Savage by Laymon Richard

Author:Laymon, Richard [Laymon, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: fiction
Publisher: Leisure
Published: 2007-10-31T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

Shooting Lessons

We went charging to the bottom of the slope and didn’t stop when we came to the water, but raced downstream, staying in the shallows near the shore. We splashed along right quick for a while, then slowed and took it easy.

McSween and I were at the rear. Some of the others were laughing and talking up ahead, but what with the rushy sounds of the water and the hoofs plopping and such, I couldn’t make out a thing they said.

We must’ve put quite a few miles between us and the train before we finally rode up onto the bank and dismounted. I untrapped my feet from the tight boots, waded into the water and helped myself to a drink while the others tied their horses to some bushes and pulled off the saddle bags.

By the time I joined them, they’d dumped the loot into a heap. They were sitting on the ground, busy separating the watches from the money. I sat down by McSween.

Well, looked like they had enough watches to open up a shop. They had a good big pile of coins, too, and a bundle of greenbacks.

“It don’t appear we’ve struck it rich,” Breakenridge said.

“Should’ve let me try the messenger,” Snooker said.

“I stuck my iron through his teeth,” Chase told him. “If he could’ve opened up the safe, he would’ve.”

“Poor fellow wet himself,” McSween said, and commenced to roll a smoke. After he got it fired, he offered his makings to me.

I thanked him, and took him up on the offer. The others got busy counting the money and didn’t notice how I fumbled about with the tobacco pouch and paper. Otherwise, they’d have had a good laugh on my account. It required quite a bit of work, but I finally had myself a crooked cigarette with tobacco leaking out its tip.

McSween, who’d been watching the count, looked over at me. He only glanced at my cigarette, then plucked it from my mouth. Just as nimble as you please, he flipped it open, took his pouch and tapped in some more tobacco, then tongued the paper, rolled it, tightened it up and smoothed it out.

I was in the midst of saying, “I’m more accustomed to a pipe,” when he poked the remade smoke between my lips.

“There you go,” was all he said. Then he lit it for me.

“Thank you so much,” I said.

We sat there and smoked. By and by, the others finished counting. All together, they’d taken a total of $985.36 from the train passengers.

“Well,” McSween said, “it’s better than we done last month at Pueblo.”

“Just by a hair,” Chase said.

“We had to divvy up that eight ways,” Breakenridge pointed out. “This time, we only got the five of us.”

I wondered what had become of the other three. Maybe they’d simply moved on. But maybe they’d been shot or captured. Had Farney been one of them—the fellow who’d blown himself up with dynamite? I didn’t think I ought to ask.

“Six,” McSween said.

Breakenridge gave me a surly look.

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