Read Online Slaughter's way by John Thomas Edson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Thomas Edson
Ads: Link
between Scar and Trace, but the small man hardly gave it a glance. He aimed to try to reach the house where possibly he could hold oflE the two men until dark and make his escape during the night.
''Hold it, Taggertl" Slaughter snapped, Imiging up from the ground.
With a snarl that was part fear and part rage. Scar began to shoot. He held his Colt in his right hand, while the left came across in short, chopping motions which drove back and released the hammer. He gave no thought to his brother, only to his own escape, for his plan had failed and his catalogue of mistakes grown longer with each move he made. A man did not stay alive for long in the cattle-stealing business if he made too many mistakes and Scar Taggert's quota began to run out. Wildly fanning off his shots proved to be the mistake where the gods of chance called time on Taggert's career. Only a few, a very few, men could perform accurate shooting when fanning a gun, and then only at close ranges, and Taggert did not belong to that magic-handed few. Fanning was the fastest possible metiiod of emptying a single-action gun in the general
direction of a target, but it was mosdy pure luck if any of the bullets should happen to connect.
Lead sang through the air around Slaughter a5 he sprang away from the horses, trying to draw Taggert's fire away from them. Burned black powder smoke laid whirling eddies before Taggert, hiding him from view almost. Almost, but not quite. Slaughter fired at the vaguely defined shape behind the smoke, while Trace sighted on where he reckoned, from the position of Scar's feet, Taggert's body ought to be. Two aimed guns added their roars to the crashing of Scar Taggert's Colt The small man seemed to lift from the ground and fly back as two heavy bullets struck him. Spinning aroimd, he fanned one last shot into the ground, and followed the bullet down an instant later.
Silence fell like a pall on the range. John Slaughter and Washita Trace glanced at each other as the foreman rose to his feet. Neither relaxed and they both held their guns ready for use. Too many men had died because they failed to take such a precaution and relaxed after seeing a man go down, only to take his lead before they realized he was faking.
Moving forward. Slaughter glanced down at Bill's body, one quick look being all necessary to show there was no danger from that source. Nor from Scar, for the two bullets could have been covered by the width of a small palm, where in the left side of the chest and either on its own would have been fatal. On crossing to the barn. Trace checked on Zeke, looked down at him, then turned to face Slaughter.
"He's cashed, too," he said.
"Go round up their horses, Wash," Slaughter replied. "We'll take their bodies into town and hand them over to the sheriff."
There were some folks, armchair moralists, or intellectual thinkers, who might claim that Slaughter had no right to take the law into his own hands in such a manner. To the moralist or the intellectual every criminal wore a mantle of self-righteous glorification and was the ill-used, misunderstood victim of the rich minority's
grasping greed; a product of a heartless, iincarmg society; or the praiseworthy dupe of the circumstances who had been driven to a life of crime through no fault of his own, yet was prevented from tiuning honest again by the mean-minded, puritanical hypocrisy of the non-morahst and nonintellectual people of the world.
The Taggert brothers became thieves because they were too idle to work and thought stealing offered them the easiest way of gaining the comforts of life. Which, although no intellectual would believe it, was the reason most criminals took up a life of crime.
For all Slaughter had cared, the Taggerts might have lived out their lives in peace as his neighbors. While he knew of their pasts, he would not have let the knowledge affect his treatment of them—as long as they mended their ways, stayed honest and respected his rights and
''Hold it, Taggertl" Slaughter snapped, Imiging up from the ground.
With a snarl that was part fear and part rage. Scar began to shoot. He held his Colt in his right hand, while the left came across in short, chopping motions which drove back and released the hammer. He gave no thought to his brother, only to his own escape, for his plan had failed and his catalogue of mistakes grown longer with each move he made. A man did not stay alive for long in the cattle-stealing business if he made too many mistakes and Scar Taggert's quota began to run out. Wildly fanning off his shots proved to be the mistake where the gods of chance called time on Taggert's career. Only a few, a very few, men could perform accurate shooting when fanning a gun, and then only at close ranges, and Taggert did not belong to that magic-handed few. Fanning was the fastest possible metiiod of emptying a single-action gun in the general
direction of a target, but it was mosdy pure luck if any of the bullets should happen to connect.
Lead sang through the air around Slaughter a5 he sprang away from the horses, trying to draw Taggert's fire away from them. Burned black powder smoke laid whirling eddies before Taggert, hiding him from view almost. Almost, but not quite. Slaughter fired at the vaguely defined shape behind the smoke, while Trace sighted on where he reckoned, from the position of Scar's feet, Taggert's body ought to be. Two aimed guns added their roars to the crashing of Scar Taggert's Colt The small man seemed to lift from the ground and fly back as two heavy bullets struck him. Spinning aroimd, he fanned one last shot into the ground, and followed the bullet down an instant later.
Silence fell like a pall on the range. John Slaughter and Washita Trace glanced at each other as the foreman rose to his feet. Neither relaxed and they both held their guns ready for use. Too many men had died because they failed to take such a precaution and relaxed after seeing a man go down, only to take his lead before they realized he was faking.
Moving forward. Slaughter glanced down at Bill's body, one quick look being all necessary to show there was no danger from that source. Nor from Scar, for the two bullets could have been covered by the width of a small palm, where in the left side of the chest and either on its own would have been fatal. On crossing to the barn. Trace checked on Zeke, looked down at him, then turned to face Slaughter.
"He's cashed, too," he said.
"Go round up their horses, Wash," Slaughter replied. "We'll take their bodies into town and hand them over to the sheriff."
There were some folks, armchair moralists, or intellectual thinkers, who might claim that Slaughter had no right to take the law into his own hands in such a manner. To the moralist or the intellectual every criminal wore a mantle of self-righteous glorification and was the ill-used, misunderstood victim of the rich minority's
grasping greed; a product of a heartless, iincarmg society; or the praiseworthy dupe of the circumstances who had been driven to a life of crime through no fault of his own, yet was prevented from tiuning honest again by the mean-minded, puritanical hypocrisy of the non-morahst and nonintellectual people of the world.
The Taggert brothers became thieves because they were too idle to work and thought stealing offered them the easiest way of gaining the comforts of life. Which, although no intellectual would believe it, was the reason most criminals took up a life of crime.
For all Slaughter had cared, the Taggerts might have lived out their lives in peace as his neighbors. While he knew of their pasts, he would not have let the knowledge affect his treatment of them—as long as they mended their ways, stayed honest and respected his rights and
Similar Books
![Of Being Yours[another way 2]](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/458893/thumbs/152x264/of-being-yoursanother-way-2.jpg)
