Buchanan 3 by Jonas Ward

Author:Jonas Ward
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure fiction, pulp adventure, western stories, piccadilly publishing, wild west fiction, westerns ebook, jonas ward, tom buchanan
Publisher: Piccadilly

Six

There seemed to be a drum beating. Buchanan turned over in the bed and groaned. Instinctively he knew that he had not slept long enough. He opened one eye. Light shone through the drawn window shade. He turned over and buried his head in the pillow.

The sounds started again. Now, half awake, he recognized them for what they were. He rolled out of bed, naked, grabbed for clothing. He jammed on his boots and took up his rifle. He threw up the shade and the sash. He leaned out of the window, looking down toward the bank.

He saw the backs of riders going furiously out of town to the south. They wore long linen dusters. In the street someone was shooting after them. Buchanan leaned his cheek against the stock of the rifle, sighted.

Then he put the rifle down, pulling back into the room. They were out of range. He buckled on his belt and carried the rifle down the stairs. People were running into the bank. Buchanan followed. There was no sign of Marshal Hagen as he went past the jail.

Inside the bank all was confusion. The young teller, Weevil, was nursing a bleeding head. Dr. Dudley was telling people to stay out of the office.

Walt Store, pale and shaken, was saying, “They came in when we opened. Three of them. I think there were one or two outside. I don’t really know. They held me under a gun. Sam wouldn’t open the safe. They ... they shot him.”

Buchanan asked, “So you opened the safe?”

“I value my life and that of young Weevil more than money,” Store said. “Where is Marshal Hagen? Why doesn’t someone go after them?”

Men were saddling up. There were shouts and confusion in the street. Buchanan shouldered into the office and looked at young Sam Dade. The doctor was working on him. There was too much blood on the floor.

Sam opened his eyes. He saw Buchanan and tried to speak. The doctor frowned but Buchanan leaned close. Sam’s eyes flicked, his tongue ran between dry lips.

“Buchanan... Frisco ...”

“Sure, Sam. Take it easy.”

“I mean it ... San Francisco ...” The voice trailed off.

The doctor said, “He shouldn’t try to speak.”

Buchanan looked down at the young man. “Reckon it don’t make any difference now, Doc. I seen too many this way.”

He turned and walked out into the street. Someone was coming from the marshal’s office, waving his arms and yelling. Buchanan ran in that direction, thinking of the young life ebbing away on the floor of his office in the bank. He had liked Sam Dade from the start. A hard anger began to build inside him now.

Tim Hagen was sitting at his desk. He was holding his head. Buchanan cleared the office.

Hagen said hoarsely, “I was asleep. Someone slugged me.”

“What time was it?”

“An hour or so ago. I tried to get up—a man can’t be knocked out that long.”

Buchanan reached and opened an eyelid, peering. “They poured a few drops into you, while you were out. See it in your eyeballs.

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