Miles to Little Ridge by Heath Lowrance

Author:Heath Lowrance
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General
Publisher: BEAT to a PULP
Published: 2011-12-09T08:00:00+00:00

-FOUR-

Re-Grouping

"Well," Christian said, "that didn't go so good."

"Shut up," the Swede said.

They were in the little rented hovel they shared behind the post office. Roughly six feet square, there was barely room for the two bunks and the packing crate they kept all their belongings in. Christian had poured whiskey over the gash across the Swede's wide chest and was now trying to wrap an old linen around the wound. He'd already tended to the cut on the Swede's temple.

The Swede's muscled chest heaved with pain, and sweat dripped down his torso. Christian's mouth felt dry, and he had that odd sensation in his stomach again whenever he looked at his friend. He willed it down, said, "You prob'ly shouldn't have just come at him with an ax like that, is what I'm thinking."

"Shut up," the Swede said again. "Just wrap that thing tight, damnit."

"But who would'a thought the bastard would be so quick? Still, it didn't go so good, did it?"

The Swede swiped at Christian's head, and Christian ducked under it, said, "Hey, come on, I'm trying to help you here."

"Fat lot of help you are. Just wrap it tight and shut your damn mouth already."

Christian grumbled but did as he was told. When he was done, the Swede reached down for the bottle that sat on the floor between them. He took a long pull and neither of them spoke for a moment.

After a moment, Christian said, "Can I talk now? Is that okay with you, if I open my damn mouth?"

"I reckon so."

"Good. I thank you. What I wanna ask you is, what now?"

The Swede grimaced. "You're getting to be a smart-ass, you know that? But it's a fair question."

"Well?"

"I don't rightly know, do I? I can't let that son-of-a-bitch Marshal get away with it, though. He ain't likely to be in town long, and I'll be damned if I sit back and just watch him ride out."

"Seems to me we need some guns or some-such."

"Unless you got some scratch on you, I don't see how we can do that."

Christian said, "Nothing, sorry. I'm stoney."

The Swede took another deep drink from the bottle, burped, and a sly smile came over his face. He said, "Unless ... unless we steal a couple pieces."

From the open doorway, a voice said, "I wouldn't recommend that."

The Swede and Christian both nearly jumped out of their skins. They looked to see the Sheriff leaning against the doorjamb, a big grin on his red face. He had one hand on his hip and his round stomach thrust out over his belt buckle. In his other hand, he held a gunny sack.

"Sheriff," Christian said, "What ... I mean to say, what brings you by, sir?"

The Sheriff stood up straight, twirled a finger through his thick mutton chops. "Just stopped by to see how the Swede's holdin' up. That was a mighty blow on the head he took. And a nasty knife wound as well."

The Swede shook his head. "Now see here, Sheriff, it ain't like you think.

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