Read Online Bloody Sunday by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone
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coming straight at his face.
He got out of the way so fast he went over backwards. As he hit the floor, the blazing torch one of the night riders had just thrown flew through the window and landed on the rug behind him. The walls wouldnât burn, and torches flung onto the tile roof wouldnât have any effect, either, but if the raiders threw enough of those blazing brands through the bullet-shattered windows, they could catch the inside of the house on fire.
âThere are more of them coming!â Glory cried. She had ignored Lukeâs warning and gotten up to look through the window.
Luke surged to his feet and started trying to stomp out the flames as they tried to spread. It was the rug that was burning, so he told Glory, âSee if you can roll it up and smother the flames!â
While she did, he lunged to the window with a Remington in each hand. Sheâd been right: Two more riders carrying burning torches galloped toward the house. The raiders were bent low to present smaller targets, but Luke didnât aim at them as he opened fire. He shot at the torches instead, the Remingtons roaring and bucking against his palms.
One of the blazing brands suddenly pinwheeled through the night air, and he knew one of his bullets had struck it and ripped it out of the raiderâs hand. He hoped he had winged the man, too.
The other night rider threw his torch, but Lukeâs bullets whipping around his head made him hurry too much. The torch struck the wall next to the window and bounced off to land in the garden and lie guttering on the ground.
As if suddenly realizing their danger, the raiders tried to wheel their mounts and flee. Luke triggered two more shots and saw one of the men jerk in the saddle.
Beside Luke, Gloryâs carbine cracked as she crowded up to the window and joined in the fight. The stench of the scorched rug competed with the tang of gunsmoke, but when he glanced over his shoulder he saw that the fire was out.
âYouâre not in the habit of doing what people tell you to do, are you?â he said.
âNot so that youâd notice,â she replied without looking at him as she worked the Winchesterâs lever and jacked another round into the chamber.
âIâve got to go out there,â he said. âThere are too many windows. They could be trying to throw torches through some of them. I need to be able to see better . . . but I need you to stay in here, too.â
He might still be able to collect the bounty if a stray slug cut her down, but he didnât want to run that risk.
âBe careful!â she told him, but he noticed that she didnât promise to do as he asked.
He paused long enough to reload both Remingtons. The revolvers, originally percussion weapons, had been converted for metallic cartridges by a top-notch gunsmith Luke knew, which certainly came in handy at moments like this when time was important.
With the cylinders of both guns full, Luke holstered the left-hand weapon and used that hand to open the door. He went through it in a low dive that landed him on the flagstone walk. He rolled over and came up on a knee as he drew the second gun again.
Some of the night riders were still concentrating their gunfire on the bunkhouse. The long, low structure had only small windows, and throwing torches through one of them would be almost impossible, especially with a gun-toting cowboy at each opening to discourage any of the raiders from getting too close.
No, the would-be arsonists were targeting the main house instead, and from the corner of his eye Luke saw flames again as two more torch-wielding riders raced toward the house. They were trying for windows at the end of the building this time.
Still on one knee, Luke twisted toward the raiders and triggered the Remingtons. One man dropped his torch, bent double, and grabbed at the saddlehorn to keep from toppling off his horse. The other raider kept coming, though, and drew back
He got out of the way so fast he went over backwards. As he hit the floor, the blazing torch one of the night riders had just thrown flew through the window and landed on the rug behind him. The walls wouldnât burn, and torches flung onto the tile roof wouldnât have any effect, either, but if the raiders threw enough of those blazing brands through the bullet-shattered windows, they could catch the inside of the house on fire.
âThere are more of them coming!â Glory cried. She had ignored Lukeâs warning and gotten up to look through the window.
Luke surged to his feet and started trying to stomp out the flames as they tried to spread. It was the rug that was burning, so he told Glory, âSee if you can roll it up and smother the flames!â
While she did, he lunged to the window with a Remington in each hand. Sheâd been right: Two more riders carrying burning torches galloped toward the house. The raiders were bent low to present smaller targets, but Luke didnât aim at them as he opened fire. He shot at the torches instead, the Remingtons roaring and bucking against his palms.
One of the blazing brands suddenly pinwheeled through the night air, and he knew one of his bullets had struck it and ripped it out of the raiderâs hand. He hoped he had winged the man, too.
The other night rider threw his torch, but Lukeâs bullets whipping around his head made him hurry too much. The torch struck the wall next to the window and bounced off to land in the garden and lie guttering on the ground.
As if suddenly realizing their danger, the raiders tried to wheel their mounts and flee. Luke triggered two more shots and saw one of the men jerk in the saddle.
Beside Luke, Gloryâs carbine cracked as she crowded up to the window and joined in the fight. The stench of the scorched rug competed with the tang of gunsmoke, but when he glanced over his shoulder he saw that the fire was out.
âYouâre not in the habit of doing what people tell you to do, are you?â he said.
âNot so that youâd notice,â she replied without looking at him as she worked the Winchesterâs lever and jacked another round into the chamber.
âIâve got to go out there,â he said. âThere are too many windows. They could be trying to throw torches through some of them. I need to be able to see better . . . but I need you to stay in here, too.â
He might still be able to collect the bounty if a stray slug cut her down, but he didnât want to run that risk.
âBe careful!â she told him, but he noticed that she didnât promise to do as he asked.
He paused long enough to reload both Remingtons. The revolvers, originally percussion weapons, had been converted for metallic cartridges by a top-notch gunsmith Luke knew, which certainly came in handy at moments like this when time was important.
With the cylinders of both guns full, Luke holstered the left-hand weapon and used that hand to open the door. He went through it in a low dive that landed him on the flagstone walk. He rolled over and came up on a knee as he drew the second gun again.
Some of the night riders were still concentrating their gunfire on the bunkhouse. The long, low structure had only small windows, and throwing torches through one of them would be almost impossible, especially with a gun-toting cowboy at each opening to discourage any of the raiders from getting too close.
No, the would-be arsonists were targeting the main house instead, and from the corner of his eye Luke saw flames again as two more torch-wielding riders raced toward the house. They were trying for windows at the end of the building this time.
Still on one knee, Luke twisted toward the raiders and triggered the Remingtons. One man dropped his torch, bent double, and grabbed at the saddlehorn to keep from toppling off his horse. The other raider kept coming, though, and drew back
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