The Loner Book 1 (Loner (Pinnacle Books)) by Johnstone J.A

Author:Johnstone, J.A. [Johnstone, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp
Published: 2009-05-01T07:00:00+00:00

Dr. McNally was waiting for them when they got back that afternoon. With a worried frown on his face, he said to Morgan, “I don’t know if gallivanting around all over the country is good for you in your condition, son.”

“We just rode down to Bearpaw’s cabin,” Morgan explained. “I told Eve that’s where we were going.”

“How’s your side?”

“It’s fine. A little achy, but not bad.” Morgan didn’t mention that his right arm ached a lot worse from the workout he had given it today.

“You youngsters are just too restless for your own good,” McNally groused. “All I can do is tell you to be careful . . . and that I’m not going to be very happy with you if you undo all the hard work Eve and I have put in to get you healed up as much as you are.”

“I’ll be careful,” Morgan promised.

Over the next two weeks, Morgan rode down to Bearpaw’s cabin every day to practice with the Colt. Eve still seemed bothered by having him around, so he thought it was better to get away from the place for a while each day. Sometimes, Bearpaw came to the McNally house to get him; other times, Morgan just showed up at the Paiute’s cabin, ready to do some shooting.

Nor was Bearpaw content just to help Morgan with the Colt. He wanted to see how the young man handled a Winchester, too. Morgan’s sure eye and steady hand made him an excellent shot with the rifle.

One day, Bearpaw handed Morgan his old Sharps. “Try this buffalo gun,” the Paiute suggested. “It’s got a mighty powerful kick, though, so be ready for it.”

“I can handle it,” Morgan said confidently as he took the rifle.

“You’re going to need something farther away than that tree to shoot at,” Bearpaw mused. “A Sharps like that has quite a range. I’ve heard stories about how one of your people once used a Sharps to knock one of my people off his horse at distance of about a mile down in the Texas Panhandle.” He squinted off across the field and then pointed. “See that white blaze on that pine yonder, where the bark’s been peeled off? It’s only about two hundred yards away, so I’m sure you can hit something that close.”

“Close?” Morgan repeated. “I can barely see it, let alone hit it!”

“What happened to that confidence of yours? Give it a try. You might want to find a branch or something to rest the barrel on first, though. A Sharps is pretty heavy.”

Morgan found a branch low enough on one of the pines to support the rifle barrel while he drew a bead on the distant target. He eared the Sharps’s hammer back as Bearpaw instructed him, took a deep breath, lined up the sights, and gently squeezed the trigger.

What felt like the kick of a mule slammed against his shoulder and knocked him back a couple of steps.

“Son of a—” Morgan exclaimed.

Bearpaw grinned at him. “I told you it had a heck of a kick.

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