Rifle River (A Shootist Adult Western Book 5) by Hunter Cannon

Author:Hunter Cannon [Cannon, Hunter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2018-08-16T00:00:00+00:00

8

"What do we do about the big bastard in the buckskins?"

"Duel McCoy?"

"Names are for tombstones."

"We take care of him if he rears his head."

Clay Nash looked at the man standing behind him, an ugly bastard by the name of Leroy Tate, and sniffed at the tepid air.

"We get the rifles and move them to the boat," Clay said.

"I just don't want anything to go wrong," Leroy complained.

"It won't if you do as I say."

"Fine."

"Let's go!"

The two men, followed by two others, moved off into the dark shadows of the boat, their only light offered them by the full moon riding high in the bible black heavens.

Duel sat in the dark, surrounded by the crates of rifles, and thought about the women in his life.

There had been a lot of them.

He tried to picture who he thought was the most special to him, but he was drawing a blank.

There was one face he could remember, but no name to go along with the beauty.

He supposed that was how it was.

Memories of his latest tryst with Susan Strong invaded his thoughts, and that put a smile onto his face because he liked a woman who knew what she wanted and went out to get it.

Susan Strong was definitely that kind of lady.

Now, as he rested with his back to the wall, a lone unlit candle beside him, Duel allowed his night vision to take over and he studied the door which led onto the hull of the ship.

He didn't know if the thieves would be coming for the rifles tonight, but he had to be ready for them either way.

Sighing, he secretly wished for a cheroot, but he didn't want to be there smoking and with the tip of the cigar giving him away whenever the outlaws showed themselves.

So he leisurely continued to sit there, enjoying the thoughts about all his previous women, or at least the ones he could remember, flirting with his mind.

And he was still sitting there, encased by the dark, when the door to the hull opened up.

There were four figures silhouetted there against the full moon, and Duel removed his Colt from its well-greased holster as he watched them move into the cargo bay.

Slowly, he thumbed back the hammer on the pistol, watching the figures move into the darkness, and then he took careful aim.

"Here's the damned rifles," Clay said.

"Let's move them," Leroy offered.

That was all it took for Duel to go into action.

He stared down the sights of the pistol and then gently squeezed its trigger, firing off a blast that sent orange flame and black smoke belching out of its muzzle.

Clay, who had been in the lead of the outlaws, took the first slug.

The bullet punched him in the guts, doubling him over as the pain swamped his body, and then Duel shot him a second time, blowing off the top of his head and spraying Leroy Tate with smoking brains.

Leroy gasped as he swallowed some of Clay's gray matter, and then he brought up

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