Read Online Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden by J. Lee Butts - Free Book Online Page A

dog.
    Levered another hot round into the Winchester’s receiver, as Dolphus’s weapon fell to the floor and bounced near his foot.
    To this very instant, I couldn’t testify in one of Judge Parker’s court trials as to where the second handgun came from. Heard Nate yell out a warning, but I’m not sure whether I blinked when Dolphus pulled the weapon from a holster at his back, and I just flat missed it, or maybe, at the time, I had it figured as how he was done and didn’t pay strict enough attention, or what. But he for damned sure came up with another pistol from somewhere. Ripped off a blue whistler that hissed so close to my ear I could feel the heat and smell the bullet as it zipped past, kept going, and punched a hole in the wall behind me.
    Still trying my level best just to cripple the lamebrain when my second slug caught him in the left hip just above his pants pocket. Heavy chunk of lead knocked the man around on his heels like a drunken ballet dancer. He ricocheted off the wall. Then, still half twirling, half stumbling, he managed to rip off another shot my direction. Behind me, at almost the exact same instant, I heard Nate yelp, and a sound like someone had hit a handful of the keys on the piano with a closed fist.
    Off balance, and about to go to one knee, Dolphus fired a third time. Sent a slug into the boards not two inches in front of my right foot. Geyser of stinging splinters flew up and caught me in the thigh. That’s when I had to completely give up on any chance of taking him alive.
    Brought the rifle to my shoulder. Snapped off a final shot. Bullet hit the crazed bastard above the right eye. It bored through his skull, knocked his hat off, and flung a glob of brain matter on the wall atop the gory mess already put there by Nate’s blasting of his brothers.
    Dolphus went limp. Dropped like a hundred-pound sack of seed thrown from a freight wagon. Made a final, odd, wheezing sound, rolled onto one side, and, I swear before Jesus, still managed to thumb off a final, closing, wild shot that blew the toe off his own foot.
    Then, an ear ringing silence fell around me as if someone had tossed a winter blanket over the entirety of Black’s scabrous roadhouse. Acrid-tasting, spent, black powder hung in the air along with the sickly sweet, coppery smell and taste of freely flowing blood. Squinted into the roiling cloud of gun smoke. With one hand, I kept the Winchester leveled on the pile of wasted humanity in the corner. With the other, reached down and pawed at the stinging leg wound.
    Still picking at my prickly, splintery injury when I heard Nate say, “Cain’t damned believe it, Tilden. That bug nutty son of a bitch put a hole in me.”
    Jerked my head around and saw my friend sitting in the middle of the floor, back propped against the piano. Legs outstretched, it appeared as though he’d gone down hard. A clawlike hand covered an oozing wound in his right side, just above his pistol belt.
    Hobbled over to him, knelt down, stiff-legged, and laid the Winchester on the floor. “Got to let me get a look at your new vent, Nate,” I said, then pulled his grasping, blood-dripping fingers aside.
    He grinned, then said, “Don’t think she’s all that bad, Hayden. But she’s damn sure leakin’ right smart and burns like the dickens.”
    Jerked the tail of his shirt out of his pants. Puckered, black-rimmed hole in the fleshy part of the boy’s side was as big around as my thumb. Pulled him toward me and yanked the shirt up in the back. Pleased to find that the bullet had gone all the way through. Knew he’d be fine soon as I saw what had transpired. Have to admit, though, he was lucky, real damned lucky.
    Patted his shoulder and said, “Well, you can talk with God tonight and thank him, Nate. Bullet doesn’t appear to have hit anything important. Couple inches lower, though, you would’ve spent the rest of your life