William W. Johnstone by Moonshine Massacre

Author:Moonshine Massacre [Massacre, Moonshine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780786021246
Amazon: 0786021241
Barnesnoble: 0786021241
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 1989-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

The four wagons were parked in a line along the creek bank, separated by the spaces where the mule teams had been when they were pulled up there. One of the guards sat on the tongue of the fourth wagon, smoking a quirly. The other paced back and forth beside the lead wagon where the wounded prisoners were. He was probably moving around to fight off boredom and to help keep himself awake, Sam thought as he stood in the shadows of a nearby cottonwood and watched them.

It was dark here along the creek, under the trees, but Sam’s eyes were almost as keen as a cat’s. The light from the moon and stars that filtered down through the leafy branches was enough for him to make out the details of the scene. He waited until the pacing guard swung around, facing away from him, and then darted out of concealment long enough to circle the fourth wagon and approach the smoking guard from behind.

The man had no idea Sam was there. Sam could have killed him with no trouble at all, driving the bowie knife that was sheathed on his hip into the guard’s back and piercing his heart with the cold steel.

Sam wasn’t here tonight to kill, though. He was just after information. When he struck, his hands were empty of weapons. His left arm went around the man’s neck with the speed of a striking snake, closing hard and jerking the guard backward off the wagon tongue. The man never had a chance to make a sound.

The guard’s rifle fell to the ground. Sam reached down with his right hand and plucked the man’s revolver from its holster. The man continued to flail and writhe, but he was weakening rapidly from lack of air and his struggles were almost soundless. The groans of wounded men coming from the lead wagon would keep the guard up there from hearing anything.

After a couple of minutes, the man Sam had hold of slumped into unconsciousness. Sam lowered him to the ground, pulled the man’s belt off, and used it to tie his hands together behind his back.

The man had dropped his quirly when Sam grabbed him. The end of it still glowed redly on the ground. Sam put his boot toe on it and stubbed it out.

The other guard was too alert to sneak up on like that. Sam wouldn’t be able to take him by surprise as he had with this one. In such a case, the best course of action was usually to be bold. Sam walked toward the lead wagon like he was supposed to be there.

The man heard him coming and stopped pacing, swinging around to ask, “Something wrong, Hendrickson?”

“Yeah,” Sam grunted as another step carried him closer. “A lot.”

The other man suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, you’re not—” But Sam had closed the gap by the time the words left the man’s mouth. The next instant, a pile-driver punch exploded in the guard’s face. The blow drove him back against the side of the wagon.

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