Reprisal by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-08-05T04:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Sam signaled a halt. “Yonder’s a fire. Maybe it’s Charlie on his way back to the cabin after he ambushed that bastard Frank Morgan.”

“Who the hell else would be out here?” Tony asked as he peered into the snow.

Buster jerked his pistol free, his back to the heavy snowfall. “We gotta be sure, boys,” he said to Sam and Tony. “I’ve heard stories about Morgan. He ain’t no tinhorn, even if he is gettin’ on in years. Let’s ride up real careful, just to be on the safe side.”

“You worry too much,” Tony said. “Charlie Bowers is as good as they come when a man needs killin’. That’s how come Ned sent him back to do the job. Charlie don’t miss. He’s as good as they get for a bush-whackin’ job.”

“All the same,” Sam said, drawing his own Colt .44, “we’ll ride up careful. No sense in takin’ any chances. It could even be some deer hunter or a traveler. But it pays to be cautious with Morgan followin’ your tracks.”

“Remember what Ned told us,” Tony warned. “Frank Morgan is a killer, a professional shootist from way back. He may still have a lot of caution in him.”

“Ned’s too worried about Morgan,” Sam declared. “Besides, he’s just one man and there’s three of us. You ain’t giving Charlie enough credit. My money says he planted Morgan in a shallow grave by now.”

“We’ve got the wind at our backs,” Tony said. “Let’s ride around and come at him upwind, whoever the hell he is.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Sam agreed. “If it’s Charlie camped down by that creek, we’ll recognize him. If it ain’t, if it’s Morgan, we start shootin’ until that sumbitch is dead.”

“Morgan’s already dead,” Sam said. “The only thing worryin’ Ned is why Bowers didn’t come back to the cabin by dark. Charlie knows his way around these mountains. Maybe all that happened was his stud went lame.”

“I don’t like the looks of this, Sam,” Tony said, squirming in his saddle. “There’s something about this that don’t feel quite right.”

“You’re a natural-born worrier, Tony,” Sam said. “If it is Frank Morgan down there by that fire, the three of us will kill him.”

The gunslicks rode south into the snowy night with guns drawn.

Larger flakes of snow had begun to fall, and the howl of the squall winds echoed through the treetops around them.

* * *

“Clarence Rushing is my full name,” Tin Pan said, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “I’ve been up in these mountains so long that the other gold-panners hung the Tin Pan handle on me. Suits me just fine.”

Frank grinned. “I like Tin Pan. It’s a helluva lot easier on the ears.”

“A name don’t mean all that much anyhow. I went by Clarence Rushing for thirty years, back in Indiana. I went to college for a spell. Tried to make my living as a printer. But I kept feeling this call to see the high lonesome, these mountains, and a man just ain’t happy if he ain’t where he feels he belongs.

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