belly, making it hard for him to breathe.
The Kid got his hands on the lapels of Levesy’s expensive jacket, bunched his fingers in the material, and heaved hard to the side, sending Levesy rolling through the dust.
His gunmen weren’t shooting toward the middle of the street where their boss was, but one of them had to swerve his charging horse aside to avoid trampling Levesy. Bullets coming from both sides of the street zipped through the air. The Kid knew he was in as much danger of being hit by a shot fired by one of the defenders as he was from Levesy’s men.
He lunged after Levesy and swung a fist, landing the blow so solidly it seemed for a second Levesy’s head was going to turn all the way around on his neck. The punch knocked him senseless. The Kid scooped him up, draped him over a shoulder, and made a run for the Trailblazer Saloon.
“He’s got the boss!” one of the hired killers shouted. “Get him!”
Hoofbeats thundered right behind The Kid as a couple men closed in on him.
Constance stepped out through the bat wings and yelled, “Get down, Morgan!” as she pointed her shotgun at the pursuers.
The Kid hit the dirt in front of the boardwalk as Constance touched off both barrels. The double charge of buckshot erupted from the shotgun with a roar like doomsday and swept both gunmen from their saddles.
The Kid surged to his feet, taking Levesy with him, and charged up the steps to the saloon. Constance held the bat wings aside for him as he carried Levesy into the building. Dumping the young rancher unceremoniously on the sawdust-littered floor, The Kid panted, “Keep . . . an eye on him!”
“You can count on that,” Constance promised as she snapped the scattergun closed after sliding two fresh shells into it.
The Kid turned back toward the door and drew his Colt. The battle for Copperhead Springs wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 14
Levesy’s men had come to town prepared, The Kid saw as he looked over the bat wings. While most of the gunmen traded shots with the defenders, several of them brought out torches—lengths of cloth soaked in kerosene and wrapped around pieces of wood.
With torches blazing brightly, the riders got ready to throw them at various buildings while their friends covered them.
The Kid stepped out onto the boardwalk and snapped a couple shots at a man charging toward Milt Bennett’s livery stable with a torch in his hand. The range was pretty far for a handgun, but luck and skill guided The Kid’s shots. The slugs ripped through the gunman’s body and knocked him out of the saddle. The torch fell in the street beside him, burning out harmlessly in the dust.
About to line up a shot on another torch-wielder, a more immediate threat lunged at The Kid. The form of a mounted gunman rode up emptying a Colt at him. He threw himself to the planks as bullets whined around his ears.
Slugs chewed splinters from the boardwalk as he came to a stop on his belly, angled his gun up, and sent a bullet through the gunman’s throat. Blood from the wound fountained in the air as the man went backward out of the saddle.
The Kid got to his feet. The porch in front of one of the stores was already burning. A water barrel stood on the porch, and he quickly put two shots through it. Water spouted from the holes left by the bullets and spread across the porch. That might not put out all the flames, but at least it would slow them down.
With his gun empty, he ran to the corner of the saloon and crouched there while he reloaded, filling all six chambers. More splinters rained down on him as bullets hit the building above his head. He snapped the Colt’s cylinder closed and brought it up to blow another of the gunmen off his horse.
Another rider raced by brandishing a torch. He never saw The Kid, and that was his bad luck. His head jerked as a bullet from The Kid’s gun bored through his brain. The dead man and the torch he’d been carrying hit the ground at the same time.
A fierce gun
The Kid got his hands on the lapels of Levesy’s expensive jacket, bunched his fingers in the material, and heaved hard to the side, sending Levesy rolling through the dust.
His gunmen weren’t shooting toward the middle of the street where their boss was, but one of them had to swerve his charging horse aside to avoid trampling Levesy. Bullets coming from both sides of the street zipped through the air. The Kid knew he was in as much danger of being hit by a shot fired by one of the defenders as he was from Levesy’s men.
He lunged after Levesy and swung a fist, landing the blow so solidly it seemed for a second Levesy’s head was going to turn all the way around on his neck. The punch knocked him senseless. The Kid scooped him up, draped him over a shoulder, and made a run for the Trailblazer Saloon.
“He’s got the boss!” one of the hired killers shouted. “Get him!”
Hoofbeats thundered right behind The Kid as a couple men closed in on him.
Constance stepped out through the bat wings and yelled, “Get down, Morgan!” as she pointed her shotgun at the pursuers.
The Kid hit the dirt in front of the boardwalk as Constance touched off both barrels. The double charge of buckshot erupted from the shotgun with a roar like doomsday and swept both gunmen from their saddles.
The Kid surged to his feet, taking Levesy with him, and charged up the steps to the saloon. Constance held the bat wings aside for him as he carried Levesy into the building. Dumping the young rancher unceremoniously on the sawdust-littered floor, The Kid panted, “Keep . . . an eye on him!”
“You can count on that,” Constance promised as she snapped the scattergun closed after sliding two fresh shells into it.
The Kid turned back toward the door and drew his Colt. The battle for Copperhead Springs wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 14
Levesy’s men had come to town prepared, The Kid saw as he looked over the bat wings. While most of the gunmen traded shots with the defenders, several of them brought out torches—lengths of cloth soaked in kerosene and wrapped around pieces of wood.
With torches blazing brightly, the riders got ready to throw them at various buildings while their friends covered them.
The Kid stepped out onto the boardwalk and snapped a couple shots at a man charging toward Milt Bennett’s livery stable with a torch in his hand. The range was pretty far for a handgun, but luck and skill guided The Kid’s shots. The slugs ripped through the gunman’s body and knocked him out of the saddle. The torch fell in the street beside him, burning out harmlessly in the dust.
About to line up a shot on another torch-wielder, a more immediate threat lunged at The Kid. The form of a mounted gunman rode up emptying a Colt at him. He threw himself to the planks as bullets whined around his ears.
Slugs chewed splinters from the boardwalk as he came to a stop on his belly, angled his gun up, and sent a bullet through the gunman’s throat. Blood from the wound fountained in the air as the man went backward out of the saddle.
The Kid got to his feet. The porch in front of one of the stores was already burning. A water barrel stood on the porch, and he quickly put two shots through it. Water spouted from the holes left by the bullets and spread across the porch. That might not put out all the flames, but at least it would slow them down.
With his gun empty, he ran to the corner of the saloon and crouched there while he reloaded, filling all six chambers. More splinters rained down on him as bullets hit the building above his head. He snapped the Colt’s cylinder closed and brought it up to blow another of the gunmen off his horse.
Another rider raced by brandishing a torch. He never saw The Kid, and that was his bad luck. His head jerked as a bullet from The Kid’s gun bored through his brain. The dead man and the torch he’d been carrying hit the ground at the same time.
A fierce gun
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