Ricochet by Thom Nicholson

Author:Thom Nicholson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-02-26T00:00:00+00:00

Black Jack and Junior sat by their campfire, both men angry at the cold shoulder they had received from everyone in the wagon train for missing the fire. Black Jack grumbled as he tossed small sticks into the flames. “Damned smart-ass. Who asked him along, anyways?”

“You talkin’ about Marty Turner?”

“Damned right. I’ve half a notion to put a bullet twixt his eyes.”

Junior nodded. “There’s somethin’ about him. I tell ya, I know I know him from somewhere. I jus’ can’t put my finger on it right now. He’s trouble, Black Jack. I think we need to move up the timetable for our little plan.”

Black Jack looked around, his eyes wary. “Talk soft, Junior. These damned plow-chasers’ll hang us from the nearest tree they find out what we’re up to.”

Junior agreed. “I sure don’t want to fight my way outa here. There’s jus’ too many guns agin us.”

“Fer the pleasure of killing that smart-ass Marty, I might chance it.”

“Kill . . . kill . . . Man-killer! That’s it. Marty Keller, the man-killer. That’s who he is. Not Turner, but Keller. I seen him in Fort Smith last year. He’d just brought in two brothers wanted fer bank robbery, shot dead. He’s a famous bounty hunter, always brings his men in dead, I heerd. S’pose he’s after us?”

“I don’t know. You got papers out on you in Missouri, right? I don’t think them papers from Californee about me would git all the way back here. Maybe, I dunno. We can’t take no chances. We either gotta kill ’em right now, or do the thing right now and light out while he’s hung up takin’ care of the folks in his wagons. Lemme think a minute.”

Black Jack swirled the coffee in his tin cup, watching the brown liquid reflect the firelight.

“No, he can’t be after us. We run upon him by chance. He sure didn’t know we was a’commin’. It’s jus’ bad luck on our part. We’ll take him out iffen we git the chance, but if not, we grab the train’s strongbox tonight and light out fer the Colorado goldfields. Keller don’t owe these sodbusters nuttin’. He’ll not come after us, most likely. Iffen he does, I’ll kill him fer the pleasure of it. Even if he does find us, don’t fergit, we won’t be out where he can shoot us in the back. We’ll be in a town, with lots of folks around to make sure he don’t sneak up on us. I don’t suspect he’s so tough when he has to face a man head-on holding a gun of his own. I reckon he’s mostly a coward anyhow. You seen how he wouldn’t kill them mangy redskins that was a’doggin’ us.”

Junior drew a sharp knife from a hidden scabbard under his dirty shirt. “I could sneak over tonight and slip this twixt his ribs afore we go after the strongbox.”

Black Jack shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think so. The Turner wagons are quite a ways from Gabe’s wagon, where the strongbox is.

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