Read Online Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden by J. Lee Butts - Free Book Online
Authors: J. Lee Butts
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like a July 4th whizbang.
As if agreed on by some unknowable method of communication that Nate and I didnât have the perverted power to hear, Mordecai made a grab for the brace of Remington .44-40s dangling from his paunchy waist.
Split second later, his stupid brother Darius did the same.
The gape-mouthed, brain-numbed Dolphus appeared oblivious to what was happening. Of a sudden, the scene started moving amazingly fast and damned slow at the same time.
Dolphus continued to grin like the village idiot when I touched off the round that caught Mordecai dead center. Bullet bored through the big bone in the manâs chest, blasted out his back, and splattered a gob of blood and bone the size of a three-pound cannonball all over the wall behind him.
Amazed hell out me that, in spite of the death-dealing blow, ole Mort still managed to keep himself upright, get his strong-side pistol barrel free of the lip of its holster, and fire at least two wild shots into the top of the table. Then, the man began to collapse in on himself like a newspaper house sitting out in a rainstorm.
Knew full well that Mordecai Staine was on the way to being dead when he started sagging. Quickly turned my attention on Darius. Jacked another round into the Winchester about the same instant Nate cut loose with both barrels of that amputated ten-gauge popper of his.
My partner held the monstrous blaster hip high. His carefully placed discharge sent a murderous cloud of heavy-gauge, buzzing buckshot pellets that slapped into Darius just above his pistol belt. Same bedsheet sized veil of gray death nailed the drooping Mordecai right in the top of his anvil-thick head. Canvas and pine wall behind those two boys rattled and shook like a field of dry corn in a cyclone as those pieces of shot not stopped by their bodies flew past and sizzled through cloth and wood.
Bottles atop the Staine brothersâ table shattered and flew into thousands of glittering shards that sliced into all three of those skunks like tiny, flying, glass knives. Blistering curtain of lead hit them in a wave, as if theyâd been swarmed by a nest of teased hornets. Darius and the near-dead Mordecai let out individual screeches of shocked pain that hit the ear as though theyâd all come from a single man.
Instantaneous spray of blood, bone, rendered flesh, and chewed-up clothing filled the air in a misted spray of gory steam. Unnerving blast knocked the brothers backward, into a wooden section of the wall, as if God himself had reached down from Heaven and slapped the hell out of them. Their limp bodies bounced off the sap-dripping pine boards and dropped to the floor, one atop the other, in a gore-stained heap.
Thunderous report from Nateâs weapon ran ahead of a shock wave of roiling dust that wafted across the jointâs filthy floor. Powdery grit swelled and rose up all around us in the manner of water on a storm-tossed lake. Only took about half a second for the inside of Blackâs roadhouse to assume something akin to the look and smell of a place where a herd of buffalo had stampeded through.
Staggered, clearly stunned and amazed by the unfolding events, and bleeding from numerous minor wounds caused by the flying glass, a wide-eyed Dolphus Staine stared at his fallen brothers in stunned wonderment. After several seconds of gaping at the corpses, he glanced down at the blood leaking onto his shirt front and sleeves, then turned on me.
âWhachu lawmenâs went and done? You done went anâ kilt my brothers, thatâs what. Got Ammighty, thatâs what, fer sure. Well, by God Iâm gonna . . .â
Surprised hell out of me then, and still amazes me today, how quick with a pistol that half-brained son of a bitch was. I saw the weapon flash into his hand. And though I didnât want it, he forced me to drop the hammer on a round that hit him in the right elbow, as he brought the shooter up to fire. Man yelped like a kicked
As if agreed on by some unknowable method of communication that Nate and I didnât have the perverted power to hear, Mordecai made a grab for the brace of Remington .44-40s dangling from his paunchy waist.
Split second later, his stupid brother Darius did the same.
The gape-mouthed, brain-numbed Dolphus appeared oblivious to what was happening. Of a sudden, the scene started moving amazingly fast and damned slow at the same time.
Dolphus continued to grin like the village idiot when I touched off the round that caught Mordecai dead center. Bullet bored through the big bone in the manâs chest, blasted out his back, and splattered a gob of blood and bone the size of a three-pound cannonball all over the wall behind him.
Amazed hell out me that, in spite of the death-dealing blow, ole Mort still managed to keep himself upright, get his strong-side pistol barrel free of the lip of its holster, and fire at least two wild shots into the top of the table. Then, the man began to collapse in on himself like a newspaper house sitting out in a rainstorm.
Knew full well that Mordecai Staine was on the way to being dead when he started sagging. Quickly turned my attention on Darius. Jacked another round into the Winchester about the same instant Nate cut loose with both barrels of that amputated ten-gauge popper of his.
My partner held the monstrous blaster hip high. His carefully placed discharge sent a murderous cloud of heavy-gauge, buzzing buckshot pellets that slapped into Darius just above his pistol belt. Same bedsheet sized veil of gray death nailed the drooping Mordecai right in the top of his anvil-thick head. Canvas and pine wall behind those two boys rattled and shook like a field of dry corn in a cyclone as those pieces of shot not stopped by their bodies flew past and sizzled through cloth and wood.
Bottles atop the Staine brothersâ table shattered and flew into thousands of glittering shards that sliced into all three of those skunks like tiny, flying, glass knives. Blistering curtain of lead hit them in a wave, as if theyâd been swarmed by a nest of teased hornets. Darius and the near-dead Mordecai let out individual screeches of shocked pain that hit the ear as though theyâd all come from a single man.
Instantaneous spray of blood, bone, rendered flesh, and chewed-up clothing filled the air in a misted spray of gory steam. Unnerving blast knocked the brothers backward, into a wooden section of the wall, as if God himself had reached down from Heaven and slapped the hell out of them. Their limp bodies bounced off the sap-dripping pine boards and dropped to the floor, one atop the other, in a gore-stained heap.
Thunderous report from Nateâs weapon ran ahead of a shock wave of roiling dust that wafted across the jointâs filthy floor. Powdery grit swelled and rose up all around us in the manner of water on a storm-tossed lake. Only took about half a second for the inside of Blackâs roadhouse to assume something akin to the look and smell of a place where a herd of buffalo had stampeded through.
Staggered, clearly stunned and amazed by the unfolding events, and bleeding from numerous minor wounds caused by the flying glass, a wide-eyed Dolphus Staine stared at his fallen brothers in stunned wonderment. After several seconds of gaping at the corpses, he glanced down at the blood leaking onto his shirt front and sleeves, then turned on me.
âWhachu lawmenâs went and done? You done went anâ kilt my brothers, thatâs what. Got Ammighty, thatâs what, fer sure. Well, by God Iâm gonna . . .â
Surprised hell out of me then, and still amazes me today, how quick with a pistol that half-brained son of a bitch was. I saw the weapon flash into his hand. And though I didnât want it, he forced me to drop the hammer on a round that hit him in the right elbow, as he brought the shooter up to fire. Man yelped like a kicked
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