Gut-Shot Read Free Page A

success,” he’d said. “And then only when he was drunk and seeing double anyway.”
    Now the towhead proved Brown’s words.
    He walked steadily toward Flintlock, the muzzles of both Colts starring scarlet flame.
    To his credit, the kid’s bullets came close. Lead split the air around Flintlock’s head and kicked up startled exclamation points of dirt at his feet.
    But the young gun scored no hits.
    However Sam Flintlock was not a man to miss with a rifle at spitting range.
    Rapidly levering the Winchester from the hip, his .44-40 bullets tore great holes in the towhead’s chest and belly.
    Hit hard, blood already making a scarlet gash of his mouth, the man staggered, tried to raise his guns but found that he no longer had the strength.
    Finally the youngster raised up on his toes, arched his body like a man does after rising from sleep, then fell, his features drained of all expression. His face crashed into the flames and glowing coals of the campfire and a shimmering shower of crimson sparks cascaded into the air.
    Flintlock pulled the dead kid from the flames, then rounded on Jake Ruskin, a named man said to be faster and deadlier on the draw and shoot than John Wesley Hardin.
    â€œYou decided to make a play yet, Jake?” Flintlock said.
    â€œYou got a rifle on me, Sam, and there’s distance between us,” he said. “Seems like I’m facing a stacked deck.”
    â€œSeems like,” Flintlock said.
    Ruskin shrugged. “This isn’t my fight. The towhead was my cousin, so he was kin, but he wasn’t too bright and it was he who brought me to this unfortunate pass.”
    â€œJake, did you put him up to stealing the wagon and lumber?”
    â€œSure didn’t. But I told him to kill the old man or he’d come after him. He said he wouldn’t shoot a sleeping man. More fool him. Fellers in our profession don’t make such fine distinctions. Do we, Sam?”
    â€œMost times, I guess not,” Flintlock said. “Now if you shuck that gun belt and let it fall at your feet I’ll be greatly obliged.”
    He centered his rifle on the gunman’s chest.
    â€œJust keep in mind that I’m a nervous man and when I get nervous bad things tend to happen.”
    Ruskin smiled and did as he was told.
    â€œStep forward now, Jake,” Flintlock said. “Easy as you go. Just stride off ten yards of git between you and the iron.”
    Again the gunfighter complied.
    Then Ruskin said, “Mind if take a look at the old buzzard?”
    Glover was still on one knee and blood stained the front of his shirt.
    The old-timer grinned and said, “That’s white of you, Jake. I’m sorry I didn’t have the honor of swapping lead with you, but the young feller over there put me out of the fight right quick.”
    Ruskin smiled. “Maybe some other time, if you ever visit the Brazos country. I’d be pleased to meet you on the field of honor.”
    â€œThankee. The name’s Dave Glover an’ I’ll look forward to it.”
    After telling Glover to sit, Ruskin stripped off the old man’s shirt and undervest.
    â€œHere, Jake, have you done this afore?” Glover said. “Not that I’m doubting a man of your reputation, mind.”
    â€œDuring the war I was a doctor’s assistant,” Ruskin said. “Hell, I was only a younker then but I saw wounds that still waken me from sleep at night.”
    He smiled at the old man. “Seen a lot of broken collarbones too, which is what you got.”
    â€œDamn, so that’s where the bullet hit. I couldn’t lift my gun hand. Damn that kid fer a scoundrel who couldn’t shoot straight.”
    â€œWell, Willie’s bullet busted up the bone pretty good then went on through,” Ruskin said.
    â€œWill I be able to take ahold of my gal?” Glover said, his face worried.
    â€œYeah, with your left arm.”
    The old man’s