Gunsight Showdown: A Walt Slade Western by Bradford Scott

Author:Bradford Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western, gunfighter, ranger, historical fiction, old west
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2018-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

EL HALCÓN GLANCED OVER HIS SHOULDER, then rose to his feet and bowed to the girl who stood back of his chair.

She was a rather small girl—her curly golden head came barely to his shoulder—but the close-fitting flowered robe she wore revealed a figure that left nothing to be desired. She had wide eyes, darkly blue, a sweetly turned red mouth and a creamily tanned complexion with a spot of color in each rounded cheek. Which, added to a pert nose and a flash of white teeth as she smiled at him, Slade thought made a very charming picture. She glanced at Murdock.

“Well, Uncle Hal, aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asked pointedly.

“Oh, sure, I forgot,” said Murdock, who was visibly cooling. “This big feller is Walt Slade, a right hombre if there ever was one. Slade, this is Mary Nellis I was telling you about as we rode to town. All right, Mary, I’m finished with him,” he added, glowering at Jorg. “You take over and lay him out proper.”

“Please!” groaned old Andy. “Don’t everybody jump on me at once.”

Slade smiled down at him from his great height. “I think you are being unduly censured, Mr. Jorg,” he said. “I fear getting nicked by a slug rather ruffled Hal’s temper and he feels he has to take it out on somebody.”

“Oh, I don’t pay that no mind,” Murdock said airily. “It’ll just make me purtier. I’m going out to the kitchen and rustle some coffee and a bite; we’re all starved.”

“I’ll help,” volunteered the girl. She flashed a glance and a smile over her shoulder at Slade.

Old Andy’s gaze followed them through the door. “Sit down, son,” he said. “I reckon I misjudged you, bad. I’d be lost without Hal, and these other work dodgers have been with me for years. I’m mighty deep in your debt.” He turned to the wounded puncher. “How you feeling, Tom?”

“Fine as frog hair,” Tom replied, dragging deep on a cigarette. “Arm throbs a mite but nothing to bother about.”

“We’ll send for a doctor right away,” said Jorg. “There’s one in Presidio,” he told Slade.

“I think you can wait until morning,” Slade said. “I looked after the wound; it’s not serious. After he’s had something to eat, put him to bed and he should be okay.”

“Doctor couldn’t have done a better chore of looking after it,” Tom put in.

“All right,” nodded Jorg. “We’ll let it go at that. And I reckon I’d better send one of the boys to the county seat to tell the sheriff what happened.”

“Just a moment,” Slade said. He took a notebook and a pencil from his pocket, wrote a few words, tore out the sheet and handed it to Jorg.

“Have your hand ride to the railroad construction camp—it’s only a few miles from here—and they’ll send a wire to the sheriff,” he directed.

Old Andy took the note, read it and glanced curiously at Slade. “Seems you pack some influence there, son,” he remarked.

“I think you can rest assured that the wire will be sent,” Slade replied, without further comment.

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