Trail of the Mountain Manrevenge of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2014-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

16

They all heard the single shot and whirled around. Luke Nations lay crumpled on the boardwalk, a large hole in the center of his back.

Lester Morgan, a.k.a. Sundance, stepped out of a building, a pistol in his hand. He looked up and grinned.

“I did it!” he hollered. “Me. Sundance. I kilt Luke Nations!”

“You goddamned backshootin’ punk!” Charlie Starr said, lifting his pistol.

“No!” Smoke’s voice stopped him. “Don’t, Charlie.” Smoke walked over to Lester, one hand holding his bleeding side. He backhanded the dandy, knocking him sprawling. Lester-Sundance landed on his butt in the street. His mouth was busted, blood leaking from one corner. He looked up at Smoke, raw fear in his wide eyes.

“You gonna kill me, ain’t you?” he hissed.

The smile on Smoke’s lips was not pleasant. “What’s your name, punk?”

“Les . . . Sundance. That’s me, Sundance!”

“Well, Sundance.” Smoke put enough dirt on the name to make it very ugly. “You wanna live, do you?”

“Yeah!”

“And you wanna be known as a top gunhand, right, Sundance?”

“Yeah!”

Smoke kicked Lester in the mouth. The punk rolled on the ground, moaning.

“What’s your last name, craphead?”

“M . . . Morgan!”

“All right Les Sundance Morgan. I’ll let you live. And Les, I’m going to have your name spread all over the West. Les Sundance Morgan. The man with one ear. He’s the man who killed the famed gunfighter Luke Nations.”

“I got both ears!”

Before his words could fade from sound, Smoke had drawn and fired, the bullet clipping off Lester’s left ear. The action forever branded the dandy.

Lester rolled on the dirt, screaming and hollering.

“Top gun, huh, punk?” Smoke said. “Right, that’s you, Sundance.” He looked toward Johnny North. “Get some whiskey and fix his ear, will you, Johnny?”

Lester really started hollering when the raw booze hit where his ear had been. He passed out from the pain. Ralph took that time to bandage the ugly wound.

Then Smoke kicked him awake. Lester lay on the blood- and whiskey-soaked ground, looking up at Smoke.

“What for you do this to me?” he croaked.

“So everybody, no matter where you go, can know who you are, punk. The man who killed Luke Nations. Now, you listen to me, you son of a bitch! You want to know how it feels to be top gun? Well, just look around you, ask anybody.”

Lester’s eyes found Charlie Starr. “You’re Charlie Starr. You’re more famouser than Luke Nations. But I’m gonna be famous too, ain’t I?”

Charlie rolled a cigarette and stuck it between Lester’s lips. He held the match while Lester puffed. Charlie straightened up and smiled sadly at Lester.

“How is it, punk? Oh, well, it’s a real grand time, punk. You can’t sit with your back to no empty space, always to a wall. Lots of backshooters out there. You don’t never make your fire, cook, and then sleep in the same spot. You always move before you bed down, ’cause somebody is always lookin’ to gun you down . . . for a reputation.

“You ain’t never gonna marry, punk. ’Cause if you do, it won’t last.

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