Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 by Bernard Schaffer Read Free Book Online

a couple nice used pieces over here in the case.”
     
    Bob followed the man and bent down to look behind the glass.   “The one on the left’s a Colt Defender.   Good, up-close weapon.   It’s an older model, but some people still swear by them.”
     
    Bob looked at the gun next to it and jabbed his finger against the glass, “That one.”
     
    The clerk reached in and grabbed the gun’s handle, “Course.   All you kids want the Defeater.   Considered by many to be the finest six-gun ever made.”   The clerk cocked the hammer back and laid the gun on the glass, “Used by outlaws and lawmen alike.”
     
    Bob picked up the gun and held it in the air, aiming down the sights.   “I’ll take this one.”
     
    “Sounds good to me,” the clerk said, “I need to make room anyway.”   The clerk’s voice dropped conspiratorially and he said, “Just got something new in.”
     
    “New?” Bob said.  
     
    The clerk nodded.   “It’s all kind of hush-hush because we only got a few and the manufacturer wants us to use ‘em for displays.   When people see these things, shoot…they’re gonna go crazy.”
     
    “What is it?”
     
    “All right, come on back and I’ll show you,” the clerk said.   He opened the counter’s swing door and waved for Bob to follow him.   In the back room, he reached for a pine box on the counter that had the words Colt Devastator etched into the lid.   He opened the box and showed gun the sleek black weapon inside.     
     
    Bob looked down in silence for a long time until he said, “This is the gun I need.”   
     
    “I know, partner.   You and everybody else.   Like I said, there’s gonna be a stampede.   It’s gonna make all the people carrying those Defeaters around look like schoolchildren.”
     
    “No, I mean, this is the gun I need right now.”
     
    The clerk shook his head and closed the lid.   He went to put it back up on the shelf and Bob shook the bag of money at him, “You can have all of this.   I don’t care.”
     
    “It’s not for sale.”  
     
    “Of course it is.   This is a gun store, you said you had more of them.   Sell me that one!”
     
    “Listen, I made a mistake in showing you this.   Now let’s go back out front and you can get that Defeater and be on your way.   I shouldn’t have anyone back here like this anyway.”
     
    “So why did you?” Bob said.  
     
    “Because you look like a nice young man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and I figured you’d enjoy seeing it.   Now come on,” he said.   The clerk grabbed Bob by the arm to pull him toward the door.   For a skinny arm, it felt tight and wiry, like a coiled spring.   Not the limp, weak limb he’d expected.  
     
    Bob pulled his arm back from the man and whirled the heavy bag of coins at the man’s head, cracking him across the temple.   The man cried out as he fell, clutching the side of his face, and Bob grabbed him by the shirt collar.   “Wouldn’t hurt a fly?” he said.   He swung the bag onto the top of the man’s head again, driving him to the ground.   He looked around the storage room as the clerk lay there whimpering, and found a heavy metal crowbar.   “My name is Bob Ford, and people like you are going to stop underestimating me, mister.”       
     

 
        
     
    Chapter 6: The Grind Wheel
     
     
     
    Betsy Clayton woke up to the sound of squalling.   She leapt out of her bed and raced into the baby’s room to see Claire sitting up in her crib, pulling on her hair.   She picked the child up and laid her on her shoulder, patting her back gently and rocking her side to side.   “Sam?” she said.   “Can you fetch me a bottle from the ice chest?”
     
    There was no response.   She carried the baby through the dimly-lit house back to her bedroom and looked in.   The bed was empty.  
     
    Betsy carried her daughter into the kitchen and opened the ice chest with one hand, using her hip to prop the door open