Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Six-Guns and Shurikens by Dave Morris

Author:Dave Morris [Morris, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Fictitious Characters), Time Travel, Turtles, West (U.S.), Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Action & Adventure, Fantasy, Fiction, Heroes, Cartoon Novelization, Martial Arts, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
ISBN: 9780440403920
Google: owuLOVtpsNoC
Amazon: 0440403928
Publisher: Dell
Published: 1990-05-01T05:00:00+00:00

The Turtles were trained to move fast and silently. By the time Tex and Slim had got to their feet, the saloon doors were swinging to and fro with a gentle creak. There was no sign of our four heroes.

Chapter 5

The next day, just after noon, Bad Bob rode into town.

Dressed from head to foot. in black, with silver buttons on his shirt and silver guns at his hip, he sat square in the saddle of his white horse. Townsfolk stopped what they were doing and stared when they saw him, then edged nervously away when they caught the cold gaze of his flint-hard eyes. They say that several old ladies, out on a shopping and gossiping spree, fell in a dead faint out of sheer terror when they rounded a corner and came face-to-face with him. Cats went stiff as wire brushes and spat, terrified, while dogs just fled with their tails between their legs. No one can say any of this for sure, though, because within two minutes of Bad Bob's riding into town the street was completely deserted.

He dismounted and tied up his horse's reins outside the saloon. Then, silver spurs jangling, he stepped up onto the boardwalk and pushed open the doors. The regular inhabitants of the bar were already there, even this early in the day. Already nervous from what they had witnessed the previous evening, they dived for cover at once.

Tex and Slim grinned weakly at their boss. Tex's wrist had been sprained, and he now wore a sling; Slim's head was bandaged where the falling chandelier had given him a nasty bruise.

Bad Bob squinted at them and removed the thin cigar from his mouth with one black-gloved hand. “Had some trouble?” he said menacingly.

“Hell, no, buh–buh–boss,” stuttered Tex. He raised his arm. “You mean this? Just a brawl we got into with a couple of dozen hayseeds last night — ain't that right, Slim?”

Bad Bob strode at a measured pace to the bar. He glared at the cowering bartender, then at the beautifully polished wooden surface of the bar. Taking out a match, he struck it across the polish and lit his cigar. “You ought to take more care of your bar,” he said to the bartender, nodding once at the resulting burn mark. “Give me a shot of that redeye.”

The bartender turned to see which bottle of liquor Bad Bob was looking at. The next second he jumped like a jackrabbit when a gunshot rang out right behind him, shattering the neck of a bottle.

Bad Bob blew across the smoking barrel and holstered his gun. “On second thought,” he said, “just hand me the bottle. Seeing as it hasn't got a cork, it'll only spoil otherwise.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” came Slim's rather forced laughter. “You sure are a hoot, boss.”

Bad Bob took a swig from the whiskey bottle and crunched a few pieces of broken glass as though he thought they were a delicacy. Slim saw this and blanched. “And you are a brainless turkey, Daniels,” said Bob.

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