Webb's Posse
CAUGHT OFF-GUARD
“Something doesn't feel right,” Summers said, staring down the slope after the old man.
“What do you mean?” asked Webb.
“I'm not sureâ¦.” Summers looked back at the rest of the men riding toward them. He looked forward along the trail to where it disappeared into a turn. He looked up along the high rocky line above them, then down at the old man just in time to see him break into a run toward the cover of taller rocks, shooing the goats out of his way.
“Oh no,” cried Summers, realization setting in and causing him to sit bolt upright in his saddle. “It's a trap.”
WEBB'S
POSSE
Ralph Cotton
A SIGNET BOOK
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, July 2003
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Copyright © Ralph Cotton, 2003
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ISBN: 978-1-101-59441-4
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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| ALWAYS LEARNING | PEARSON |
For Mary Lynnâ¦
of course.
And for Curt and Malissa Beattyâ
kinfolk, friends.
PART 1
“What the hell was that, Virgil?” Will Summers asked the bartender. Summers had started to take a sip of whiskey, but his shot glass stopped near his lips, suspended there as he recognized the sound of heavy gunfire coming from the far end of the street outside the Ace High Saloon.
Virgil Wilkes' face turned ashen. He shook his head slowly; his eyes widened in disbelief. “Lord God, I don't know, Will!” he whispered.
“Is that shotgun still beneath the bar?” Will Summers asked, already reaching a hand out across the polished bar top.
Virgil pulled up the sawed-off double-barrel and handed it over, swallowing a gulp of air. “What are you going to do, Will?”
“Beats me,” Summers said, quickly tossing back his shot of whiskey. He broke the shotgun open, checked it, then snapped it shut. “But whatever it is, I feel better with one hand choked around a shotgun stock.”
“What about me?” Virgil asked. “That's the only weapon in the place!”
“Are
you
going out there, Virgil?” Summers asked pointedly.
“Noâ¦. Are
you
?” Virgil countered.
“I intend to see what's going on out there,” Summers
said. He turned and headed for the batwing doors.
When the Peltry Gang had swooped up over the green hillside and onto the dirt street of Rileyville, launching a sudden and merciless attack, the townsmen had had no chance to react. Before anyone knew what had hit them, an old teamster named Roy Krill lay dead in the street. Then even the few townsmen wearing pistols made no attempt to draw their weapons. Like the rest of the citizenry, they bolted away from the oncoming barrage of rifle and sidearm fire and took shelter behind or beneath whatever cover they could find. The sound of pounding hooves and blazing gunfire lasted only a few short seconds.
In the wake of the attack, a woman screamed at the sight of the body in the street. From beneath a buckboard wagon, a baby cried. A large red hound appeared from an alley and barked fiercely at the armed horsemen as they circled and settled in their own cloud of dust.
“Shut that dog up!” yelled Goose Peltry, rearing his horse a bit with his big Lemat pistol cocked and raised for the benefit of the cowering townsfolk. A single rifle shot exploded; the barking stopped with an abrupt yelp. Silence loomed for a moment above the dirt street.
In the Ace High Saloon, the sound of the rifle shot caused Will Summers to stop in his tracks for a second. Then he stepped forward cautiously the rest of the way to the saloon doors and peeped out above them. Looking down the length of the street, Summers saw the horsemen spread out with their weapons aimed and ready. He jerked his head back inside the saloon. “Jesus,” he whispered.
“What is it, Will?” Virgil asked, slipping around
from behind the bar with a billy bat raised in his right hand.
“It's a raid,” Will Summers said, stepping to one side of the doors and slumping back against the wall. “It looks like Goose and Devil Moses Peltry.”
“The Peltry Gang!” Virgil's billy bat drooped to his side. “What are we going to do now?”