Iron Men and Silver Stars (Jerry eBooks) by Donald Hamilton

Author:Donald Hamilton [Hamilton, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jerry eBooks
Published: 2014-12-31T05:00:00+00:00

They kept going up the canyon. This was surely a beautiful piece of God’s handiwork up in here, but it was getting deadly now. It was getting on to dark. Dowling’s bunch had made ambush strikes at them at night in other places—rear-guard actions like—and another night might well bring more of it. Only worse this time. They were running out of canyon and Dowling must be getting desperate. Once up on top he could likely get away, and he had to make sure of that chance. Jimmy’s mouth got the dry, acid taste again, and his eyes roamed hungrily among the rock and brush sweeping up the walls.

When his mind wasn’t speculating on Dowling it would turn to Rawlins. He sure did wish they had another leader—Charley, say. Some man who wasn’t no outsider anyway. When this whole thing had come to a head back there at Roswell, pretty near everyone had figured Charley would be the man for it. Old Man Johnson, Wes’s dad, had nominated him, and for awhile, there, it looked like it was going to stick.

Jimmy recalled that Charley hadn’t wasted any time. When he’d heard that Old Man Johnson was backing his appointment he right away went to his war-bag and got out his special man-huntin’ Colt—that’s what he called it—and a real stiff, wide cartridge belt, all fancy and hand-tooled, Mexican fashion, and the slickest little cut-down quick-draw holster you’d ever hope to see.

Charley was real business-like and cryptic in those first days when the posse was getting organized. “Wore that when I was with the Kid,” he’d say, indicating the staghorn butt and quick-draw holster. “When a feller goes man-huntin’ he’s got to have the right equipment. Ain’t no sense in takin’ half measures.”

And then Charley would go out in the Johnson corral and amaze them all with his marksmanship. One of them, maybe Wes, or Emmet, or one of the others—didn’t make no difference—would toss a can way high up and Charley would quick swerve around and whip his Colt out slick as grease and before that can hit the ground there’d be a big roar of sound and six neat holes in the metal.

You sure couldn’t beat Charley Olive on a thing like that. Made you think that Pat Garret never would have killed the Kid that night if Charley’d been around. Sometimes folks wondered why Charley didn’t go for Pat to avenge the Kid, and once Jimmy’d asked him that. But Charley’d only said, “Aw, hell, Jimmy, the West is changing don’t do no good to stir up all them old griefs.” And even though he’d said that he’d left no doubt in Jimmy’s mind that he could surely do it if the urge got him bad enough. Trouble was, though, Charley was pretty public-spirited and law-abidin’. These days anyway.

Then one day they’d brought this Rawlins man around. He’d worn a neat gray suit and a black string tie and a soft, skimpy-brimmed felt hat and white shirt, even.

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