Testament by David Morrell

Author:David Morrell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780450532016
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
Published: 1975-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

12

“He was a Mexican,” a voice said behind him.

It paralyzed him. For a moment he couldn’t move or breathe or anything, and then something snapped and he was turning, gun drawn, but Claire and Sarah were in the way, and as he lunged to the right, crouching, aiming, he saw the tall grizzled white-haired old man standing in the open doorway pointing the shotgun at him, and the big dog beside the old man was braced, its teeth bared to leap, and the old man was saying, “Hey now, sonny. Point that gun the other way. I’ve no doubt you could hit me, but my fingers are solid on these triggers and before I dropped I’d hit you too and if that didn’t finish you the dog surely would, so just point that gun the other way.”

But he didn’t. He just kept crouching, aiming, his finger tensing on the trigger, and the old man was saying, “I could sic the dog on the little girl. Then you wouldn’t know where to shoot first, and I could drop you for sure. Come on, it’s a standoff. Point the gun the other way.”

But he still didn’t move, tensed, hand shaking, and the old man was staring at him nervously, suddenly shrugging, lowering the shotgun, uncocking the hammers, setting it against the wall inside the door. “All right, if it’s up to me to make the first move, there, I’ve done it. Now it’s your turn.”

He relaxed a little. “What about the dog?” It was still braced to leap, and all the old man had to do was say “Hush” once and the dog was immediately down on its stomach.

He relaxed even more, straightening, breathing.

“I’m not asking you to put the gun away or anything,” the old man said. “Just point it the other way.”

And he finally did, uncocking it, lowering it by his side.

The old man grinned, showing jagged yellow teeth. “That’s the stuff, sonny. The way your hand was shaking, I was sure we were both dead where we stood.” And then he started laughing, his mouth a gaping hole in his face. His skin had passed beyond the wrinkle stage, the flesh under it eaten up, so that it had smoothed out and conformed now to his jawbones and cheekbones and forehead, gaunt and sallow like the perfectly preserved face of a mummy, and his ragged pants and shirt and jacket hung loose on him as if the flesh underneath them were gone as well, leaving only bones and skin, and his laugh was high-pitched and cackling.

“Yes sir, both dead where we stood,” he abruptly finished. “Marerro was a Mexican. He came up here and found a twenty-three-pound gold nugget. When the rest of them came up here to strike it rich just like he did, he told them he knew where there was country around with nuggets just as big as the first, so when they built this town they named it after him. Then they caught him messing

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