was waiting, listening to the slow, even sound of that voice, and waiting for the one move ... the move to kill!
Staring, her heart going faint from the strain, Jacquine suddenly glimpsed something in Matt's fingers. He had brought one hand forward very slowly, so slowly that no mistake could be made, and now he held that bright, highly polished brass shell in his fingers, belt high. A brass cartridge shell, and he was toying with it casually, carelessly. The brass flashed in the bright sun, then flashed again.
He continued to walk, and she was trembling, fearful of the sudden crash of guns she just knew would come, but then she saw something else.
Spinner Johns was uneasy. He was trembling, he ... "What's Mattdoing ?" Barney whispered hoarsely. "What's got into him?"
No more than fifteen feet divided them now and Bardoul continued to walk, still playing with his bright brass shell. Thirteen ... eleven ... nine....
"God!" Barney said. "Look at Johns! Look at him sweat!"
It was true. The killer's lips were twitching, his hands trembling. Poised to draw, the slightest sound or wrong move might set him off, but he was tense now, riveted to his place as though fascinated by this tall man who walked on and on, endlessly.
Nobody had ever walked up to him like this! They would always stop, there would be a breathless instant... then the round of guns. With a kind of sick horror he saw Bardoul coming, nearer, nearer.
Jacquine had a hand to her mouth now. How could anything human stand the suspense? The strain? They were so close now that neither man could miss, they were...
The bright brass shell slipped from Mart's fingers and fell into the dust.
Half hypnotised, the Spinner's eyes followed it. Coolly then, Matt stooped as though to retrieve the shell, and then ... incredibly fast, he scooped up a handful of loose sand and flipped it with a quick motion into the Spinner's eyes!
Caught by the sudden movement, Johns took the full handful of sand in the face. Blinded, he staggered, then clawed wildly for a gun, but it was knocked spinning into the street before he could bring it high enough to shoot. Screaming with excess of fury, almost babbling in his insane rage, he clawed at his eyes with one hand and grabbed for his other gun with his left.
The left hand was struck aside with a blow that almost paralysed his arm, then a blow struck him in the pit of the stomach that knocked his wind out. He doubled up gasping but a powerful hand caught his collar and jerked him to his tip toes, and then, standing there in the street, Matt Bardoul proceeded to slap Johns until his face streamed with blood.
The first slap was a backhand blow across the mouth that split his lips, the second a hardened palm that smacked him across the ear, stunning him. Then blow after blow that rocked his head on his shoulders until it bobbed as loosely as a cork on a string.
One gun was still in its holster but every time he tried to grab for it the hand was knocked aside. Suddenly then, the six gun was jerked from its holster and tossed into the street. With a quick shift of hands. Matt caught the gunman by the shirt collar and belt, and swinging him off his feet, dropped him bodily into the waist deep water trough!
Johns went under the water, then came up, spitting and spluttering.
For a long moment, the street was breathless, and then somebody whooped, and suddenly the whole street was roaring with shouts and yells of laughter. Men slapped their legs and roared, then leaned weakly against each other, suddenly released from their tension, and roaring with appreciation. Matt Bardoul had walked up to one of the most feared gunmen in the west, slapped him silly and then dropped him into the water trough.
Had he killed him, the townspeople would have shrugged their shoulders and turned away, but this was something! This was a story to be told and retold! Spinner Johns slapped like a rag doll and then dropped into the trough!
Amid the laughter, Johns
Staring, her heart going faint from the strain, Jacquine suddenly glimpsed something in Matt's fingers. He had brought one hand forward very slowly, so slowly that no mistake could be made, and now he held that bright, highly polished brass shell in his fingers, belt high. A brass cartridge shell, and he was toying with it casually, carelessly. The brass flashed in the bright sun, then flashed again.
He continued to walk, and she was trembling, fearful of the sudden crash of guns she just knew would come, but then she saw something else.
Spinner Johns was uneasy. He was trembling, he ... "What's Mattdoing ?" Barney whispered hoarsely. "What's got into him?"
No more than fifteen feet divided them now and Bardoul continued to walk, still playing with his bright brass shell. Thirteen ... eleven ... nine....
"God!" Barney said. "Look at Johns! Look at him sweat!"
It was true. The killer's lips were twitching, his hands trembling. Poised to draw, the slightest sound or wrong move might set him off, but he was tense now, riveted to his place as though fascinated by this tall man who walked on and on, endlessly.
Nobody had ever walked up to him like this! They would always stop, there would be a breathless instant... then the round of guns. With a kind of sick horror he saw Bardoul coming, nearer, nearer.
Jacquine had a hand to her mouth now. How could anything human stand the suspense? The strain? They were so close now that neither man could miss, they were...
The bright brass shell slipped from Mart's fingers and fell into the dust.
Half hypnotised, the Spinner's eyes followed it. Coolly then, Matt stooped as though to retrieve the shell, and then ... incredibly fast, he scooped up a handful of loose sand and flipped it with a quick motion into the Spinner's eyes!
Caught by the sudden movement, Johns took the full handful of sand in the face. Blinded, he staggered, then clawed wildly for a gun, but it was knocked spinning into the street before he could bring it high enough to shoot. Screaming with excess of fury, almost babbling in his insane rage, he clawed at his eyes with one hand and grabbed for his other gun with his left.
The left hand was struck aside with a blow that almost paralysed his arm, then a blow struck him in the pit of the stomach that knocked his wind out. He doubled up gasping but a powerful hand caught his collar and jerked him to his tip toes, and then, standing there in the street, Matt Bardoul proceeded to slap Johns until his face streamed with blood.
The first slap was a backhand blow across the mouth that split his lips, the second a hardened palm that smacked him across the ear, stunning him. Then blow after blow that rocked his head on his shoulders until it bobbed as loosely as a cork on a string.
One gun was still in its holster but every time he tried to grab for it the hand was knocked aside. Suddenly then, the six gun was jerked from its holster and tossed into the street. With a quick shift of hands. Matt caught the gunman by the shirt collar and belt, and swinging him off his feet, dropped him bodily into the waist deep water trough!
Johns went under the water, then came up, spitting and spluttering.
For a long moment, the street was breathless, and then somebody whooped, and suddenly the whole street was roaring with shouts and yells of laughter. Men slapped their legs and roared, then leaned weakly against each other, suddenly released from their tension, and roaring with appreciation. Matt Bardoul had walked up to one of the most feared gunmen in the west, slapped him silly and then dropped him into the water trough.
Had he killed him, the townspeople would have shrugged their shoulders and turned away, but this was something! This was a story to be told and retold! Spinner Johns slapped like a rag doll and then dropped into the trough!
Amid the laughter, Johns
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