Read Online Bad Medicine by Paul Bagdon - Free Book Online

woman laughed, and it was a cruel laugh—like one would give to a fool. “You ever had yer nuts ripped off when you was alive? You ever git to see how long your guts is? You ever had yer head boiled while you was tied upside down over a fire?” She laughed again, that same witchlike laugh. “Yer a fool—an’ right soon yer gonna be a dead fool.”
    Will smiled. “Jus’ tell him, OK?” He tipped his hat. “Been real nice doin’ business with you an’ chattin’ with you, too.” He took his bottle and his bandannaand left the mercantile. The air outside smelled very good after being in the store.
    Slick was out in the small pasture the stablekeeper maintained for his own stock and for the horses he boarded who’d kick hell out of his stalls out of boredom. That, or cribbing—chewing on the crosspieces of their stalls. The swallowed chunks of wood could kill a horse, and it made his stalls look terrible.
    As usual, Slick was a good bit away from the other animals. He’d either mounted them or fought them, and they wanted no part of him.
    Will leaned against the fence, his face throbbing as if he’d taken a punch every few seconds. He soaked his bandanna with whiskey and gently rubbed it along the line of stitches. It felt as if he’d lit the wound on fire.
    â€œDammit,” he said, tossed the bandanna to the side, and took a long suck from the bottle. It wasn’t as bad as the saloon booze, and even if it were, it cut the pain. Will took another suck and put the cork into the bottle. That’s when the arrow buried its head in the board he’d been leaning against. He dropped to the ground, Colt already in his hand, and saw an Indian riding toward him, a fresh arrow already nocked. Will’s finger was on the trigger and the muzzle of his pistol was chest high to the galloping attacker.
    He lowered his weapon and put a slug into the Indian’s knee. The bow and arrow dropped into the dirt of the street; the man screeched and grabbed at his leg with both hands and tumbled from his war pony.
    Will walked to the Indian, his Colt steady in his hand, muzzle centered on the Indian’s head.
    â€œBad shot,” Will said. “Now I can send you away, no? To the place where all your relatives will shun you, laugh at you, and you’ll be alone, eating snake and prairie dog, no woman, no horse—no pride. Why? ’Cause you’re a coward who was scared off by a white eyes you didn’t even know.”
    â€œI piss on your mother,” the Indian snarled. “I know you.” He grasped his knee with both hands. His face was contorted with the pain.
    â€œYou know me? Damn, coward, I never seen you before.”
    â€œOne Dog, he had a vision. He will himself kill you.”
    â€œI’ll do this: You can crawl to your pony an’ somehow git on him. Then you ride back to One Dog an’ tell him Will Lewis is gonna kill him—an’ all you’re getting is some time, ’cause I’m gonna kill all of you who ride with One Dog.”
    â€œA corpse—you’re a . . .”
    Will nudged the Indian’s knee with the toe of his boot. “You remember the name I gave you?”
    â€œYou said, Lewis—Will Lewis.”
    â€œVery good. An’ you’ll tell One Dog this: He’s a cowardly chunk of yellow dog shit—a killer of children an’ of women. Tell him he’ll suffer before I kill him.”
    The Indian spat again. “One Dog cannot be killed. He has medicine—bad medicine—that protects him from white men. You will—”
    â€œThis is gettin’ tiresome. You gonna do what I said?”
    â€œOne Dog will carry your hair on his belt and your head will—”
    â€œLike I said, this is gettin’ tedious.”
    Will fired, the slug giving the Indian a third eye.
    â€œDumb sumbitch. All you hadda do was make it to your pony, an’