Gunsmoke over Texas by Bradford Scott

Author:Bradford Scott [Scott, Bradford]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-4965-6
Publisher: Prologue Books
Published: 1984-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

FOR LONG MINUTES NOTHING HAPPENED. Slade still lay sprawled in the grass. The birds that had flown higher at the sound of the shot were again swooping and crying over the topmost branches. Otherwise the thicket was devoid of sound or motion.

Then abruptly there was movement in the growth. The branches parted and a horseman rode cautiously into view; he was followed by another. Slowly, bending low in their saddles, rifle barrels jutting forward, the drygulchers descended the slope. They could just make out the body of their victim lying motionless beside the trail.

What they hadn’t seen was Slade drag his Winchester from the saddle boot as he fell. Now he lay with his cheek cuddled against the stock, his eyes glancing along the sights.

On came the drygulchers, walking their horses. They relaxed a little. One turned his head to speak to the other. Slade lay utterly motionless.

Nearer and nearer drew the slowly pacing horses. Slade counted off the distance — three hundred yards, two hundred and fifty, two hundred. His finger tightened on the trigger. And abruptly one of the killers sensed that something was not just right. He straightened in his saddle, clamped his rifle butt to his shoulder. Slade pulled trigger.

The report of the heavy rifle rang out like thunder in the stillness and before the echoes slammed back, the foremost drygulcher threw up his hands and pitched headlong. His companion yelled with fright and fired wildly, the bullet hissing over Slade’s body.

A second time the Winchester spoke. Two riderless horses galloped off a little ways and paused snorting and blowing, staring back with rolling eyes at the two sprawled shapes on the ground.

For long minutes Slade lay motionless, his glance shifting from the bodies of the drygulchers to the thicket above. He saw the irritated birds settle into the growth. They did not rise again and he cautiously got to his feet. Cocked rifle ready for instant action he climbed the slope to where the two bodies lay; as he neared them he lowered the hammer of the rifle. He had gotten both the fanging sidewinders dead center. But he knew well that if he hadn’t noticed the way the disturbed birds were acting up and seen the sunlight glint on the rifle barrel as it was shifted to line sights, he would have gotten it dead center.

The two drygulchers were hard looking specimens, even in death. One had a vaguely familiar look but Slade could not place him at the moment. Their pockets discovered nothing of significance, they wore regulation rangeland garb, each packed a heavy sixshooter in addition to the rifles lying nearby. The rigs on the horses were ordinary and the animals bore meaningless Mexican skillet-of-snakes brands.

Suddenly Slade jumped a foot as a raucous bray burst from the thicket above. He whirled about, gun in hand, but the thicket produced nothing more. With a last look around he scrambled up the slope, pushed the growth aside and found himself in a small grass grown clearing that was hidden from the trail below.

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