Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

Half a dozen steps below crouched Blin Hanks, one hand on the railing. Hanks was looking down, not up, at Epp and several gun sharks. Epp saw Boone, and his eyes widened in consternation.

‘‘Look out!’’

Blin Hanks spun, the revolver in his hand rising. ‘‘No, you don’t!’’ he bellowed.

Boone fanned a shot into Hanks’ chest. In the close confines it was like the boom of a cannon. Hanks was punched back. A low, animal snarl burst from his throat as he tried to take aim. Boone fanned a second shot and a new hole appeared in the center of Hanks’ brow.

Eppley was bounding down the stairs. He said something to the gun sharks as he flew past them, and whatever he said, suddenly they came charging up the stairs shrieking like Comanches and shooting just as fast as they could.

Boone fanned three shots in the blink of an eye and two of the gunnies went down thrashing and gurgling. The third took lead but stayed on his feet and gamely sought to fire, but his arm would not rise high enough.

‘‘Damn you to hell.’’

Boone cored his eye and vaulted over the body while it was falling. He only went a few more steps, then stopped and quickly reloaded. From outside came shouts. Other killers were converging.

Boone raced to the bottom. He glanced at the front window. The man who had been in the rosebushes, Carns, was about to shoot. Swift as thought, Boone fired and Carns dropped.

The front door burst open and two more spilled in, spraying lead. Boone felled the first and sent the second spinning. Through the open door Boone saw yet another gun shark leap onto the porch. Suddenly a gun blasted behind the man and he sprawled in a dead heap. More shots pealed.

Boone moved toward the front door, reloading as he went. He was not quite there when thunder cracked behind him and he was slammed to his knees. He swiveled, plenty of fight still in him. ‘‘You.’’

‘‘Me,’’ Epp said, and banged off another shot.

Boone fired at the same instant. He fired as Epp swayed, fired as Epp teetered, fired as Epp pitched onto his side, fired as Epp roared like a maddened beast and fired his final shot smack between Epp’s eyebrows.

The acrid odor of gun smoke filled the hall. Boone tried to stand, but he was suddenly weak. He had been hit again, in the leg. He propped his back against the wall and heard more shots outside. Then a shadow fell across him and he looked up into the twin muzzles of mother-of-pearl Colts. ‘‘Not you too.’’

Skelman was a statue. He didn’t shoot. He didn’t say anything.

‘‘Don’t you dare!’’

At the outcry, Skelman spun.

Sassy was on the stairs, pointing the Smith & Wesson at him. ‘‘Please,’’ she pleaded. ‘‘For me.’’

For a span of heartbeats no one moved.

‘‘I still have the flower you gave me,’’ Sassy said softly. ‘‘That day on the trail.’’

Skelman slowly straightened. He glanced down at Boone and the corners of his thin mouth quirked. ‘‘I reckon not. But just so you know.’’ And the mother-of-pearl Colts were in their holsters. It happened so fast, Boone did not see Skelman’s hands move.

‘‘Damn,’’ Boone said.

Skelman touched his hat brim to Sassy. ‘‘You are the only one who is immune.’’ He smiled and strolled out, his spurs jangling.

With a squeal of joy, Sassy flew down the stairs and over to Boone. ‘‘Where are you hit? How bad is it?’’

‘‘In the other shoulder and in the leg. But I think I will live.’’

‘‘You better.’’ Sassy pressed a wet cheek to his.

A large form filled the doorway and darkened the hall. Both of them turned, tense with dread, only to beam in relief at who it was.

‘‘I found you, pard!’’ Drub happily exclaimed, entering and squatting. ‘‘I was afraid you would be dead.’’

‘‘That was you out there?’’

‘‘I had to shoot some men who tried to stop me. One got me in the side.’’ Drub showed a crimson circle on his shirt.

‘‘Oh, Drub!’’ Sassy said.

‘‘I’m all right. The bullet hit a rib and went somewhere else. It hurts, but I will be around a good long while yet.’’

‘‘I hope so, pard,’’ Boone told him.

‘‘How about me?’’ Sassy asked, her face aglow with her feelings for him. ‘‘Once we clean you up and bandage you, do I get to stick around a good long while?’’

‘‘For as long as you want,’’ Boone Scott said.

SIGNET

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First Printing, October 2008

Copyright © The Estate of Ralph Compton, 2008

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