Read Online Shotgun by Courtney Joyner - Free Book Online

regarded the corpses for a moment, and then looked to the heavens for a sign, a message. The dog down the street started barking again.
    Howard said, “The end’s comin’ no matter what I do. Might as well enjoy it, I guess. First, help me bury these fellas.”
    Chaney said, “They’re dead. What difference does it make what happens to them now?”
    Howard threw one of the corpses over his shoulder. “That’s what I’ve been sayin’ to you , jackass.”

CHAPTER NINE
    Eyes of the Dead
    Creed sat command-high on his chestnut horse, doing a blind man’s inspection of the shotgun rig, pulling the trigger line, and testing the straps that secured it. He shucked the spent shells, holding the gun next to his ear, snapping it shut, listening for rattles. There were none. He measured the stock with his palms, then ran his thumbs over the end of the barrel for sharp edges or sloppy job where it was sawed off. He gave his silent approval of the gunsmith.
    Creed held the rig out in front of him, sensing its weight. “Just move your arm and it fires?”
    Bishop’s words were a strain, even as White Fox spread cinnamon oil on his lips with her index finger so he could speak. “My shoulders.”
    â€œDo all the work yourself ?”
    â€œThere was a smith, followed my design.”
    â€œDamn clever, but that’s you, Dr. Bishop.”
    Creed hung the rig on the saddle horn, while dropping from his tall horse. The chestnut sensed Creed’s every move before he made it and adjusted, patiently helping his blind master.
    Creed scratched behind the horse’s ears, “Where’s the boy?”
    â€œHere, sir.”
    The straw-haired boy led him around the dead, the smoky kerosene pools, and the bloody snow, to the little clump of trees where Bishop was lying. White Fox, next to him, rose up on her knees, but her hands were always on Bishop’s chest, protecting him.
    One of Creed’s men shouted, “She’s startin’ somethin’ !”
    Bishop said, “No, she’s not. And you men don’t either.”
    Creed was standing over Bishop now, and the doctor’s gaze locked on to Creed’s amber glasses. Creed cocked his head, sensing the moment, and nodded to Bishop in formal recognition. Spread out a few feet behind, Creed’s men casually waited to shoot, guns resting on hips but with hammers back.
    Creed said, “Let me see that thing she was after.”
    Bishop said, “Your men need to stand down.”
    â€œApparently, you didn’t leave many.”
    â€œI see a lot of guns.”
    Creed ordered, “Holster weapons!”
    Some of the men obeyed. The one bleeding from the head didn’t and Bishop said, “There’s still one.”
    â€œAnd always will be. You fought a good fight, but you’re my prisoners, Doctor. Maybe you better explain to her just what that means.”
    White Fox said, “I know.”
    â€œThen toss away that pistol you had aimed at me.”
    She threw the gun, with Creed listening for it to land in a bank of snow with a pillowed thud.
    Creed said, “I’m entitled to inspect all spoils, even if I can only see them with my hands. Your latest invention, Doctor, the one that saved your life.”
    â€œShe saved my life.”
    Creed laughed, “Bullshit. Go ahead, boy.”
    The boy reached down for the breathing device lying next to White Fox, then stopped. Her eyes cut him.
    He swallowed. “Ma’am.”
    Bishop asked, “What’s your name, son?”
    â€œHector Price, sir.”
    White Fox kept her other hand hidden in the field kit, clamped around a scalpel. Bishop squeezed her arm, and she let the knife go.
    Bishop said, “It’s all right. Otséeme .”
    She smiled to herself at being called “brave” and handed the device to Hector, who held it out so Creed could turn the small box over and over, fingers