The Devil’s Laughter: A Lou Prophet Novel by Peter Brandvold Read Free Book Online Page B

one of the dead banditos over.
    Prophet recocked the Colt as Louisa drew both of hers and waited for hell to pop.

5
    CAPTAIN CHACIN KEPT his own carbine on his saddlebow as he shouted, swinging his head around,
“¡Parada! ¡Parada! ¡Lleve a cabo su fuego!”
    Stop! Stop! Hold your fire!
    All the horses were fidgety now, stomping, and the Rurales all had to keep them in check with a taut hand on the reins. The corporal whom Prophet had wounded lay in the mud, writhing and clutching his bloody thigh. When the other Rurales had lowered their rifles, Chacin gave Prophet a hard sidelong look then rode over to the wounded corporal, shook his head, then extended his Winchester carbine one-handed. The corporal’s dark eyes doubled in size when he saw the rifle aimed at his head.
    â€œNo,
el Capitan
!”
    Chacin’s carbine belched. The corporal had raised a hand as though to shield his head from the bullet. The bullet tore a hole through the open hand before plowing through the man’s brain plate then exiting his right ear and splashing into a mud puddle, instantly turning the puddle a milky red. The corporal flopped onto his back, shaking, while theother Rurales looked in horror from their captain to the dead man.
    Chacin set his Winchester back atop his saddlebow and looked at Prophet in disgust. “See what you make me do?”
    Prophet wasn’t at all surprised that Chacin had put the man down like a rabid dog. A wounded rider would have complicated his life, and life was complicated enough on the Mexican frontier.
    â€œYou want me to say I’m sorry?” Prophet asked, keeping his cocked Colt raised and waving it around slightly at the Rurales astraddle their agitated horses.
    Louisa held both her cocked pistols on the short, fat, curly-headed sergeant groaning on the ground before her, grimacing up at her and muttering Spanish curses through his teeth. Tightly, out the corner of her mouth, she said, “Let’s kill them all, Lou. Starting with this one here.”
    The sergeant’s eyes widened. He glanced over his shoulder at Captain Chacin, who smiled with only his mouth, showing those fangs again. “All right, all right—perhaps it is time for us all to calm down and discuss the situation like reasonable men . . . and, uh, women.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Prophet said, aiming the Colt at Chacin now. “We got nothin’ to discuss. I’ve gone into business with you for the last time, Jorge. I don’t give a shit how many men you got up here in old Sonory. There’s only five of you now, and me and my partner here got the drop on you. If you don’t take this ragtag bunch and ride out the same way you came in, pronto, we’ll do it her way.”
    Chacin stared back at Prophet for a long time. Save for the blowing and occasional stomping of the horses and the chirping of the morning birds, a tense silence fell over the group. Frieri kept both hands on his crotch, scowling warily over his shoulder at Chacin, knowing that in his defenseless condition, if the lead started flying, he’d surely be first to have his wick trimmed.
    The captain’s chin jutted. His leathery cheeks dimpled above his mustache and goatee, and his face turned a darkerred as he neck-reined his Arabian cross around. Without saying anything, he put the steel to the Arab’s flanks and galloped out of the yard. The other Rurales looked from Prophet to Louisa to the dead man on the ground, their faces hard but wary under their sombreros’ wide brims.
    They reined around and followed the stiff-backed captain out of the yard. Frieri muttered something shrilly, then, casting his fearful gaze at Prophet and the Vengeance Queen, gained his feet, wincing, and ran over to the steeldust stallion ground-tied but prancing around behind him. Cursing and grunting, he hauled himself awkwardly into the saddle. Keeping one hand on his bruised oysters,