Shotgun Charlie by Ralph Compton

Author:Ralph Compton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-05-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

The creeping cold caught Charlie unawares and jerked him upright in his saddle. “What in the blue blazes?” He said it almost out of reflex, remembered with a start that it had also been a pet phrase of Pap’s. Had been. The bygoneness of the words stung like a honey bee attack. But there was nothing sweet about the memory. Especially considering all that had happened.

He’d been dreaming—there was a crowd of leering, distorted faces looking down at him, as if he were lying on his back in the street, just like Pap. And they were all chanting something the marshal had said . . . “Shotgun! Shotgun! Shotgun Killer! Shotgun Killer!” It grew louder and louder, echoing wider and deeper with each utterance, and their faces grew uglier and uglier and drew closer and closer. . . .

He ran a big hand down his face again, as if the thick, stiff fingers could wash away the badness of the past few days. But no, the motion only served to remind him of how bad off he had it. The cold snicked into him like thin-bladed knife, from a hundred directions. What was he doing out here?

His entire body ached, from his much-kicked ribs to his near-stoved-in head. He touched a fingertip to his right eye, still half-swollen shut, the left ear, a pulpy-feeling blob of crusted blood and gum rubber. He sighed, could hardly blame the townsfolk for reacting as they did. He was a stranger, after all, and he was holding the shotgun used by Grady Haskell. . . .

Wait a minute, he thought. Who am I to be thinking this way? Before he could flip-flop back and forth, berating himself and excusing others, his horse, Nub, nickered. Charlie looked down at the back of the big beast’s head. He’d momentarily forgotten him.

“Oh boy, I am a sorry one.” He swung down out of the saddle, ran a hand up and down the horse’s long neck.

“Ho, now, ho, now. I expect you’re a tired beast, lugging me all night long.” Charlie looked around. They’d gotten a far piece from Bakersfield, he reckoned. Though being unfamiliar with this region, he wasn’t so sure he’d gotten far enough. Surely there would be a posse after him. Might be staring him down right now.

The thought froze him, dispelling the real cold in favor of a frigid feeling conjured by his mind. He turned his head slowly. Nah, they’d not waste time eyeballing him. They’d likely commence to shooting. The thought didn’t chill him as much as he reckoned it ought to. He was cold and tired and sore and confused. But he wasn’t in a cell. He was alive and out on the trail . . . hunting Pap’s killer.

He narrowed his eyes and scanned his surroundings. The terrain wasn’t much of a surprise to him. He was still in the low country. Judging from the early-morning sky, it had been light about an hour, no more than. The trees,

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