The Holy Warrior by Gilbert Morris Read Free Book Online Page A

putting the knife on the table beside his winnings. Extracting a few bills from the pouch, he handed them to Chris.
    “I’ll buy the stones, Canby,” Chris offered.
    “Done!” Canby grabbed the money, and Chris took the pearls from Doucett and placed them carefully in the pouch he’d taken from his pocket. Canby threw his leather cubes, and smiled at the result. “Beat that, breed!”
    Doucett carelessly picked up the cubes, tossed them to the table contemptuously—and a strangled cry rose from Canby’s lips as he stared at the dice.
    “Looks like you lost, Canby,” Con remarked quietly. He saw something in the man’s unwavering stare he didn’t like, so he said smoothly, “Fellers, let’s us be gittin’ to bed. We got to be outta here early in the morning.”
    “Well, you got plenty of money for the trip,” Knox grinned as Frenchie raked the cash into his sack. With a short laugh, Knox rose to his feet, which were a bit unsteady from the whiskey. He looked at Canby and remembered the taunt the man had given him. “Looks like you’re the baby here, Canby. I never seen a man took so easy as—hey! Look out...!”
    Even the quick-eyed Con was taken off guard. Maddened by his loss, Canby was driven over the edge by Knox’s needling.He plunged his hand into his coat and pulled out a pistol. Doucett saw it and threw himself to the floor.
    But Canby had other plans. The pistol lined up, and the click of the pistol being cocked hit the nerves of every man in the room. Knox was frozen in place, staring down the barrel of the gun, certain he was a dead man. Canby couldn’t miss—not at this range.
    The shot never touched him. The pistol exploded, but the ball went into the ceiling as Canby fell backward, grabbing at the knife that was buried in his chest.
    Laurence Conrad had seen many things in his lifetime, but nothing like this. He told Doucett later, “That Christmas Winslow—he’s like a cat! He seen that pistol come out, grabbed my Green River blade off the table and planted it smack in that feller’s middle! I was still standin’ there, tryin’ to move—and you was still wallowin’ under the table. I tell you, Frenchie, a strikin’ rattler is slow as mud next to that feller!”
    The room exploded into a chorus of shouts. The innkeeper rushed over from behind the bar and bent over Canby, who had grown still. When the man looked up, his face was pale. “He’s dead. You fellers had best get outta here. He’s got friends over in the next town—and a bad pair of brothers. They’ll be comin’ for you.”
    “Self-defense,” one man spoke up quickly.
    “His brothers won’t buy that—and you know it, Griffin,” the innkeeper said. “They’re a rough bunch—set a store by family. Better git!”
    “Come on.” Conrad reached down and calmly jerked the knife from Canby’s body, then pulled at Knox. They gathered their rifles and walked out of the tavern. When they were out of earshot, he said, “We gotta git you outta here, Chris!”
    “Got nowhere to go—but you men don’t need to hang around.”
    Knox protested, “I’m not leaving you—and that’s final!”
    They argued with Chris, but he only replied wearily, “I can die here as well as anywhere.”
    Finally Conrad said angrily, “Chris, you’re gonna have to git away! It’ll mean trouble for Rev. Greene if you stay.”
    That caught Chris’s attention. “Hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted.
    “Come home, Chris!” Knox pleaded. The violence of the scene had sobered him, and his eyes appealed more eloquently than words ever could.
    “No, I’m not going home, and that’s final!”
    Con stared at him intently, then spoke. “Well, that leaves it up to us, I reckon. We’ll load you in the wagon and take you up the Missouri. The Sioux will take care of you—and won’t charge a cent for the buryin’!”
    Chris lifted his head and allowed his thoughts to wash over him. Even this prospect was better than the humiliation