The Butcher of Baxter Pass by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-08-03T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Monday, 10:10 p.m.

The plate glass window in the lobby blew apart in a shower of glass shards and buckshot as Jess grabbed Caroline Dalton’s shoulder and pulled her to the floor while his right hand found the Colt and fired at the muzzle blast below. The balustrade would not offer much protection, but a shotgun like that had minimum range—and shooting through a window, uphill, was a tough shot for even the best sharpshooter.

Below, people screamed. The shotgun roared again, but this time the shooter aimed at Jess, not General Dalton.

The ornate woodwork splintered from the shot, and Jess felt something tug on the collar of his coat. He fired again and saw the killer take off toward the river.

Jess was up, glancing only a second at the people on the second floor balcony. Lying prone, Caroline Dalton had pulled a Smith & Wesson pocket pistol from her purse, had it cocked, and was drawing a bead below, but holding her fire. Lee Bodeen lay atop the Butcher, who was cursing him as a fool, telling the gunman to get off him. Bodeen rolled over, a revolver in either hand. A couple of other people had poked their heads out of the doors to their rooms. That was all Jess had time to see, because he bounded down the staircase, taking the steps three at a time.

“Stay back!” he yelled at some brave souls who started out of the restaurant. They obeyed. The clerk, his face whiter than the tablecloths at Café Lavendou, pulled himself up from behind the registration counter, his mouth agape.

Jess stepped onto the boardwalk, his boots crunching glass. A man lifted his head from behind the water trough, recognized Jess, and pointed north. “Th-th-that w-w-w-way, She-she-riffff,” he managed to say, but Jess knew that already. Boot steps sounded behind him, but Jess didn’t look back. He knew it would be Lee Bodeen. Jess didn’t wait. He took off down Main Street.

Past Second and First streets and toward Weatherford, where a reporter from the Fort Worth Standard came bolting out, pencil in his mouth as he hurriedly pulled on his coat. He raced down the boardwalk toward the sound of the gunfire, not even noticing the Colt in Jess’s hand, ever the diligent ink-slinger.

He stood at the corner of Main and Weatherford, staring across at the big lawn and the Tarrant County Courthouse. To the west, yellow lights shined from the windows and open door of the saloon and billiard hall, but no one stepped outside. Two shotgun blasts and a shot or two from a revolver weren’t going to interrupt a game of pool. A wagon loaded with hay had been parked on the lawn, and behind that the courthouse sat dark, looming.

By then, Lee Bodeen had caught up to Jess.

“You see him?”

Before he had started shooting, yes, Jess Casey had seen the gunman. He had been leaning against a wooden column, rolling a cigarette, chatting with the man Jess had seen hiding behind the water trough.

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