Hell's Gate by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-07-05T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Nathan Poteet was done with hiding out in the badlands eating salt pork and beans as he waited for Hogan Lord’s summons to ride into town. Dave Sutherland and the others, a restless breed, had quit days before and were probably already back in Texas raising a hundred different kinds of hell.

Poteet threw his saddle on his horse and grinned. It was high time he raised some hell of his own.

“Just put up your hands and step away from the hoss, mister.”

Poteet froze as he heard the voice behind him and then slowly raised his hands.

Then a second man spoke. “There’s a nice gentleman, now step away from the hoss like Deke here said. It won’t bother me none to kill you but I’d surely be sorry to put a bullet in that big American stud.”

“You boys are making a big mistake,” Poteet said.

“No mistake, mister,” Deke said. “We’re just going to kill you, take your hoss and traps and then ride on. Where’s the mistake in that? Huh? Well, let me tell you there isn’t one. Now, move away from the stud like Les told you in the first place.”

Poteet moved away from the horse and the man called Deke said, “Don’t turn around. Stay right where you’re at.” Then, “Les, get his gun.”

Poteet heard footsteps behind him . . . directly behind him, proving that Les wasn’t too smart. For the moment at least the man screened him from Deke’s gun. When Les was close enough that Poteet heard his nervous breathing, he turned, drawing from a shoulder holster. Les’s eyes opened wide as he suddenly saw himself face-to-face with the muzzle of Poteet’s .450 caliber Webley Bulldog revolver. But his horrified surprise lasted only a split second before Poteet’s bullet crashed between his eyes and ended his life in an instant. Poteet, a big man and strong, didn’t allow Les to drop. He held the thin body in front of him as a shield and Deke’s hastily fired bullet thudded into the dead man’s back. At a distance of seven feet Poteet fired, a belly shot that made Deke gasp in pain and stagger back, his face stricken. Poteet held his fire as the man threw his gun away and dropped to his knees. “Don’t shoot me again, mister, I’m done,” he said.

“Damn right, you’re done,” Poteet said. He crossed the ground and picked up the man’s revolver, a rusty cap-and-ball that had seen better days. He looked at the gun and shook his head. “You boys should’ve chosen another line of work, maybe in the millinery business. You surely don’t have a talent for bushwhacking folks.”

His teeth gritted as he fought back against the pain in his belly, Deke said, “We were poor folks, Les and me. Born poor, raised poor and stayed poor. We never could catch a break.”

“Times are hard all over,” Poteet said. He pitched the old revolver into the brush and then cinched up his saddle. The big outlaw stepped into

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