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Authors: Larry D. Sweazy
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his remaining strength, he jumped at Clarmont, who was already halfway to his knees.
Josiah only wanted one thing now: Clarmontâs rifle.
The rifle looked to be a Spencer repeating carbine, in which case, if Josiah was right and the man had a fully loaded the rifle, he would have seven shots to protect himself and flee.
There was no mistaking that Liam OâReilly and the Comanche brothers were not far behind.
Tackling the man was another risk, another gamble, but it was the only option Josiah had. A rock against a gang of men was less than practical. He needed a gun to protect himself.
Clarmont fell to the ground with a heavy thud, now silent. More footsteps followed down the hall past the hotel kitchen, and two more men pushed out the door. One of them was holding a blazing torch, trying to see what was going on. The other one had a new model â73 Winchester in each hand, cocked and ready.
Josiah had judged the motion and gravity of the tackle correctly when he dove at Clarmont, and he was able to grab the Spencer before it hit the ground.
And as he rolled, all of the action had loosened the rope on his wrists, and it fell away completely with one final hearty shake, freeing his hands once and for all.
In a quick series of maneuvers, Josiah was up in a squat position and firing the first round, catching the man with the two Winchesters square in the right shoulder.
The man fell back into the hotel, knocked back partially by the force of the shot, but also by his own will, realizing that the upper hand was no longer theirs, since Clarmont was lying on the ground, nothing more than a mound of lifeless flesh, his lifeblood quickly draining out of the gaping hole in his headâand Josiah now possessed a rifle of equal power.
For good measure, Josiah fired off another shot. His aim was certain, catching the man just above the ankle, fully eliminating his ability to give chase.
The man with the torch also jumped back into the hall, tossing the flaming club toward Josiah.
Josiah dodged the flame and realized that in freeing his own hands, the man was set on taking up one of the fallen Winchesters.
There was a gang rushing the hall behind the injured man, and a rousing crowd had fallen out into the street in front of the hotel in search of the latest round of trouble to befall Comanche.
A fire bell clanged, and in the distance, a trio of dogs started barking. And to add to the chaos, there were more rising voices, screams and shouts and orders, and the sound of gathering horses.
Josiah took a deep breath, then turned and ran toward the edge of the darkness as fast as he could, trying with all of his might to ignore the growing pain from the gunshot wound in his calf and the weariness that was rapidly draining his energy.
His failing physical capacity was being overridden by the heavy rush of fear that had settled in him, along with the strong need to survive, with the warning of certain death or something worse: recapture by the Comanche and Liam OâReillyâs gang of men.
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A solid wall of black clouds hid the moon. Pain ran up Josiahâs leg like it was venom from a rattlesnake bite. Sweat from exertion, fear, and pain mixed and dripped onto his lips, reminding him of his thirst, of his need to find someplace to hide.
Buildings were nothing more than shadows, and there was no way he was going to rush into a house with a burning lamp set in the window, causing more fear and unwelcome attention. He wanted to avoid human contact at all costs.
There was still a rise of orders and furious movement behind him, in the center of town and surrounding the Darcy Hotel.
Josiah worried about the little girl, certain he would be responsible for her nightmares once her head hit the pillow and sleep swept her away from the violent world she walked in during the day.
Running full out at night came with its own causes for serious concern.
A hole could take him down, making him an easy capture
Josiah only wanted one thing now: Clarmontâs rifle.
The rifle looked to be a Spencer repeating carbine, in which case, if Josiah was right and the man had a fully loaded the rifle, he would have seven shots to protect himself and flee.
There was no mistaking that Liam OâReilly and the Comanche brothers were not far behind.
Tackling the man was another risk, another gamble, but it was the only option Josiah had. A rock against a gang of men was less than practical. He needed a gun to protect himself.
Clarmont fell to the ground with a heavy thud, now silent. More footsteps followed down the hall past the hotel kitchen, and two more men pushed out the door. One of them was holding a blazing torch, trying to see what was going on. The other one had a new model â73 Winchester in each hand, cocked and ready.
Josiah had judged the motion and gravity of the tackle correctly when he dove at Clarmont, and he was able to grab the Spencer before it hit the ground.
And as he rolled, all of the action had loosened the rope on his wrists, and it fell away completely with one final hearty shake, freeing his hands once and for all.
In a quick series of maneuvers, Josiah was up in a squat position and firing the first round, catching the man with the two Winchesters square in the right shoulder.
The man fell back into the hotel, knocked back partially by the force of the shot, but also by his own will, realizing that the upper hand was no longer theirs, since Clarmont was lying on the ground, nothing more than a mound of lifeless flesh, his lifeblood quickly draining out of the gaping hole in his headâand Josiah now possessed a rifle of equal power.
For good measure, Josiah fired off another shot. His aim was certain, catching the man just above the ankle, fully eliminating his ability to give chase.
The man with the torch also jumped back into the hall, tossing the flaming club toward Josiah.
Josiah dodged the flame and realized that in freeing his own hands, the man was set on taking up one of the fallen Winchesters.
There was a gang rushing the hall behind the injured man, and a rousing crowd had fallen out into the street in front of the hotel in search of the latest round of trouble to befall Comanche.
A fire bell clanged, and in the distance, a trio of dogs started barking. And to add to the chaos, there were more rising voices, screams and shouts and orders, and the sound of gathering horses.
Josiah took a deep breath, then turned and ran toward the edge of the darkness as fast as he could, trying with all of his might to ignore the growing pain from the gunshot wound in his calf and the weariness that was rapidly draining his energy.
His failing physical capacity was being overridden by the heavy rush of fear that had settled in him, along with the strong need to survive, with the warning of certain death or something worse: recapture by the Comanche and Liam OâReillyâs gang of men.
Â
Â
A solid wall of black clouds hid the moon. Pain ran up Josiahâs leg like it was venom from a rattlesnake bite. Sweat from exertion, fear, and pain mixed and dripped onto his lips, reminding him of his thirst, of his need to find someplace to hide.
Buildings were nothing more than shadows, and there was no way he was going to rush into a house with a burning lamp set in the window, causing more fear and unwelcome attention. He wanted to avoid human contact at all costs.
There was still a rise of orders and furious movement behind him, in the center of town and surrounding the Darcy Hotel.
Josiah worried about the little girl, certain he would be responsible for her nightmares once her head hit the pillow and sleep swept her away from the violent world she walked in during the day.
Running full out at night came with its own causes for serious concern.
A hole could take him down, making him an easy capture
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