Death In Helltown by John Legg Read Free Book Online Page A

mosey on before that time comes,” Bloodworth said with a chuckle.
     
    **  **  **  **  **
     
    When they got to Clay Center, Bloodworth was glad to see Edith. He hadn’t realized that he had missed her until now. She seemed pleased that he was there. Though she thought it unseemly to have him spend the night at her hotel, they did partake of a fine repast after Bloodworth had a bath and shave.
    The next morning, Bloodworth helped Edith onto the stage with a bit less fanfare than he had in Dodge, and when he clambered up onto the seat beside Adcock, the driver grinned. “Might happy to see that gal, ain’t you.”
    “You just mind your own damn business,” Bloodworth said gruffly. Then he laughed. “But I reckon you’re right.”
    “Thought so.” He grinned again. “C’mon, horses, let’s git ahead.”
                 
    **  **  **  **  **
     
    They seemed to come out of nowhere. Three of them, the lower half of their faces covered in bandannas, materialized from behind a clump of cottonwoods.
    “Damn. Shit and damn!” Adcock muttered as he jerked on the reins.
    Bloodworth cocked the two hammers of the shotgun. But before he could bring the weapon the bear, the three men separated. Two went around to the right side of the carriage. One dismounted and headed for the coach. The other stayed on his horse, pistol held loosely in his hand, not pointing at anyone.
    “Toss that scattergun down there, pal,” the one who remained in front said. “The pistol, too.”
    Bloodworth considered that for a moment, but Adcock whispered, “Don’t. It ain’t worth getting’ us killed for. And you sure as hell don’t want that lady of yours catchin’ a bullet.”
    Bloodworth sighed, pointed the shotgun’s muzzle skyward, and eased the hammers down. He pitched the weapon to the ground, then slid his pistol carefully out and threw it over the side as well.
    “Now hand over the box you’re carryin’.”
    Behind him Bloodworth could hear the passengers filing out of the coach, and the unmounted outlaw demanding their valuables. As he bent to retrieve the strongbox carrying mail and a few hundred dollars from a bank in St. Joe to pay some local cowhands, Bloodworth noticed a fourth man. This one was off to the left, just on the edge of the trees along the river, watching.
    Bloodworth considered grabbing the pistol he kept on the wagon floor, but then decided it would not be wise.
    “Let’s not take all the day, pal,” the outlaw warned.
    Bloodworth grabbed the box and tossed it onto the ground. Then he heard one of the female passengers say, “No, you can’t have that. My husband…”
    “Just hand it over, lady,” the outlaw there said.
    “Take your hands off her, you bastard,” one of the male passengers said.
    Then there was a gunshot. As Bloodworth reached down and grabbed the pistol, two more shots rang out, and a woman screamed. He whirled and shot the man in front, once in the chin and once in the stomach. He jumped off the coach, cursing with the jolt to his bad leg, and fired. He hit the mounted outlaw, who was trying to flee, in the back. The man slumped forward as the horse raced off across the prairie.
    A shot whizzed by Bloodworth’s head and he dropped to one knee. The outlaw who was robbing the passengers let loose another shot that just missed and thudded into the side of the coach.
    Behind Bloodworth, Adcock was fighting to hold the frightened, wildly whinnying horses in check. Bloodworth snapped off the final three shots in his pistol, the bullets driving the outlaw backward a few steps as they punched holes in his chest.
    Another shot came from behind him and he whirled in time to see Adcock slump to the side. “Son of a…”
    The horses bolted. Bloodworth jammed the empty pistol into his holster and took off running, cursing his lame leg. But he managed to grab hold of the boot and after being dragged along several yards, was able to haul himself up by the strength of his