Read Online Shoot Angel! by Frederick H. Christian - Free Book Online Page A

and Capucci the
journey had become a nightmare. Their suffering was made the more unbearable
by Angel’s complete indifference. He simply led the way without a
word. Nothing appeared to worry him. His tireless, rangy physique
seemed to absorb all that the elements threw at him. His long legs
ate up the miles without pause.
    ‘ Hold
it!’ Angel rapped out, throwing up a hand for silence.
    Capucci, stubborn to the last,
rasped: ‘I
don’t hear nothing!’
    Angel said nothing. There was no need. Before
any of them had a chance to do a thing, three riders burst into
view over the crest of the slope just ahead of them. The riders and
horses were streaked with dust and sweat. Every man carried a
rifle, and as they spotted the three escapees they began to open
fire.
    ‘ Scatter!’ Angel yelled. He felt the vicious sting of a
bullet burn its way across the muscle of his left arm. He turned
and took long strides towards a scattering of rocks, moving in a
zigzag pattern. Bullets whacked the hard earth around him. Angel
blessed the fact that there weren’t many men who could score a hit
on a moving target from the back of a horse. Yet there was always
the lucky shot finding its mark. Angel took a long dive
groundwards. He let his body roll, paying no head to the bruising
it was receiving. As he wriggled in amongst the rocks he heard the
solid thwack of bullets gouging the protective stone. He curled up
at the base of a high boulder, reached down and slid out one of his
throwing-knives. Those bastards out there were looking for blood!
Well they could have some, but it damn well wasn’t going to be
Frank Angel’s!
    He caught sight of a large
shadow flitting across the rocks to one side of where he was
crouching. Angel watched the shadows grow larger as the rider
pushed his horse deeper into the rocks. He waited, estimating the
distance he was going to have to send his knife. Slowly Angel rose
to his feet as the horse ’s head appeared. His arm eased back in the final
seconds before the rider showed himself. The rider’s head was
already turning in Angel’s direction, eyes flickering in
recognition. The man tried desperately to bring his rifle over from
the far side of his body. By then Angel had already cast the knife.
It winked coldly in the bright sunlight as it flashed across the
empty space between Angel and his target. The rider uttered a
shallow cry as the hard steel bit into the muscle of his neck. He
let go of his rifle and tried to drag the offending blade from his
body. Blood streamed from the wound, staining his fingers, soaking
his shirt. As Angel approached the rider the man turned to stare at
him with eyes already glazing over. A frothy burst of blood erupted
from his loose mouth. Keeling over, the man toppled from his
saddle. Angel grabbed the loose reins of the skittish horse and
moved to tie it to a knob of rock close by. When he returned to
pick up the fallen rifle the man was dead. Angel retrieved his
knife and put it away. He unstrapped the man’s gun belt, put it on
and checked the heavy revolver. For a second Angel gazed at the
dead man, regret clouding his features for an instant.
    Leaving the horse, Angel moved
to the edge of the rocks. The other riders were still in sight,
firing at a mass of rocks. They weren ’t making any attempt at talking Birdy or
Capucci out. It seemed that Trench kept his word. He’d told Angel
back at the camp that anyone breaking the rules could expect to be
shot. Angel cocked the rifle. At least the rules were easy to
understand. He put the rifle to his shoulder and shot the closest
of the riders out of the saddle. The man hit the ground hard,
cursing loudly and obscenely. Angel had put a bullet through his
shoulder. The man rolled about on the ground, blood spurting from
the wound. The third rider yanked his horse about, searching for
the source of the shot. He spurred his horse forward, moving
towards Angel, as if he was immune to bullets. Angel levered
another round