.44 Caliber Man Read Free Page B

covered with dust until the same color as the real rock.
Swiftly the man under the blanket stood up and flung it aside.
Dressed in the style of a vaquero, he was bareheaded and his face
showed more Indian than Mexican blood. Gripping a fancy-looking
Navy Colt in his right hand, the man sprang towards the coach.
    At the same
moment, on the right of the trail, a tall, slim Mexican lurched
into sight. He had been crouching behind a small rock, covered with
cuttings from the nearby bushes. Not far from him a tumbleweed
began to move, although there was hardly any wind and it had
previously been motionless. Thrusting it aside, a third man
appeared from a hollow in the ground over which it had been lying.
Shorter and more stocky than the Mexican, he was of the same race.
They wore fancy, expensive charro clothes and were alike in the
expressions of evil and lust on their faces. Leading four horses, a
rider came from the distant draw and headed for the clump of
mesquite which sheltered the man with the rifle.
    Aware that he
had achieved his ambition and become involved in a hold-up, Simcock
thrust himself erect. Cursing himself for not drawing the shotgun
earlier, he wasted no time in trying to do so. Instead he sent his
right hand fanning to the butt of the Army Colt holstered on his
belt. Even as he made his play, he remembered that a rifle had
killed the horse. Neither of the men on the right could have used
it, for they had been hidden within twenty yards of the trail.
    Before Simcock
could draw his Colt, the rifle spat again from among the mesquite.
Lead ripped into the guard’s body. Giving a cry of pain, he twisted
around and tumbled over the left side of the box. Fully occupied
with controlling the team, Temple could do nothing to try to fight
off the men. Springing in from the left, the half-breed jerked open
the door at his side. While the taller man lined a Starr Navy
revolver at Temple, his companion approached the body of the
coach.
    Looking into
the barrel of the half-breed’s revolver, the Kid eased himself from
Colin. Then the right side door jerked open and the smaller
Mexican’s Navy Colt ended any chance of immediate resistance.
Jeanie wriggled off April’s lap and darted a glance at the
Winchester then to the Kid. Giving an almost imperceptible
headshake, the dark youngster awaited developments.
    ‘ Don’t kill them unless you have to, Indio,’ the stocky Mexican
ordered, in Spanish. ‘Somebody’ll maybe pay to get some of them
back.’
    ‘ Si, Jaime,’ the half-breed answered. ‘If they make a wrong
move I’ll only kill them a little bit.’
    ‘ Is the guard dead, Indio?’ called the taller man, without
turning his Starr away from Temple’s direction.
    ‘ Looks like it, Adàn,’ replied the half breed, glancing down
and back into the coach too quickly for the Kid to take advantage
of it. ‘He’s not moving and bleeding bad.’
    ‘ Get them out so I can look at them, Jaime,’ ordered
Adàn.
    ‘ Com’ out here, peoples,’ Jaime said, using English for the
first time. ‘You don’ make trouble and we don’ hurt
you.’
    Which was, as
the Kid for one of the passengers well knew, a lie. The only reason
they had not been shot immediately was that the bandidos wanted to
see if any of them would be worth holding for ransom. Once that had
been established, the worthless male passengers and driver would be
killed. Hardened to the worst aspects of life though he might be,
the Kid did not care to think about the fate of the two women
before death finally claimed them.
    Yet he knew
that resistance at that moment would be suicidal. Even outside
there would be small enough chance, but being in the open offered
more opportunity than did the confines of the coach.
    Trained from
birth to think fast, analyze situations and rapidly work out
solutions, the Kid put his lessons to good use. There was one way
he might get a break. Slender, risky as hell, but a whole heap
better than no chance at all.
    ‘ Do