Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] Read Free

the wall and waited, his head lolling to one side as though he were still semiconscious. The mist in front of his eyes was beginning to dissolve, and the tips of his fingers were now inside the left sleeve of his coat.
        Outside, Wilks shoved the station manager out of his way and smiled at one of the passengers who'd climbed out of the coach-a middle-aged businessman with a solid build going thick around the middle.
        "Hello, Farnell…"
        The second Harry Farnell recognized Wilks and saw the gun in his hand he knew what was coming. His hand vanished under his coat, grabbing desperately for the small revolver he kept there.
        Wilks laughed softly and the gun in his hand roared. The slug rammed into Farnell's chest, driving him back against the coach and pinning him there for a split second. As he crumpled toward the ground the man riding shotgun-he actually carried a rifle-broke out of his stupor and twisted in his high seat, bringing his rifle around to bear on the red-haired killer.
        Before he could squeeze the trigger Ryle's rifle crashed out from inside the barn. The bullet caught the shotgun rider in the head, killing him instantly. His rifle spilled from lifeless hands and fell as he sagged back in the high seat next to the stage driver, his head tipping back, sightless eyes staring at the sky. The team horses, frightened by the crash of gunfire, reared and whinnied, but the driver caught the reins and held them steady. The other two passengers had already thrown their hands high and were standing there frozen, eager to give no one an excuse for shooting at them.
        It was all over that quickly. Or seemed to be. Wilks stood holding his Colt carelessly, gazing down at the still figure of Farnell in the dust before him. Ryle was walking from the barn toward the shack, rifle still ready in both hands.
        Inside the shack Pollock took his eyes off Clayburn and called through the window to Wilks, "Might as well lift whatever the passengers got on 'em while we're…"
        Clayburn came to life in the same instant, drawing the knife out of his sleeve and throwing it in the same motion as he lunged to his feet.
        Pollock whipped around, trying to shoot Clayburn and dodge the flung knife at the same time. He succeeded in neither. The knifeblade plunged into his chest, cutting off his scream as it started. He squeezed the trigger automatically as he fell forward. The gun boomed within the confines of the small room, the slug chopping into the adobe wall.
        Clayburn reached Pollock as his body hit the dirt floor. Snatching his own Colt from the dead man's belt, he straightened beside the window, ready to fire through it at Wilks.
        But the redhead had reacted fast to the sound of Pollock's gun inside the shack. By the time Clayburn reached the window Wilks was holding one of the passengers between him and the shack, using the man as a shield. When he spotted Clayburn he instantly began backing toward the barn, dragging his terrified shield along with him. He saw no sense in running the risk of trying to shoot it out. His mission was accomplished; he'd get paid. Now he was concentrating on getting away.
        But Ryle, halfway between the barn and the shack, spotted Clayburn too, and decided he could get him. He snapped up his rifle, taking aim at the window. As he fired, Clayburn took a step backward into deeper shadow. The rifle bullet slashed past his ear as he fired his own aimed Colt. The distance wasn't good. The slug got Ryle in the hip, staggering him, but he didn't go down.
        Clayburn was taking aim again when another shot sounded from next to the stagecoach. The plump station manager had gone down on one knee and seized the rifle dropped by the dead shotgun rider. It was his shot that killed Ryle.
        While the rifle shot still echoed, Wilks fired from behind his human shield. The station manager fell back with a scream of pain,