Read Online Robert B. Parker's Blackjack by Robert Knott - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Knott
Tags: United States, Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Mystery, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Westerns
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we rode closer there was a flash from a north-facing window followed by a rifle report. A bullet ricocheted off the road just behind us. A quick second shot was fired and it hit Skinny Jack, knocking him to the ground and sending his horse running off back the way we came.
17.
M ore gunshots followed, one after another, after another. The shots appeared to all come from one rifle, from the north-facing window.
Virgil moved off the road quick to the right. I turned in the opposite direction. The shooter was focused, aiming on me as I moved quickly. The shots were coming in close, but I managed to get behind an outcropping of low rock near the side of the road.
I slid from my horse and tied off on a thick juniper and pulled my Winchester from the scabbard.
From where I was positioned, I could see Virgil; he was still riding off at a fast pace behind a rise that separated him from direct sight of the way station. When he dropped to the other side he pulled up and dismounted.
I stayed low to the ground, where I had protection from low boulders and brush, as I inched back out toward the road and Skinny Jack. I could see the way station’s window through the brush, and for a moment the shooting subsided.
Skinny Jack lay facedown, motionless in the middle of the rutted thoroughfare, with both of his arms under his body.
“Skinny Jack,” I said.
Skinny Jack moaned.
“Where are you hit?”
“Everett?”
“I’m here.”
He moaned again but did not move.
“Everett?”
“Just stay put, I’m coming to get you.”
He moaned again.
“Where are you hit?”
There was no reply.
“Skinny Jack?” I said.
Again, there was no reply.
I turned my focus back to the way station’s window and saw movement and a hint of light reflect from the barrel of the rifle in the window. Then it was gone.
I looked over and could see Virgil. He was crouched low to the ground and moving up the rise in front of him with his rifle.
“Virgil,” I called out.
He looked in my direction.
I pointed to Skinny Jack down in the road, then pointed to myself and back to Skinny Jack.
Virgil nodded.
“Coming to get you, Skinny Jack,” I said.
Virgil positioned himself with his rifle ready.
“Just hang on, Skinny Jack. Hang on.”
Virgil held up his hand, and when he dropped it he began firing on the way station’s window.
I crawled out quickly and pulled Skinny Jack off to the side of theroad and behind the rocks. Once Virgil saw we were off the road he quit firing, sat back, and reloaded.
I turned Skinny Jack over. He was staring up at me. He grabbed my arm and squeezed. He looked down to his chest, where there was blood.
I took out my knife and split open the front of his shirt and found the bullet had entered just to the side of his heart.
“Everett?”
“I’m here.”
“Everett?”
“Yes, Skinny Jack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just hold on, Skinny Jack, hold on . . .”
He looked down at the blood, then laid his head back, looking up at me. He lifted his head off the ground.
“Everett?” he said.
“Yeah, Skinny Jack?”
He spit blood and then squeezed my arm.
“Do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Kill the sonofabitch that killed me.”
His head dropped back in the dirt, and he breathed in his last breath and died staring up at me.
I looked up at Virgil across the road and he was looking at me. I shook my head.
Virgil lowered his chin to his chest.
I closed Skinny Jack’s eyes and sat back on my boots and looked at his young face for a long moment.
“Goddamn it . . .” I said. “Goddamn it.”
I rested Skinny Jack’s hat across his face, then moved toward the bush at the edge of the large rock that separated me from the waystation. I got flat on the ground with my Winchester and leveled it through the scrub bush toward the station window. I rested the rifle’s barrel through the bush on a solid piece of branch in front of me, giving me a steady bead, and flipped up my back sight.
I figured
17.
M ore gunshots followed, one after another, after another. The shots appeared to all come from one rifle, from the north-facing window.
Virgil moved off the road quick to the right. I turned in the opposite direction. The shooter was focused, aiming on me as I moved quickly. The shots were coming in close, but I managed to get behind an outcropping of low rock near the side of the road.
I slid from my horse and tied off on a thick juniper and pulled my Winchester from the scabbard.
From where I was positioned, I could see Virgil; he was still riding off at a fast pace behind a rise that separated him from direct sight of the way station. When he dropped to the other side he pulled up and dismounted.
I stayed low to the ground, where I had protection from low boulders and brush, as I inched back out toward the road and Skinny Jack. I could see the way station’s window through the brush, and for a moment the shooting subsided.
Skinny Jack lay facedown, motionless in the middle of the rutted thoroughfare, with both of his arms under his body.
“Skinny Jack,” I said.
Skinny Jack moaned.
“Where are you hit?”
“Everett?”
“I’m here.”
He moaned again but did not move.
“Everett?”
“Just stay put, I’m coming to get you.”
He moaned again.
“Where are you hit?”
There was no reply.
“Skinny Jack?” I said.
Again, there was no reply.
I turned my focus back to the way station’s window and saw movement and a hint of light reflect from the barrel of the rifle in the window. Then it was gone.
I looked over and could see Virgil. He was crouched low to the ground and moving up the rise in front of him with his rifle.
“Virgil,” I called out.
He looked in my direction.
I pointed to Skinny Jack down in the road, then pointed to myself and back to Skinny Jack.
Virgil nodded.
“Coming to get you, Skinny Jack,” I said.
Virgil positioned himself with his rifle ready.
“Just hang on, Skinny Jack. Hang on.”
Virgil held up his hand, and when he dropped it he began firing on the way station’s window.
I crawled out quickly and pulled Skinny Jack off to the side of theroad and behind the rocks. Once Virgil saw we were off the road he quit firing, sat back, and reloaded.
I turned Skinny Jack over. He was staring up at me. He grabbed my arm and squeezed. He looked down to his chest, where there was blood.
I took out my knife and split open the front of his shirt and found the bullet had entered just to the side of his heart.
“Everett?”
“I’m here.”
“Everett?”
“Yes, Skinny Jack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just hold on, Skinny Jack, hold on . . .”
He looked down at the blood, then laid his head back, looking up at me. He lifted his head off the ground.
“Everett?” he said.
“Yeah, Skinny Jack?”
He spit blood and then squeezed my arm.
“Do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Kill the sonofabitch that killed me.”
His head dropped back in the dirt, and he breathed in his last breath and died staring up at me.
I looked up at Virgil across the road and he was looking at me. I shook my head.
Virgil lowered his chin to his chest.
I closed Skinny Jack’s eyes and sat back on my boots and looked at his young face for a long moment.
“Goddamn it . . .” I said. “Goddamn it.”
I rested Skinny Jack’s hat across his face, then moved toward the bush at the edge of the large rock that separated me from the waystation. I got flat on the ground with my Winchester and leveled it through the scrub bush toward the station window. I rested the rifle’s barrel through the bush on a solid piece of branch in front of me, giving me a steady bead, and flipped up my back sight.
I figured
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