The Shotgunner by Ray Hogan

Author:Ray Hogan [Hogan, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-4956-4
Publisher: Prologue Books
Published: 1988-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

13

Borrasco had outguessed him. He had figured to be at least one day ahead of the bounty man, but he had been wrong. Borrasco, in that uncanny mind of his, had not been taken in by any of the ruses. Ruick remained in the shadows of the porch, one thing certain and definite making itself clear within him. His time in Saddlerock was finished, done with. Despite the facts that Borrasco would not know for sure he was in the town and that the natural aversion of people to bounty hunters might delay his obtaining that information, he would still find out.

He watched the bounty man ride up to the Longhorn and swing stiffly from the saddle. His hunched figure glided across the porch and disappeared into the interior. Within minutes he returned, mounted the bay again and started up the street, toward Ruick, heading apparently for Martin Gonzales’ livery stable.

Ruick drifted deeper into the darkness, into the narrow passageway between Vaca’s store and its neighbor. Moving quietly as possible over the accumulation of trash and powder-dry weeds whipped into the corridor by the winds, he finally reached the alley running behind the buildings on the west side of the street. Just as he turned from the passageway, the sound of Borrasco’s tired horse was a measured beat a scant dozen yards away. Dan waited until man and beast had passed and then trotted to the back of the hotel. He took the stairs to the second floor two at a time and let himself into the hallway through the narrow door. Moving softly, he eased by Flora’s quarters and halted at his own. Ducking inside, he grabbed up his warbag, stowed the few articles he had removed back in it and wheeled about to leave. A second thought passed through him, and, stepping to the bed, he fashioned a figure with the extra blanket and pillow. That completed, he turned again to the doorway.

His fingers froze on the knob. Boot heels were ascending the lobby stair. That would be Borrasco. He waited until he heard a latch click, a door close and a key screech in its lock; he stalled another dragging three minutes for good measure, never for once underestimating the bounty man, and then let himself into the hall. It was dark and silent.

Once outside he descended the stair quickly, swerved off into the shadows and took up a position behind a thin cottonwood on the far side of the yard. From that vantage point he had a clear and commanding view of the hotel’s second-floor exit, through which he had just come. If John Borrasco had heard and suspected, he would come through that doorway.

Waiting, Dan Ruick considered his position. Borrasco would do nothing until morning. At that time he would begin his canvass for information. It might take him several hours or it could require only minutes, depending entirely upon where he went first for his answer. That was good; no matter when he got

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