Hell Town by J. A. Johnstone & William W. Johnstone

Author:J. A. Johnstone & William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, J. A. & Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
ISBN: 9780786017386
Publisher: GraphicAudio
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Hell Town

Chapter 19

“Hold it right there,” the guard said in a low, menacing voice from the trees. His tone made it clear that he had the rider approaching the Alhambra Mine covered, probably with a rifle.

But that tone changed right away as he continued. “Oh, sorry, Boss, I didn’t realize it was you. Didn’t know you’d ridden out earlier.”

“It’s all right,” Gunther Hammersmith said from the back of his horse. “Everything quiet around here?”

“Yeah,” the sentry answered. “Well, I guess so. I heard some shots in the distance a while back, and then what sounded like the biggest clap of thunder I ever heard. Couldn’t have been thunder, though. The sky’s clear tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that somebody was doin’ some nighttime blastin’ at one of those other mines.”

“Maybe that’s what it was,” Hammersmith said. He lifted the reins and heeled his horse into motion. “Stay alert.”

“You can damn sure count on it,” the sentry promised as Hammersmith rode past, heading for the stamp mill and the office.

When Hammersmith reached the office, he dismounted and tied his mount to a hitching post. He would unsaddle and tend to the horse later. Right now, he needed a drink.

He went into the office and lit the lamp on his desk. A bottle and a glass were inside one of the drawers. Hammersmith opened the drawer, looked into it for a moment, and then lifted out the bottle, leaving the glass where it was. Sometimes a man didn’t want to bother with niceties, and this was one of those occasions.

He lifted the bottle to his mouth, tilted his head back, and swallowed a long, healthy slug of the whiskey. It burned all the way down his throat, a cleansing, purifying fieriness, and then kindled a warm glow in his belly. As he lowered the bottle and sank into the chair behind the desk, that warmth began to spread through his body, counteracting the chill of the blood that ran through his veins.

In his life, Gunther Hammersmith had killed four men with his fists, and he had done for another one with an ax handle, crushing the gent’s skull with one blow. All of those deaths had occurred during fights. Maybe not fair fights, mind you, since Hammersmith knew he was bigger and stronger than most men he would ever encounter. But at least the men he’d been battling with had had a chance to strike a blow in return. Because of that, he had never lost a minute’s sleep over what happened to those men.

Tonight was different. That sorry son of a bitch tonight was in too bad a shape to fight back. He’d been mauled by Morgan’s wolf, or whatever it was, and the marshal had also clouted him over the head with a six-gun. Perry was hurt, and he thought that Hammersmith had come to help him.

It hadn’t taken him long to figure out otherwise. Then he had begged and whimpered and pleaded for his life.

Hammersmith knocked

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