Read Online Blood Bond 3 by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page A

door to see what the holdup was.
    â€œTsk tsk,” Sam said. “I can’t leave you alone for a moment without you getting into mischief.”
    â€œTake their guns,” Matt told Red. “We can always use spare six-shooters.”
    â€œOh, Lordy,” the shopkeeper moaned. “Man, don’t you know who them two is? That’s Terry Perkins and Jay Hunt. They work for Mr. Lee. Them’s real bad men, mister. I bet they kilt a hundred men between them.”
    â€œI’m impressed,” Matt told him. “You best be keeping a tally of what we’re taking instead of running your mouth.”
    That snapped the man out of it. He began frantically writing down what the boys grabbed up.
    Matt cut himself a wedge of cheese and got a handful of crackers. He kept the axe handle close by and his eyes on the front door. It paid off. Just as he was finishing his snack, a man stepped out of the saloon and began walking across the street.
    â€œDrag these two out back,” Matt said to Noah and Gene. He turned to the shopkeeper. “Where’s all your customers?”
    â€œThese gunhands run ’em off. Told ’em not to come back ’til they was gone.”
    â€œWhen’d the gunhawks get into town?”
    â€œThis mornin’. They knew you boys was comin’. I hear ’em talkin’ about it.”
    â€œThat . . . obscenity of a girl!” Sam said. “She tipped off Nick knowing it might get her brother hurt or killed.”
    â€œYeah. She’s a real sweetheart.” To the shopkeeper: “This one of them coming across the street?”
    â€œYes. I don’t know his name. He threatened me.”
    â€œDid he now?” Matt leaned against the counter and waited, his guns loose in leather.
    â€œWhat the hell!” the gunhand said, stepping into the store. “Where’s Terry and Jay?”
    â€œThey were tired,” Matt said. “I suggested they take a nap. They thought it was a good idea.”
    â€œWho the hell are you?” the hard-faced man demanded.
    â€œMatt Bodine.”
    The gunny drew and Matt shot him in the belly before his Peacemaker could clear leather. He hit the floor moaning, both hands holding his .44-caliber-punctured belly.
    The saloon emptied of men, all running for the general store and all with guns in their hands. Matt pulled his other .44, stepped to the door, and emptied both .44’s into the knot of gunslicks. When he was through, not a man was left standing, and several weren’t moving.
    â€œAre you really Matt Bodine?” the shopkeeper asked. “The Wyoming gunfighter?”
    â€œI’m Matt Bodine,” he said, reloading.
    â€œHoly crap!” Gene said, running inside and looking out at the bloody, body-lined street.
    Sam looked. “That’s my brother,” he said. “Subtle is his middle name.”
    â€œShore cut the odds down some,” Red remarked.
    â€œOh, God!” the gun-shot gunny on the floor moaned. “Get me a doctor.”
    â€œWe ain’t got none,” the shopkeeper told him. “Had one, but he moved down to Fort Stockton. Sorry, mister. Got a barber with some leeches, though.”
    â€œHell with you,” the man groaned.
    â€œLeeches!” Sam looked at the man. “Nobody bleeds people anymore.”
    â€œWell, he does!”
    â€œGet the stuff loaded up,” Matt said and stepped out into the street, walking over to the men lying moaning and twisting in the dirt.
    One pointed a .41 derringer at him. Matt kicked it out of his hand. It went off as it hit the ground and shot a shoulder-wounded gunhand in the leg.
    â€œGoddamn you!” the twice-shot man hollered.
    Matt didn’t know if the man was cussing him or his buddy. He counted three dead and four wounded, one of them hard hit.
    â€œYou played hell, mister,” the hard-hit man gasped, looking up at Matt. “I’d be obliged to know the name