Lone Star 128gold Mi by Wesley Ellis

Author:Wesley Ellis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

Jessie heard the explosions, but dared not go to the window or door. When she once again heard the footsteps on the roof, she took her time, shooting up at the base of the brass lamp.

Above her someone cursed and fell, and a dark form dashed by the window at the center of the car.

Then there were the sounds of boots running and whispers.

“Better come on outta there, missy,” a man’s voice yelled.

She didn’t answer.

When the windows at the front of the car shattered with gunfire, she emptied the Colt in that general direction, then hurriedly reloaded.

From outside someone let go with a shotgun, and more windows shattered.

When she saw a hand rise up by the window, a stick of dynamite at one end of it, with its fuse sizzling, she fired. The window shattered more, but the hand popped up and deposited the dynamite inside, the fuse casting an eerie glow over the car. Then another stick came through, from the opposite side.

In a flash, Jessie was running, heading for the back of the car. When she reached the door, she jumped, prepared to hit the ground with her feet moving. But strong hands caught her in midair and wrestled her to the ground, prying the Colt from her grasp.

There was more than one of them, but Jessie fought hard, kneeing one in the balls and raking her nails across the other’s face.

They howled with the pain, and Jessie rolled away as the private coach vanished in a burst of deafening orange flame that had bloated it for the briefest instant, then sent most of the furnishings flaming out through the windows and roof. A moment later, she heard the remains of the coach roll and crash on its side.

Jessie was on her knees, making her way down the hill, when she felt a hand on her boot. Kicking back, she caught nothing but air. Someone grabbed at her again and she fell, rolling onto her back. When she came up, she was holding the little hideout that she kept concealed behind her belt buckle.

“Now ain’t that just about the most ladylike gun I ever seen,” a man’s voice said.

Above the man she held in her derringer’s sights, Jessie saw another one. Greasy blond hair hung down to the shoulders of his black frock coat, and he was smiling through a mouth of broken yellowed teeth. The lever-action .30—.30 in his hands was the reason he was smiling.

“Now, you just blow ol’ Walsh away or hand me the gun,” he said. “One’s the same as the other to me. ‘Cause I won’t have to dig either grave.”

She tossed the gun toward him. He caught it neatly and deposited it in the pocket of the coat.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with false courtesy. “And I’m sure ol’ Lyle here thanks you.”

“Carter! Carter! ” a voice called from up on the hill.

“Down here!” the man with the gun called back, moving his head slightly over his shoulder.

Two more men appeared at the top of the slope.

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