A Lust For Lead by Robert Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

however violently he raged, he knew that he would never be good enough for them again.
His life had been meaningless since he had lost his right hand, up until now.
The door swung open and Whisperer appeared from the shadows. ‘Shall I leave you a moment alone?’ he asked sardonically.
Buchanan snarled a terse reply.
‘We have work to do,’ the occultist reminded him sternly. ‘Colonel Hartshorne wishes to speak with you.’
‘Of course he does.’
Nathaniel was in his study, the same room in which he had received Shane earlier in the day. He reclined in a cloth-covered armchair, sipping fine cognac which, as always, he refused to share with Buchanan.
‘How is he?’ he enquired.
‘How is who?’
‘You know who.’ Nathaniel said firmly.
‘Shane is fine. Miserable, but then he always was a gloomy cuss.’
‘Do you think he’ll fight tomorrow?’
‘Of course he will.’ Buchanan had no doubt. ‘His soul belongs to them. If he dies, they’ll take him. He knows that; it’s why he hasn’t put up a fight yet. Besides, he wants to be here. He just won’t admit it.’
‘It’s been six years. I doubt he’s even practiced at all. You’re certain he’s still got what it takes?’
‘Six years or sixty, it makes no difference.’ Buchanan replied with certainty. ‘Shane was the best. He always will be. He’ll be a bit rusty, that’s for sure, but even at his worst he’s still more than a match for anyone here.’
‘Including Chastity?’
Buchanan paused. Even he had respect for the girl’s talent. ‘Your girl’s good, Nathaniel, I’ll grant you that, but what she’s got doesn’t compare to the kind of skill that develops over time and with practice. My money’s still on Shane.’
Nathaniel grinned. ‘I find the loyalty you have for him very touching.’
‘Fuck you! The fact that Shane beat me is all the proof you need that he’s as good as I say he is. You wanted bait; they want him! Just be sure you’re ready when the time comes.’
‘We’ll be ready.’ Nathaniel assured him. ‘Our trap is set.’

Chapter 5
    The Babson ranch was a fair spread with a two-storey house, half a dozen sheds and two bunkhouses. George Babson had worked fifteen years to build it into what it was, and he would lose it all in just a single night of violence.
Shane and Buchanan had left their horses among the trees on the far side of the rise and proceeded the rest of the way on foot. It was a dark and moonless night and they moved silently across the low ground, communicating solely through a system of coded whistles which, when heard from a distance, sounded like nothing more ominous than the wind.
Babson had posted guards. Two men walked solitary patrols and a third sat on a rocking chair on the front porch, a shotgun cradled in his lap. Babson’s money had bought him loyalty, but not quality. The man on the porch was asleep and the other two had fallen into routine, as bored men were prone to do.
Shane and Buchanan dropped to a crouch in the tall grasses and Buchanan signalled that he would cut around back. Shane whistled agreement and remained where he was while Buchanan scrambled off into the darkness. The next time they met, Benedict Hunte would be dead and they would be enemies again. Shane looked forward to it. He had come to recognise Buchanan as a man whose skills were equal to his own, and he was eager to test himself against him in combat.
A period of time passed in which the guards walked two circuits of their patrol, each time treading exactly the same path. By the time Buchanan gave the signal that he was in position, Shane had planned his attack. He crept quietly to a shack near the edge of the ranch and waited in the darkness. Soon enough, one of the guards walked past him. He was a young man, not yet old enough to grow a proper beard. He did not see Shane but searched in his pockets and drew out a cheroot. Shane struck him from behind while he was trying to light it, clubbing him across the back of