Yellow Stripe (#4 in the Claw Western series) by Matthew Kirk

Author:Matthew Kirk [Kirk, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western, gunfighters, wild west, westerns ebooks, American Old West, Cowboy Fiction
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2023-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

WYATT FINISHED DRESSING and went back to the saloon. There were more people spread along the long room as he walked in, and most of them stopped talking to look at him. The afternoon sun was fading down towards evening and the lanterns hung along the roof of the place were lit, attracting moths in suicidal patterns. He went up to the bar and called for whiskey.

There were two barkeeps now, and they both stared at him like he carried a bad smell.

The one called Zeke said, ‘Mary told us you give her a bad time.’

Wyatt heard the us and said, ‘She also tell you I gave her five dollars?’

The frown on Zeke’s face gave him the answer, but the barkeep’s words denied it: ‘All she said was you used that goddam hand on her.’

Wyatt shrugged, not bothering to reply.

‘No one messes my girls,’ said Zeke. ‘No one at all.’

Wyatt saw his hands settle behind the bar and wondered if he was reaching for a shotgun or a club. He saw the second ’keep move towards the open end of the counter with his hands kept low; out of sight.

‘This between us?’ he asked. ‘Or will the customers join in?’

‘Depends,’ said Zeke.

And brought a lead-weighted billy club out from under the bar in a wild swing aimed at Wyatt’s skull.

The big man with the metal hand ducked under the swing. The club sailed over his head and he reached up as Zeke stretched out over the counter, to grab the ’keep’s right wrist and haul him forward.

Zeke yelled as he was snatched across the slippery surface. Then yelled again as Wyatt hauled his arm down and brought the metal hand up.

The barkeep was dragged over and across and down. As he tumbled over the front of the bar Wyatt’s left hand swung round in a vicious arc that took the claws over Zeke’s face. The barman’s right cheek parted in three neat lines. Each one was lined with crimson, spouting heavy droplets of blood from the cuts. Teeth and white bone showed through the gaps. Zeke screamed, the sound shrilled by the openings in his face. Wyatt let go his wrist and let him crash bloody onto the floor, turning as he saw the second ’keep come running from behind the far end of the counter.

The man was holding a cut-down scattergun in both hands, the twin muzzles angling down towards Wyatt.

The big brown-haired man didn’t wait to think.

Reflex action took over as his right hand folded around the butt of the Colt’s Peacemaker.

Lifted the pistol from the holster with the hammer going back as his forefinger took up the trigger slack.

Brought his arm up to point the muzzle on the barkeep.

And squeezed the trigger, lifting his thumb from the hammer.

The Colt barked once.

Flame exploded from the muzzle.

The shotgun in the barkeep’s hand roared twice.

Red showed on his striped shirt, mingling blue and white into a sticky mess of crimson.

Dust exploded from the ceiling where the scattergun hit.

The barkeep went back with blood pumping from his chest and mouth.

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