested the brow of the hill. Seven were already mounted and the eighth, who had been prone in the brush to fire the opening shot, swung up into the saddle of a horse led by one of the other men.

Now they galloped down the hillside in line abreast. Grainger and Salter were on the flanks, controlling their horses with heels and knees, prairie Indian fashion, as they used both hands to fire their Winchesters. One man rode with the reins gripped between his teeth as he blasted down the slope with matched six-guns. The others were less skilled riders, firing past the necks of their animals with repeating rifles while keeping a firm grip on the reins.

“So get ’em before they get you!” Edge rasped, using his elbow to push the discarded Colt towards the cowering Singh.

Bullets were thudding into the ground and the wagon. Wilder shots clanged against the cooking pot, showered sparks from the fire and splashed into the stream. Edge drew a bead on Salter, whose left pants leg was crusted with dried blood from where Case had winged him. He squeezed the trigger and fresh blood erupted. From the chest, left of centre. The man died in the saddle and fell backwards over the hindquarters of his horse. The animal, frightened by the thud of the dead weight against his rump, veered suddenly to one side.

It slammed hard into the flank of the next horse in line. This was ridden by the man with the reins in his teeth. As his mount leaned, he dropped his revolvers and tried to keep his balance. But the angle of tilt was too great. He fell to the side, one foot slipping free of the stirrup. But the other was held firm. He crashed to the ground with a scream that spurted his horse to greater effort. He was dragged at breakneck speed on his back.

“I friggin’ missed!” Grainger yelled, and snatched up the reins to haul his horse into a wheel.

“I am most non-violent Nepalese,” Singh shrieked as a bullet ricocheted off a wheel rim and spat dirt into his hair.

The tigers were roaring in fear and anger, rocking the wagon frantically as they chased around the big gold. The team stood in docile immobility in the traces. Familiar with the tantrums of the wild beasts, they were also immune to the explosive cracking of gunfire.

“More men die for ideals than anything else!” the half-breed rasped. He fired again, as the five other attackers still in their saddles turned to stream after Grainger.

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