Under the Stars and Bars by J. T. Edson Read Free Book Online Page A

the ground, the hat lay with its star-in-the-circle insignia facing the ford.
    ‘Greetings, brother,’ the gaunt man intoned, swinging from his saddle and allowing his reins to dangle free.
    ‘Howdy,’ replied the scout, watching the other three dismount, leave their horses ground-hitched and follow their leader on foot towards him.
    ‘Brother Aaron here saw you in dire trouble and need, brother,’ the gaunt man continued, indicating the middle-sized of the trio. ‘And, like the Good Samaritan, we’ve come to give you succour.’
    ‘Now that’s right neighbourly of you,’ the scout answered, ‘whatever that there “sucker” might be. Only I’m not needing any, thanks.’
    ‘Brother Aaron told us that this transgressor had you prisoner,’ the spokesman for the quartet declared as they came to a halt. ‘It was our duty as God-fearful men to come to your rescue.’
    ‘Why I’m tolerable obliged to you, reverend,’ the scout exclaimed in respect-filled tones. ‘And I sure hope you’re around happen I ever come to need rescuing.’
    ‘I tell you the peckerwood had him took prisoner, Parson!’ Aaron snarled.
    ‘Looks that way,’ said the scout, ‘don’t it?’
    Fooled by the long-haired scout’s appearance of youth and confident that the odds were all in his favour, Aaron pushed by the gaunt man. Scowling belligerently, in a manner which had caused more than one victim to show alarm and fright, the man continued with his accusations and stepped closer to the scout.
    ‘That Reb bastard had your guns and was making you do what he wanted. Which’s why I fetched the Par—’
    ‘Meaning I’m a liar?’ asked the scout mildly.
    ‘You might say that!’ agreed Aaron, right hand moving suggestively in the direction of his holstered Remington Army revolver.
    Instantly all the mildness left the scout and he once again demonstrated that he could move with considerable speed despite his size. Gliding forward a long step, he swung his left hand almost faster than the eye could follow. With a crack like the pop of a freight-driver’s whip, the hard palm of his hand caught Aaron at the side of the head. Having received a blow from the scout, Dusty could almost feel sympathy for Aaron. Coming as a surprise, and with considerable force, the attack spun the hard-case around in a circle to blunder into the smallest of his companions as the others started to move forward.
    Spitting out a vicious curse, the biggest of the party grabbed for his Starr Navy revolver. Going by his response to the threat, the scout had been in other such situations. He responded with the same alacrity which had characterised all of his movements since taking advantage of Dusty’s distraction. Although his left hand had been put to excellent use, the right had remained by his side. Turning palm out the fingers wrapped about the hand-fitting white curves of the off-side Colt’s butt, while the thumb curled over the hammer spur. Twisting the gun from its silk retainer, the scout turned its seven-and-a-half inch barrel to the left, then outwards. Doing so caused the weapon’s thirty-eight ounce weight to cock back with hammer without any effort on the scout’s part. From waist level, the .36 muzzle lined itself with unerring precision at the hard-case’s favourite navel.
    From first to very rapidly-following last, the whole move had been made with smooth, lightning fast, precision. Bringing his down-dropping hand to a quivering halt, a good three inches from the butt of the Starr, the burly hard-case stared as if fascinated at the octagonal-barrelled revolver pointing so unerringly at him.
    Dull red crept on to ‘Parson’s’ gaunt face and his eyes glowed with cold, savage rage; but he stopped his hand in its cross-the-body motion, well clear of his revolver. On separating, the remainder of the new arrivals glowered hate. The only movement made by their hands was the middle-sized man’s involuntary raising of his fingers to gently