Send Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #2) Read Free Page B

I ever saw,’ Angel
said. ‘I just naturally felt I had to butt in.’
    ‘ Teachin’ a young pup manners,’ snapped Boot. ‘None o’ your
business.’
    ‘ You’re a stranger here,’ whispered Mill. His face was
puffing badly and his piggy eyes looked even more evil. ‘You’re
starting out purty bad.’
    ‘ Tell
me,’ Angel smiled. The gun muzzle remained level and
unwavering.
    Tut your gun away,
stranger, ’
Boot said. ‘Fight’s finished.’
    ‘ Really?’ said Angel, letting the six-gun slide easily into
the holster.
    ‘ Sure
thing,’ said Boot flatly. ‘You’re small beer, mister. We ain’t got
no need to beat up on drifters, no matter how mistook they are.’
His voice took on a tone that was almost wheedling. ‘Al Birch is
the top man around these parts. It’s no boast: he is. He is because
we keep him that way. We’re what you might call his major
suppliers. Now you could buck us, an’ you might even get away with
it. But you can’t buck Birch, stranger. Don’t even think about it.
Get on your horse, point him back the way you come, an’ never come
back. Sabe?’
    ‘ I
reckon,’ Angel nodded.
    ‘ Good.’ Boot’s smile was the smile of a wolf seeing a calf
leave the herd.
    ‘ I’ll
tell you what me and Willie are goin’ to do. We’re goin’ to step
outside for a couple of minutes. That’ll give you time to have a
beer and be on your way. Don’t be here when we get
back.’
    Angel nodded. ‘One last thing,’
he said mildly.
    Boot turned to face Angel
again, his face resigned and his bearing that of a man reasoning
with a stubborn child. ‘What now?’ he barked.
    ‘ This,’ Angel said. His arm was moving even as he spoke and
all his weight was behind the perfectly timed punch that came up
from somewhere around his hip and took Boot clean on the point of
his jaw, lifting him perhaps an inch off the ground and sending him
cartwheeling backwards against the wall. Boot smashed into the
solid adobe with a crash that shook the building, and everyone
heard the dull clunk of sound when his head hit the brickwork. He
went down on the floor like a dropped sack.
    Angel turned to Mill. His tone was still
conversational.
    ‘ Why
don’t you give your friend a hand? I don’t think he’s going to make
it home on his own.’
    Mill looked at Angel for a long moment.
There was something furtive and sick in his piggy eyes. He said
something beneath his breath.
    ‘ Physiologically impossible,’ Angel said cheerfully,
‘although it’s sure imaginative. Maybe I should break enough of
your bones to see if it can be done.’ The bantering tone dropped
from his voice and he took a step towards Mill, who cringed
backwards, fear - and something else - showing in his eyes. Angel
shook his head.
    ‘ Get
out of here, Mill,’ he said. ‘You’re contaminating the air. Take
that’ - he pointed at Boot’s still form - ‘with you.’ He took
another step forward and Mill scuttled back, heaving at Johnny
Boot’s body. One of the soldiers stepped forward to help and Mill
rebuked the man with a vicious curse. He wrestled the unconscious
body towards the door, sweat streaming through the bloody dust on
his face. Never once did he look again at Angel.

Chapter Four
    The news of the fracas spread
like wildfire around the Fort. It was not long before the
sutler ’s
store was crowded with people, with all ranks of men from the Fort,
all eager to see the man who had finally given Boot and Mill the
bad time every man there wished them. A bearded old Irishman who
chewed tobacco and spat with engaging ferocity and alarming
accuracy, came into the store with a battered medical bag and
proceeded to clean up the young officer’s face, managing through
the entire time not to breathe one question about the cause of his
injuries. Finally, he could contain himself no further.
    ‘ Dadblast it, Blackie,’ he exploded. ‘Must I die of
curiosity before ye’ll speak?’ His voice had a rich