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

of the man who done me in.”
    â€œMatt Bodine.”
    â€œDamn my luck!” the man moaned. “At least it weren’t no tinhorn.” He closed his eyes and died.
    Sam walked across the street to his brother’s side. “An ugly day, I-tat-an-e.”
    â€œYes. And this is sure to blow the lid off. But damned if I was going to let them reach the store.”
    â€œI would have done the same.”
    A crowd had gathered around, gawking and whispering.
    A portly man shoved his way through the crowd. He was a part-time undertaker, part-time preacher, part-time waterfinder, and part-time rainmaker. He was, Matt was told, a fair undertaker, a pretty good preacher, a better-than-average deviner, and a lousy rainmaker.
    Little boys and girls peeked around their mothers’ skirts, staring at Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves.
    No one noticed the lone rider walking his horse showly from the east side of the settlement.
    â€œWhat the hell are we supposed to do with all these wounded men?” a man asked.
    â€œPatch them up or let the hogs have them,” Matt said shortly. “I really don’t care.”
    â€œPretty tough way of lookin’ at it, son,” a soft-spoken voice came from behind Matt and Sam.
    They both turned. The small man—not more than five feet six or seven and slender built—stood alone, but the guns belted around his waist made him larger than life, and the badge pinned to his vest said it all: Texas Ranger.
    â€œThey opened this dance,” Matt told him.
    â€œIs that right? I heard the shootin’ a mile out of town. Thought I’d see what was happenin’. Who are you?”
    â€œMatt Bodine.”
    The Ranger nodded his head. “Heard of you. Wyoming gunhand.”
    â€œI’m a Wyoming rancher who happens to be blessed—or cursed with the ability to use a short gun.”
    â€œBlessed or cursed,” the Ranger said. “Interestin’ way of puttin’ it. I’ll have to remember that.”
    â€œHelp me!” a gunhand shot in both legs hollered.
    â€œShut up,” the Ranger told him. “I’ll get to you in due time.” He looked at Matt. “I’m Josiah Finch. Texas Rangers. I’m trackin’ two murderers. Been after ’em for three weeks. I ain’t particular interested in your doin’s, but it’s a rare thing to see one man standin’ and six or seven on the ground, some of them gettin’ stiff.”
    â€œI’ll tell you what happened, Ranger!” a citizen yelled.
    â€œI don’t want to know what happened,” Finch told him. “You tell me and then I’ll have to spend hours writin’ out a damn report. ’Sides, I ain’t seen no complaints in anybody’s hand.”
    â€œNo complaints on this side of the issue,” Sam said.
    Finch cut his hard eyes to him. “I reckon you’d be Sam Two Wolves.”
    â€œThat is correct.”
    â€œHeard of you, too. Your daddy was a Cheyenne chief name of Medicine Horse; educated fine back East.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œI’m bleedin’ to death!” a gunslick bellered.
    â€œNo, you ain’t,” Finch told him. “Wound’s damn near closed up. Terrible wounds do that. You’ll probably die, but it won’t be from bleedin’ to death.”
    â€œWell, the hell with you, too!” the gunhawk told him.
    â€œGet the wagons ready to roll,” Matt told Red.
    As Red walked away, Finch said, “You come into a town, leave three or four dead a-layin’ around, and then just leave like you would a church picnic when the fried chicken run out. I find that interestin’.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do?” Matt asked. “Squat down here in the street and hold their hands?”
    Finch took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and chuckled. “I’ve known a bunch of hard men, son. Sam Bass, Hardin,