Winchester 1887 by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2015-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

The horse’s ears flattened, and Millard pulled on the reins, then stood in the stirrups. The wind blew and carried not only the smell of summer, but sounds.

Gunfire.

Swearing, Millard raked his spurs across the liver chestnut and galloped down the hill, skirting the woods, following the trail.

“Never ride into a fight,” his father had told him, “until you know what you’re riding into.”

Millard didn’t care.

His son was down there. In trouble.

As Robin thumbed back the other hammer, the second barrel exploded, sending James flying off the wagon and landing with a thud. He rolled over, trying to catch his breath. Shots and screams sounded, but far, far, far away. Like in a dream. He realized he was not deaf, that only one ear could not hear. The other picked up sound.

Robin had fired again, and her shot had knocked a man off his horse. Close by. James heard the horse gallop past him, so close it spit dust and gravel into his face. On his knees, he wondered why the oxen did not take off. Slowly, he comprehended that the brakes had not been unlocked. Those four animals were worn out from the long, hard haul and were not even straining to get away.

A bullet whistled past his ear that could not hear.

Blinking, he made out a tall Indian on a horse aiming a Henry rifle right at him. He swallowed, knowing he was about to die. At the last moment, the Indian switched aim, saw another target, and fired.

Behind him, Robin screamed. He heard it through his good ear.

James’s head spun, only to see Robin falling back, dropping the shotgun, which he had been desperately trying to reload, and disappearing into the driver’s box.

James looked back. The tall Chickasaw Indian was levering the rifle, sliding off his horse, and aiming at James.

James saw an old Colt revolver lying in the dust, inches from the Chickasaw that Robin had shot out of the saddle. He was dead, his chest a bloody mess.

Robin killed him. That thought was quickly replaced by one more urgent. And that tall Indian is about to kill me.

James dived for the Colt, and the bullet from the Henry rifle sliced over his head, barely missing him. Had he reacted a second later, he would be dead, too.

His right hand found the pistol. The tall Chickasaw was coming toward him, jacking the lever, aiming. Once again, he changed his aim and fired at someone else.

“Arggh!”

Robin’s voice reached James somehow. He heard a thud behind him and wondered if the Indian had killed Wildcat’s scrawny son.

Instinct took over as his right hand came up, his thumb pulling back the hammer. James knew he could not look back to see if the boy lived or lay dead like the Chickasaw. If he wanted to live, he had to kill.

The tall Chickasaw stood only a few feet from him, levering the rifle again, bringing the barrel down.

The pistol kicked in James’s hand, and he smelled the bitter scent of gun smoke.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.