Marshal Jeremy Six #2 by Brian Garfield

Author:Brian Garfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: death wish, colt 45, western series, piccadilly publishing, best western ebook, brian garfield, frontier and pioneer west usa, jeremy six westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

They breasted the storm, feeling their way through the streets, blinded and wind-buffeted. The wind cried like a stricken animal, without pause. It almost lifted them off their feet. Dominguez was massive and rock-hard and seemed invulnerable: he never uttered a sound of complaint.

Staggering like mortally wounded men, they stopped to gather warmth and energy in a small Mexican cantina. There was an old man playing the guitar in the back of the room but the wind, whipping around the building, drowned out all sound of the music. Six gave Dominguez terse instructions; Dominguez asked no questions. They battened down and went outside again. Six’s face, unseen in the flashing kaleidoscopic storm, was gaunted and determined. He had an image of Clarissa; and while he fought the blizzard, he fought down his own rage and forced himself to collect his composure.

They went along slowly, blindly. Dominguez gripped Six’s coat and Six kept one hand along the wall until the wall came to an end. This was a narrow alley to be crossed. The wind sluiced down through it and almost knocked them flat when they stepped before it. Six lurched back, put his shoulder against the blast, and finally found shelter on the far side of the alley. They climbed onto a boardwalk and went along, half-sheltered by an overhanging roof—this was the front of Hop Sing Lee’s café. When they reached the end of it they would have to go around the corner and up the street, flat into the north wind. He went around with his head down against his chest. They had to crouch to make headway. Once the wind knocked Six’s feet out from under him and he fell on his shoulder. The fall ripped him out of Dominguez’ grip and when he got up he turned around full-circle with his arms outstretched. Dominguez wasn’t there, nothing was there, and he had a moment’s knotted panic.

He turned the circle again, calming himself. Dominguez was strong as a Clydesdale; there was no danger. But a driving impatience gripped Six and the accident and delay irritated him unreasonably.

Something slapped his arm. He reached for it and found Dominguez’ hand. Dominguez took hold on his coat again and Six plowed forward into the teeth of the wind, stamping his boots hard with every step against the encroaching frigid numbness in his feet. Dragging one hand along the long adobe wall, he could hardly feel the scrape of the plaster through his glove. His face stung as if it were burning.

At the end of the wall they had to cross an empty plot of ground where the Cavendish stables had burned down a few years ago. Here there was no guide but the direction of the wind. Six braced himself and pushed off like a man in a tiny open boat casting off into a great raging sea. Dominguez kept up, never dragging on him. Six began to stumble: his nerves were becoming insensitive and he was uncertain of his balance.

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