Read Online Funeral By The Sea by George G. Gilman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George G. Gilman
Tags: Western
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‘Get after the bastard that killed her! Every man! Get the horses and ride! Bring my horse out here! Move your stinking asses!’
The strain of holding his head around became too much for Barnaby Gold and he faced front again, allowed his chin to sink to his bare chest. Heard running footfalls that diminished as the Americans raced toward the stable block at the rear of the house.
‘You and you!’ Delroy snarled. ‘Take my sister into the house! You and you, cut that man down and lock him in the basement! Gold, can you hear me?’
‘I hear you.’
‘If you think you’ve just got lucky, forget it! As soon as that murderer has got what he has coming, we’ll be back! To hang you!’
Horses were thudding their hooves outside the stable block and snorting their eagerness for exercise.
Delroy swaggered away, snarling for the men to hurry up.
Two knife-wielding Mexicans mounted the steps to either side of Gold and first cut the ropes that held his ankles. A third man gripped him around the waist from behind and kept him from crumpling when his legs failed to support him after the wrist bonds were released.
‘Our regrets, señor this man said softly. It was the bartender from the cantina. ‘We must do as we are ordered or all of us will suffer.’
Gold did not trust himself to speak for fear that the sense of elation that transcended pain would find an outlet in tears. So he merely nodded his understanding and gratefully accepted the support of all three men as he was helped down the steps.
Saw two other men carrying the corpse of Eve Delroy up them. Noticed that one of them had closed her eyes.
The vastly diminished gathering in front of the house now comprised only of Mexicans, and the whores watched in stunned silence.
Behind him, men cursed at their mounts and the horses lunged into a gallop. Then he was steered around the corner of the house and halted beside the basement access that jutted out from the frame wall. The bartender slid the two bolts along their brackets and raised the two trapdoors. Steps led down into cool darkness.
His bare feet were raised and lowered over the lip of the access. Then his entire pain-wracked body, held by the armpits until his head was below the level of the trapdoors.
‘We will pray for your deliverance, señor,’ one of the three promised tenderly.
‘Although the constant prayers for our own have never been answered,’ another warned bitterly.
‘Appreciate it,’ Gold managed to rasp as the doors were folded together above his head.
The bolts were shot home and the footfalls of the three Mexicans retreated. Cool, silent darkness enclosed the prisoner as he lay on the wooden steps, older pains still too intense for him to be aware of the fresh discomfort as the stair treads dug into his back.
He was unable to judge the passing of time. Knew it was still running out for him and that he had been granted a period of limited freedom in which to assess the possibility of another escape bid - quite literally a stay of execution. But he also knew that he had to take some time to partially recover from the punishment he had received, that if he tried to stagger to freedom on unreliable legs following a plan suggested by a mind under constant assault from searing agony, he was doomed to a second failure.
So he rested without the slightest movement for awhile. Then he gently flexed his muscles. Next eased tentatively into a sitting posture on the lower step, rose and tested his ability to walk.
Once he was almost sick, but managed to swallow the bile and subdue the threat of vomit.
The basement was under just part of the house and he walked around its walls three times - the first occasion with great care, in case there was anything blocking his path.
Agony diminished to hurting. His head felt like it was set to ache for a very long time. Above his right ear there was a large bruise, with blood congealed in the hair which covered it. His throat was
‘Get after the bastard that killed her! Every man! Get the horses and ride! Bring my horse out here! Move your stinking asses!’
The strain of holding his head around became too much for Barnaby Gold and he faced front again, allowed his chin to sink to his bare chest. Heard running footfalls that diminished as the Americans raced toward the stable block at the rear of the house.
‘You and you!’ Delroy snarled. ‘Take my sister into the house! You and you, cut that man down and lock him in the basement! Gold, can you hear me?’
‘I hear you.’
‘If you think you’ve just got lucky, forget it! As soon as that murderer has got what he has coming, we’ll be back! To hang you!’
Horses were thudding their hooves outside the stable block and snorting their eagerness for exercise.
Delroy swaggered away, snarling for the men to hurry up.
Two knife-wielding Mexicans mounted the steps to either side of Gold and first cut the ropes that held his ankles. A third man gripped him around the waist from behind and kept him from crumpling when his legs failed to support him after the wrist bonds were released.
‘Our regrets, señor this man said softly. It was the bartender from the cantina. ‘We must do as we are ordered or all of us will suffer.’
Gold did not trust himself to speak for fear that the sense of elation that transcended pain would find an outlet in tears. So he merely nodded his understanding and gratefully accepted the support of all three men as he was helped down the steps.
Saw two other men carrying the corpse of Eve Delroy up them. Noticed that one of them had closed her eyes.
The vastly diminished gathering in front of the house now comprised only of Mexicans, and the whores watched in stunned silence.
Behind him, men cursed at their mounts and the horses lunged into a gallop. Then he was steered around the corner of the house and halted beside the basement access that jutted out from the frame wall. The bartender slid the two bolts along their brackets and raised the two trapdoors. Steps led down into cool darkness.
His bare feet were raised and lowered over the lip of the access. Then his entire pain-wracked body, held by the armpits until his head was below the level of the trapdoors.
‘We will pray for your deliverance, señor,’ one of the three promised tenderly.
‘Although the constant prayers for our own have never been answered,’ another warned bitterly.
‘Appreciate it,’ Gold managed to rasp as the doors were folded together above his head.
The bolts were shot home and the footfalls of the three Mexicans retreated. Cool, silent darkness enclosed the prisoner as he lay on the wooden steps, older pains still too intense for him to be aware of the fresh discomfort as the stair treads dug into his back.
He was unable to judge the passing of time. Knew it was still running out for him and that he had been granted a period of limited freedom in which to assess the possibility of another escape bid - quite literally a stay of execution. But he also knew that he had to take some time to partially recover from the punishment he had received, that if he tried to stagger to freedom on unreliable legs following a plan suggested by a mind under constant assault from searing agony, he was doomed to a second failure.
So he rested without the slightest movement for awhile. Then he gently flexed his muscles. Next eased tentatively into a sitting posture on the lower step, rose and tested his ability to walk.
Once he was almost sick, but managed to swallow the bile and subdue the threat of vomit.
The basement was under just part of the house and he walked around its walls three times - the first occasion with great care, in case there was anything blocking his path.
Agony diminished to hurting. His head felt like it was set to ache for a very long time. Above his right ear there was a large bruise, with blood congealed in the hair which covered it. His throat was
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