The Desperado by Clifton Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

knew Pappy Garret
didn't have a chance.
    I watched the sleeping gunman as those thoughts went through my mind.
Pappy's face was relaxed now and I could see the deep lines of
incredible weariness around his eyes and mouth. He looked as if he
hadn't slept for days. I knew that he hadn't slept for years. Not real
sleep. But now he lay like a log, numbed with weariness and comforted
with hot food in his belly. He didn't look like a killer to me. He
looked like an old man—very old and very tired—who couldn't hold his
eyes open any longer.
    Ray was coming up on Pappy's left, moving silently. In just a minute
it would be over, if Pappy made a move for his guns. He would be able
to sleep then—the long sleep that lasted forever.
    The shout, when it came, startled me as much as anybody. It came
high-pitched and loud and I hardly recognized it as my own.
    “Pappy, look out!”
    I lurched up to my feet. I don't know what I thought I was going to
do then. It was too late to do anything but to stand there,
half-crouched, and watch.
    If I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have believed it. I never could
entirely believe it when I watched Pappy handle guns. And you wouldn't
believe that a man like Pappy could come awake as quick as he did, or
that a man could move as fast. It all happened so fast that you
couldn't be sure where the movement started and where it ended. He
flipped over on his stomach and rolled on his right side, and his right
hand started plunging down to his holster before my first word was out.
Ray was almost on top of him. His .44 was already out and cocked, and
Ray was the man who could put two holes in a tossed-up can before it
hit the ground. But by the time he got his second shot off this time,
it was too late.
    Ray Novak's first bullet slammed into Pappy's saddle, where his head
had been only an instant before. Before he could thumb the hammer and
press the trigger again, Pappy's own deadly .44 had bellowed. Pappy lay
on his side, firing across his body. He must have drawn the gun and
cocked it while he was flopping over, but it looked as if it had been
in his hand all the time. One bullet was all he used.
    I still hadn't moved. I stood there in that frozen half-crouch
waiting for Ray Novak to go down. When Pappy fired only once, I knew it
was over. He got to his knees and slowly lifted himself to his feet,
darting a glance in my direction.
    He said mildly, “Just unbuckle your pistol, son, and kick it over
here.”
    I slipped the buckle on my cartridge belt and dropped it. Then I
kicked it toward Pappy. But the thing that held me fascinated was Ray
Novak. He was still standing. He wasn't even swaying. Then I saw that
his gun hand was empty and I began to understand what had happened.
    It hadn't been anything as fancy as shooting a man's gun out of his
hand. Not even Pappy Garret could have done that, shooting as fast as
he had, from the position he had been in. He had shot to kill, but the
bullet had nicked Ray's forearm, making him drop the gun.
    I lost any suspicion I had about Ray Novak's guts. He had plenty.
There was nothing he could do now but stand there and wait for Pappy to
finish him off. But he didn't flinch, or beg, or anything else. He just
stood there, staring into those pale gray eyes of Pappy Garret's, while
bright red blood dripped from his fingers and splashed in a little pool
at his feet.
    “What are you waiting on, Garret?” he said. “Why don't you go ahead
and finish it?”
    Pappy smiled that tired half-smile of his. He said softly, “I
wouldn't waste another bullet on you. If I decide to kill you, I'll
beat your brains out with a pistol butt. Now get the hell out of here
before I do it.”
    Ray Novak's face burned a bright red. For a moment he didn't move.
Then Pappy started toward him, slowly, holding his .44 like a club.
    Ray said, “I'll get you, Garret. There won't always be carpetbag law
in this country. And then I'll get you, if it's