Read Online Lookout Hill (9781101606735) by Ralph W. Cotton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ralph W. Cotton
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the ass-end out of a running wildcat—pardon my language,” Siebert said, rising to his feet, dusting the seat of his trousers.
“Dudley Bryant,” said the man, introducing himself. “Don’t be saying nothing like a wildcat’s ass in front of the woman,” he warned. “She can’t see worth spit. But she’ll swing a broom handle on you if she hears blackguarding of any kind.”
“She’ll hear none from me,” Siebert assured the man. “Can I pick up my gun now?”
“Yes, you can, brother Howard,” the man said. “Big…Little, both of yas get back,” he commanded the growling dogs. “Let this man pick his gun up.”
Brother Howard…?
Siebert just looked at him. As he stood up from grabbing his Colt, Dudley Bryant leaned in close to him with the lamp and smiled at the gun from behind a thick white mustache.
“Say, now, brother Howard,” he said, “is that possibly an 1862 Navy Colt Conversion?”
“You’re good, brother Dudley.” said Siebert. “It is that.” As he spoke, he turned the gun back and forth in his hand and held it between them, pointed loosely at the ground. “This one has the custom Eagle handle grip.”
“The eagle holding the snake in its beak and talon?” the man asked, looking excited at the prospect.
“Right you are again, brother Dudley,” said Siebert,impressed. “I think I’m in the presence of a man who knows his Colts.”
The white mustache spread wide in a smile.
“May I, then?” he asked, his thick hand stretched out toward the pistol.
“Of course,” said Siebert, handing him the Colt. “I’ll hold your shotgun and lamp.”
The two exchanged guns and Siebert took the lamp.
“My, my, brother Howard,” said Dudley, looking the gun over good. “What I wouldn’t give for a huckleberry like this.” He turned the gun in his hand and held it out to Siebert.
Siebert took the gun and looked down at it, still holding the shotgun and lamp in his left hand.
“Addle-brained as it sounds, I can hardly ever remember if this gun is a five- or a six-shot,” he said.
“That’s not so addle-brained,” said Dudley Bryant. “I’ve seen both, you know.”
“My goodness, you are right again!” said Siebert. “Aren’t you just
the one
!” He grinned and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Dudley Bryant in the heart at a distance of two feet. Fire and smoke puffed on his shirt. He staggered backward, a stunned look on his face.
Siebert swung the shotgun toward the two dogs as they went into a fit of growling and barking. The big dog had crouched for a leap at him. But two fast blasts from the shotgun silenced both dogs at once.
He turned his face back and forth on the night air, searching for any power from the killing—nothing. Disappointed again, he walked toward the house, toward the sound of the black mare crying out in thenight. When he found her, she stood nickering and thrashing against her reins, the juniper bush she was tied to stuck firmly between two rocks.
“Look at you now, idiot,” Siebert said, stepping in to free up her reins. “You’re damn lucky I even want to fool with you—the way you’ve treated me.”
As he settled the mare and untangled its reins, he looked toward the house and saw a figure step out onto the porch.
“Dudley?” a woman called out in a shaken voice.
Siebert grinned to himself and said in a mock voice, “Dudley ain’t talking.”
“Well, who are you?” she asked. “I heard shooting. Where’s the dogs? What’s going on?”
“One thing at a time, ma’am,” said Siebert, leading the mare toward the house, the lamp raised in his hand. “Your dogs nearly ate me alive. Dudley said you can’t see much, but you’re a fair hand with a needle and thread?”
“He’s right, I am,” the woman said. She paused and looked all around in the darkness. “I don’t like this at all. Where is he anyway?”
“You’d better be good, ma’am,” Siebert said menacingly. “I don’t want you stitching
“Dudley Bryant,” said the man, introducing himself. “Don’t be saying nothing like a wildcat’s ass in front of the woman,” he warned. “She can’t see worth spit. But she’ll swing a broom handle on you if she hears blackguarding of any kind.”
“She’ll hear none from me,” Siebert assured the man. “Can I pick up my gun now?”
“Yes, you can, brother Howard,” the man said. “Big…Little, both of yas get back,” he commanded the growling dogs. “Let this man pick his gun up.”
Brother Howard…?
Siebert just looked at him. As he stood up from grabbing his Colt, Dudley Bryant leaned in close to him with the lamp and smiled at the gun from behind a thick white mustache.
“Say, now, brother Howard,” he said, “is that possibly an 1862 Navy Colt Conversion?”
“You’re good, brother Dudley.” said Siebert. “It is that.” As he spoke, he turned the gun back and forth in his hand and held it between them, pointed loosely at the ground. “This one has the custom Eagle handle grip.”
“The eagle holding the snake in its beak and talon?” the man asked, looking excited at the prospect.
“Right you are again, brother Dudley,” said Siebert,impressed. “I think I’m in the presence of a man who knows his Colts.”
The white mustache spread wide in a smile.
“May I, then?” he asked, his thick hand stretched out toward the pistol.
“Of course,” said Siebert, handing him the Colt. “I’ll hold your shotgun and lamp.”
The two exchanged guns and Siebert took the lamp.
“My, my, brother Howard,” said Dudley, looking the gun over good. “What I wouldn’t give for a huckleberry like this.” He turned the gun in his hand and held it out to Siebert.
Siebert took the gun and looked down at it, still holding the shotgun and lamp in his left hand.
“Addle-brained as it sounds, I can hardly ever remember if this gun is a five- or a six-shot,” he said.
“That’s not so addle-brained,” said Dudley Bryant. “I’ve seen both, you know.”
“My goodness, you are right again!” said Siebert. “Aren’t you just
the one
!” He grinned and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Dudley Bryant in the heart at a distance of two feet. Fire and smoke puffed on his shirt. He staggered backward, a stunned look on his face.
Siebert swung the shotgun toward the two dogs as they went into a fit of growling and barking. The big dog had crouched for a leap at him. But two fast blasts from the shotgun silenced both dogs at once.
He turned his face back and forth on the night air, searching for any power from the killing—nothing. Disappointed again, he walked toward the house, toward the sound of the black mare crying out in thenight. When he found her, she stood nickering and thrashing against her reins, the juniper bush she was tied to stuck firmly between two rocks.
“Look at you now, idiot,” Siebert said, stepping in to free up her reins. “You’re damn lucky I even want to fool with you—the way you’ve treated me.”
As he settled the mare and untangled its reins, he looked toward the house and saw a figure step out onto the porch.
“Dudley?” a woman called out in a shaken voice.
Siebert grinned to himself and said in a mock voice, “Dudley ain’t talking.”
“Well, who are you?” she asked. “I heard shooting. Where’s the dogs? What’s going on?”
“One thing at a time, ma’am,” said Siebert, leading the mare toward the house, the lamp raised in his hand. “Your dogs nearly ate me alive. Dudley said you can’t see much, but you’re a fair hand with a needle and thread?”
“He’s right, I am,” the woman said. She paused and looked all around in the darkness. “I don’t like this at all. Where is he anyway?”
“You’d better be good, ma’am,” Siebert said menacingly. “I don’t want you stitching
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