Englishman' said easily. "I seldom carry a rifle."
Edge glanced back at the street, which was suddenly empty of live Apaches, the group having rode past, toward the fort. But there were at least a dozen near-naked, coppery brown bodies strewn in the dust, interspersed with as many dead white men and three women.
"There's a whole damn arsenal out there," Edge said as he fed more bullets into the Spencer's magazine.
"But they have such a violent kick," the Englishman said with distaste, grinning as Edge spun to look at him.
"You ain't that fastidious."
The Englishman's expression showed admiration. "A gunslinger with four-dollar words in his vocabulary. Rainbow surprises' me more and more."
Edge finished loading the rifle. "England ain't the only country with schools." He glanced out at the street. "What about that rifle? They'll be back through here."
The Englishman sighed. "Needs must when the devil drives, I suppose," he said, rose into a crouch and darted out toward the nearest discarded weapon. An arrow whistled through the flame-lit air, the noise of its travel cutting across the crackle of burning buildings. With the skill of a man experienced in such things the Englishman hit the ground, rolled over twice, snatched up the rifle and was on his feet and running back in a fast, fluid motion. The arrow thudded into the stock of the rifle. "You almost got me killed," he said with mock petulance as he crouched back in cover and started to pull out the arrow.
"Keep back, you idiot," Colonel Murray's voice barked from the saloon doorway. "They aren't finished yet."
"Strange creatures, Indians," the Englishman muttered in a conversational tone as he skillfully checked the load and action of the newly-acquired rifle. "So unsubtle."
On the roof of the restaurant across the street a man eased erect and loosed off a rifle shot. Something whistled through the air and the next moment the rifleman screamed and pitched forward, falling into the street, frantically trying to yank out a tomahawk that was sunk into his chest.
"But they can be effective," Edge rejoined as the thud of body on to sun-hardened ground ended the man's scream.
"That's only a three-dollar one," the Englishman said.
"Colonel?" Edge called.
"What is it?" came the answer.
"Did they reach the fort?"
"Not even near it. Must know they didn't stand a chance when the explosive wagon blew too early."
"Then why don't the critters get the hell out?'' another voice caned from across the street.
"This isn't the main attack," the colonel replied. "Probably trying to pick off asmany of us as they can to make it easier later. Now cut out the talk and watch out for them."
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling of flames and whimpering of a woman. Edge looked away from the street down to the other end of the alley where a flatbed wagon was standing. An outside stairway canted up the wall of the side of the saloon and he rose and moved stealthily toward it
"Where are you going?" the Englishman whispered.
"Alleys have got two ends and I've only got one pair of eyes," Edge answered, starting up the stairway.
"Above and coming down!" the Englishman hissed.
Edge snapped his eyes up and saw the Indian leaping off the roof, tomahawk raised for the kill. Clearly silhouetted against the sky streaked with black smoke. Edge turned and fell full length on the stairs, whipping up the Spencer and squeezing the trigger. The force of the bullet smashing into the brave’s forehead twisted his falling body and it corkscrewed to thud headfirst into the alley. Edge pulled himself into a sitting position and glared down at the Englishman.
"All you had to do was pull the trigger."
The Englishman grinned. "You tested me in the saloon, old boy. You're rather fast yourself."
Edge grunted, got to his feet and went up the remainder of the steps, sensing rather than hearing the progress of the Englishman behind him. The gambler could move like a cat. At the top
Edge glanced back at the street, which was suddenly empty of live Apaches, the group having rode past, toward the fort. But there were at least a dozen near-naked, coppery brown bodies strewn in the dust, interspersed with as many dead white men and three women.
"There's a whole damn arsenal out there," Edge said as he fed more bullets into the Spencer's magazine.
"But they have such a violent kick," the Englishman said with distaste, grinning as Edge spun to look at him.
"You ain't that fastidious."
The Englishman's expression showed admiration. "A gunslinger with four-dollar words in his vocabulary. Rainbow surprises' me more and more."
Edge finished loading the rifle. "England ain't the only country with schools." He glanced out at the street. "What about that rifle? They'll be back through here."
The Englishman sighed. "Needs must when the devil drives, I suppose," he said, rose into a crouch and darted out toward the nearest discarded weapon. An arrow whistled through the flame-lit air, the noise of its travel cutting across the crackle of burning buildings. With the skill of a man experienced in such things the Englishman hit the ground, rolled over twice, snatched up the rifle and was on his feet and running back in a fast, fluid motion. The arrow thudded into the stock of the rifle. "You almost got me killed," he said with mock petulance as he crouched back in cover and started to pull out the arrow.
"Keep back, you idiot," Colonel Murray's voice barked from the saloon doorway. "They aren't finished yet."
"Strange creatures, Indians," the Englishman muttered in a conversational tone as he skillfully checked the load and action of the newly-acquired rifle. "So unsubtle."
On the roof of the restaurant across the street a man eased erect and loosed off a rifle shot. Something whistled through the air and the next moment the rifleman screamed and pitched forward, falling into the street, frantically trying to yank out a tomahawk that was sunk into his chest.
"But they can be effective," Edge rejoined as the thud of body on to sun-hardened ground ended the man's scream.
"That's only a three-dollar one," the Englishman said.
"Colonel?" Edge called.
"What is it?" came the answer.
"Did they reach the fort?"
"Not even near it. Must know they didn't stand a chance when the explosive wagon blew too early."
"Then why don't the critters get the hell out?'' another voice caned from across the street.
"This isn't the main attack," the colonel replied. "Probably trying to pick off asmany of us as they can to make it easier later. Now cut out the talk and watch out for them."
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling of flames and whimpering of a woman. Edge looked away from the street down to the other end of the alley where a flatbed wagon was standing. An outside stairway canted up the wall of the side of the saloon and he rose and moved stealthily toward it
"Where are you going?" the Englishman whispered.
"Alleys have got two ends and I've only got one pair of eyes," Edge answered, starting up the stairway.
"Above and coming down!" the Englishman hissed.
Edge snapped his eyes up and saw the Indian leaping off the roof, tomahawk raised for the kill. Clearly silhouetted against the sky streaked with black smoke. Edge turned and fell full length on the stairs, whipping up the Spencer and squeezing the trigger. The force of the bullet smashing into the brave’s forehead twisted his falling body and it corkscrewed to thud headfirst into the alley. Edge pulled himself into a sitting position and glared down at the Englishman.
"All you had to do was pull the trigger."
The Englishman grinned. "You tested me in the saloon, old boy. You're rather fast yourself."
Edge grunted, got to his feet and went up the remainder of the steps, sensing rather than hearing the progress of the Englishman behind him. The gambler could move like a cat. At the top
Similar Books
