The Devil's Winchester by Brandvold Peter

Author:Brandvold, Peter [Brandvold, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2011-01-03T23:00:00+00:00

15

PROPHET HAD FINISHED dragging his latest set of dead owlhoots off into the scrub and was vaguely awaiting the inevitable carrion eaters when boots crunched outside the bunkhouse’s open door.

“Rose,” the girl announced herself softly.

Standing at the table, Prophet was closing the flap on one of his saddlebag pouches. The girl stood in the open doorway, looking gaunt. She’d started to help him drag the bodies away but then, gagging, she’d stumbled off in the brush.

He’d heard her out there, violently retching.

“You don’t look so good. I’ll get some more coffee goin’, soon as we get settled in.”

“We’re not staying here?”

Prophet shook his head. “Best not. Never know what the shootin’ will attract, and I reckon we could both do with a good night’s sleep. I spied a low ridge over yonder. Probably be good cover there. Don’t look like rain or nothin’.”

The girl sniffed as she ambled into the shack and placed a hand over her belly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s all right.” Prophet hefted his saddlebags over a shoulder. “I was getting worried, seein’ how easy it was for you to shoot that claim-jumpin’ scalawag. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But I reckon it wasn’t so easy, after all.”

“Maybe it means I’ve never done it before.” Standing near where she’d piled her gear on a top bunk, she placed a hand on the cap-and-ball hogleg riding in the holster on her right hip. “But it don’t mean I didn’t ride with Blanco’s bunch.”

“Ah, hell, you ain’t a bad sort, Rose. I can tell.” Prophet walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her toward him gently. “You had you a good reason for being in Nugget Town. And most likely you got a good reason for carryin’ that old horse pistol and bein’ right handy with it. Look at Louisa. That girl’s pure hell with the fires out, but if she knows a man’s bad, she’ll kill him as like to bid him howdy-do.”

Rose smiled up at him. Some of the color was beginning to return to her cheeks. “Thanks, Lou. I reckon I’d know if I was bad, wouldn’t I? I’d feel bad, rotten inside. And I don’t.” She grabbed her saddlebags and bedroll from off the bunk. “I wonder if I’ll ever know for sure.”

“I’ve heard say,” Prophet said, as he ducked on out of the bunkhouse, “that folks who lose their memory on account of a blow to the head can often get it back with another blow. Maybe you just need to knock your head on somethin’.”

“No, thanks,” Rose said with wry chuff, walking along behind him as they headed for the corral. “The way my luck’s been goin’, I’m liable to forget everything I remember after wakin’ up and seein’ you and Louisa in Nugget Town.”

“Like as not.”

Spying its rider heading toward him, Mean and Ugly gave an excited snort, then nipped the claybank’s ass as it ran over to the corral gate. “All right—stand back, you owly son of a bitch.

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