Slocum and the Bone Robbers by Jake Logan

Author:Jake Logan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

11

Slocum’s mind raced to find a way out of this trap. He couldn’t believe he had been so careless that he had fallen into it this easily, but there wasn’t time for self-recrimination. Turning slowly, he saw no fewer than eight men, all with six-shooters pointed in his direction. But their snare had one problem, and Slocum exploited it without thinking.

Diving forward, he fired his rifle, hit the ground, rolled and fired behind him. The men were in a circle, their weapons pointed inward—and across the clearing at their partners standing opposite.

Eight six-guns blazed, sending lead flying wildly all around. Slocum added to it with a few well-placed shots, but he was less interested in winging or killing his attackers than he was in getting away without weighing a pound or two more from lead added to his body by their fierce gunfire.

“Stop firing, dammit! He’s gettin’ away!” shouted the man who had ordered Slocum to throw down his rifle. “You’re shootin’ at each other. Stop shootin’!”

To Slocum’s surprise, the men obeyed instantly. He dug his toes in and tried to reach the dubious shelter of the thorny bushes he had pushed aside to get into the clearing.

A bullet blew splinters off the tree in front of him, forcing him to duck and dodge. A second slug tore the heel off his boot, sending him stumbling into the bushes. Slocum instinctively threw his arms up to protect his face, and lost his rifle.

Then it was over. Before he could rip free of the inch-long thorns slashing at his flesh, four men pointed their six-shooters at him from point-blank range.

“You got me,” he said, wondering why the rustlers wanted to take him prisoner. An intruder ought to be cut down and left for the coyotes.

“Where’s the rest of your gang?” demanded the man in charge. He swaggered over, spinning his six-shooter by the trigger guard around his index finger. With a smooth move, he rolled the pistol around and returned it to his holster.

“The rest?” Slocum asked, not wanting to give away that he had foolishly blundered into the camp by himself. “Waiting to swoop in and string up the lot of you murderers.” He wanted to play for time. All he needed was a small lapse and he might turn the tables.

Maybe. When hell froze over.

“You got that backwards, boy,” the man said, coming around. Slocum’s eyes narrowed when he saw a shiny badge pinned on the man’s vest, barely visible behind his coat. “We’re gonna string you up for all the rustling you been doin’.”

“I’m not a rustler,” Slocum said. “You’re a federal marshal?”

“Deputy marshal,” the man said, pulling back his coat to display his badge fully.

“This here’s Deputy Gaines. He’s the biggest, baddest lawman in all of Wyoming,” boasted one man holding a gun to Slocum’s head. “And he’s done run you to ground. Now answer him, you son of a bitch.” The man kicked Slocum hard in the ribs.

Slocum grunted and doubled up, his scratched, bloodied arms coming in to his body to clutch his chest.

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