The Toughest Ranger by L. Ron Hubbard

Author:L. Ron Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
Publisher: Galaxy Press
Published: 2012-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Delaney fired a second time and again Lassiter’s shot went straight up. Delaney’s next four bullets went in a blur.

Lassiter lost his hat. He grabbed for his belt but it came apart in his hands, shot through on each side. He snatched again, in agony, at his right ear.

He stood there shaking. His right hand was a mass of blood and there was a clean hole in the ear.

“Now get out of town,” drawled Delaney, reloading calmly, just as though Lassiter had forgotten all about fighting. Lassiter had.

He looked at Delaney through the bright dawn. Suddenly he saw that he was alive. That was enough for Lassiter. He knew at last what he was up against. He sprinted for the livery stable as fast as his legs could carry him.

He came out in an instant, eyes dilated. “My horse is dead!”

Eddie dived out of sight.

“If somebody killed your horse because it happened to be in my horse’s stall,” called Delaney, “then walk!”

Smoke turned, not intending to wait for a second invitation. But he had not heard the oncoming roar of the stage and it almost ran him down. He leaped aside and then a face in the window caught and held his attention as though he had seen a ghost.

The stage stopped and out leaped Bab Thompson of the Rocking T.

“By God, son, you shore wasn’t wastin’ any time.”

Delaney grinned as he shook the hand. All Faro stayed in their tracks gaping in wonder. This was all wrong. Old Bab Thompson had been run out of the country and wouldn’t ever have the nerve to come back. But Old Bab wasn’t the kind of guy to pick up with a kid like Delaney . . . but Delaney was all wrong, too. He had stood up there and shot with an accuracy greater than anyone had ever seen in Faro—had stood up against Smoke Lassiter without blinking an eye. . . .

Smoke was still up the street, bewildered at Bab’s return and connection with this lead-slinging kid.

Old Bab turned and greeted the men who lined the street. “Gents, I want you to meet my pal Jacques Duval, the greatest duelist New Orleans ever produced. He come here to do me a favor and shore he done it.”

And now Smoke Lassiter really did gape. The town, staring with respect and awe at “Delaney,” abruptly turned their attention to Smoke. And then the enormity of the practical joke came home to them and with one great gust of laughter they jarred Lassiter to his shred of a soul.

Smoke turned. He made haste to get beyond the range of that bellow. But no matter how far he ran, he could still hear it behind him.

And for the next twenty years, Smoke Lassiter would still be listening to it.

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