Skinwalkers Read Free

some time traded sidelong glances with his fellow card players. The prospector began to rise from his seat. The bounty hunter’s revolver appeared and took a bead on his nose.
    “ Don’t ,“ the bounty hunter said, his voice ice.
    The prospector sank back into his chair.
    “Fucking nigger,“ the prospector mumbled. “You don’t tell me nothing.“
    “And you,“ the bounty hunter said, putting the gun’s nozzle to his captive’s temple, “any more of that shit and I’ll say ’To hell with the bounty,’ and splatter your goddamn brains all over this fucking saloon!“
    The pair edged the remainder of the distance to the saloon’s entrance in silence and backed out through the batwing doors. Moments later, they were slogging through the wet mud of the main thoroughfare toward the bounty hunter’s animals—a pack mule and a large Quarter Horse with a champagne coat. The bounty hunter hoisted J.T. to sit atop the mule, the action taking surprisingly little effort for the large black man. He was about to mount the Quarter Horsewhen the prospector burst out the saloon’s entrance brandishing a pistol and screaming at the top of his lungs.
    There was a loud blast of gunfire and a chunk of wood along the saloon’s hitching post splintered into the air. The red-faced prospector continued to advance, firing his pistol and hitting everything but that at which he was aiming.
    Farnsworth recoiled as a bullet buzzed his ear, trying to shrink his spindly frame to its smallest possible size.
    “Great Godfrey, man!“ he yelled. “Shoot him before he kills us both!“
    The bounty hunter just stood, watching the prospector run at him like a Viking berserker.
    “Come on,“ the bounty hunter whispered. “Shoot me.“
    Not fifteen yards now separated the bounty hunter from the howling prospector. But still the bounty hunter stood, an obsidian monolith rising out of the muddy street.
    “Shoot me, God damn it. Shoot!“
    With less than ten feet between them, the bounty hunter drew his revolver and fired. The prospector went silent as the top half of his head disappeared in a pulpy, red mist. At the same time, his body was yanked backward into the street by an invisible rope.
    “Jumping Jehoshaphat on toast!“ J.T. said. “I know I called the ruffian to the task, but have you taken leave of your fucking senses?“
    The bounty hunter stood in silence, looking at the dead man spread-eagle in the mud. The corpse’s eyes were open and pointed upward in search of its missing cranium, a silent question etched upon its mustachioed lips.
    T he bounty hunter turned and, without looking at Farnsworth, secured the reins of his pack mule to his saddle. Then he mounted the big Quarter Horse and spurred it into a trot, heading out of town, Farnsworth and the mule in tow, the dead and the gawking in their wake.
     
    “S ir, I implore you to reconsider,“ Farnsworth pleaded. “I assure you my father is a man of vast means. Whatever paltry bounty you hope to collect on my head would shrivel and fade in comparison to the leagues of wealth you might procure simply by endeavoring in a singular act of kindness—a token of good faith on your part that would provide you riches beyond imagining! Simply release me from captivity and I shall venture to the nearest telegraphing establishment to have father wire the money to the locale of your choosing.“
    They’d traveled the length of the day. The sun was setting ahead of them, its glorious corona shining from behind the gigantic, red-rock formations splitting the purple horizon in the distance. The landscape was breathtaking, but the bounty hunter was unmoved.
    The bounty hunter swayed atop his plodding horse. “So let me get this straight, Professor. We part ways and I trust you to see the cash delivered to me?“
    “Indeed! You are quite perceptive in your grasp of my proposal!“
    “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ll have to talk it over with my business associate.“
    The bounty hunter