Authors: Jory Sherman

The Savage Curse (23 page)

BOOK: The Savage Curse

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John stood straight, his right hand like magic as it jerked his pistol from its holster. His thumb pulled the hammer back to full cock and when the pistol came level, a split second before Hobart could aim his own, John squeezed the trigger, the hair trigger that took just a touch, and his pistol barked and spat out lead and fire and brimstone from waist high.

In the distance, John heard the sharp report of a rifle. It sounded as if it came from somewhere near the mine.

He saw a flower, a crimson flower, blossom on Hobart's chest. Blood spouted from a hole right where his heart should have been. Hobart gagged and choked, pitched forward. His fingers turned limp as boiled noodles and his pistol fell to the road with a thud.

John walked over to him, stood over the dying man.

“End of the road, Hobart,” John said softly.

Hobart's eyes glazed over with the icy frost of death and then fixed on the blue sky above him. A last gasp escaped his lips and his body convulsed into a rigid contorted corpse.

Ben and Jake approached cautiously, their rifles ranging from one fallen man to another.

“They're all dead,” John said.

“You get Hobart?” Ben asked.

“There he lies, Ben. See for yourself.”

And the three men walked toward the mine.

RED HAND LAY SPRAWLED ON THE GROUND THIRTY YARDS FROM the mine entrance.

“You can come out now, Gale,” John called. “All of you can come out.”

Men rose from behind the tailings. Gale and Romero emerged from the mine, walked around the parked wagon.

“I got the bastard,” Gale said. “I got the bastard what killed Clarence.”

“You sure did,” Ben said, and the pride in his voice was as strong as Gale's had been.

“Did you get Hobart?” Gale asked.

“He sure did,” Ben said. “Right in his black heart.”