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by Lee Aaron Wilson
Category: Historical Fiction
Description: Tyler Killdeere, the last Killdeere not dead or in prison, is wounded and on the run when he sees a prisoner delivery going down in the streets of a small town. He's busily reminding himself he must not attract attention, and besides it ain't none of his business, when a pretty widow, Kate Courtland, runs out to shield her wounded Uncle Tom, the marshal. A gunman points his rifle directly at her. Killdeeres, mean and deadly as they are, respect women. When the dust settles, the gunman is dead. Ty lowers his guns and Kate, who knows he is an outlaw on the run, thanks him. A judge who doesn't know Ty appoints him acting marshal until Tom Courtland is on his feet. The Bigbees (only some of the town's nemeses)aren't about to let the marshal hang the big man's son. Ty might die here on the streets from Bigbee's guns or with a rope around his neck, if they tumble to who he is, but he's taken the job and he'll play out the hand or die trying. There is no way he can leave until he's sure Kate is safe.
eBook Publisher: Treble Heart Books, 2007
eBookwise Release Date: February 2007
5 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [378 KB]
Reading time: 243-340 min.
I walked so close to the robber I'd arrested that I could smell his breath and the reek of his fear-sweat. "I'm gonna send Davis for the doctor, but I want you to think of something. I didn't go in to kill your pardner. Wade Dagget killed him at Bigbee's orders for a chance at me. And to keep him quiet."
I turned to the deputy. "Davis, you up to fetching the doc?"
He grinned around a cup. "Lemme git around this coffee and I'll go." He sipped and stared at the cup. "Gawd, who made this stuff?"
"Me. Way I always make it, 'round a camp fire." Specially when I hadn't slept for three days running from an angry posse. I didn't mention that.
"Tasted good to me," Bradley said. "You must be someone I know of."
I said, "You must have interesting friends."
"I'm going for the doctor," said Davis. "This stuff will kill me."
He opened the door. "Damn. Ty, step out here."
I grabbed a shotgun and slipped out. At Rosie's Place, the JB Connected boys were mounting up, but glances were being thrown along the street toward us. "Get inside," I told him.
Whooping and yelling, they came up the street fast, right at us. Guns fired into the air. In a minute someone was gonna break a window, or shoot someone, maybe hit a bystander.
They drew closer, and after what I'd just done, I figured to be the favored target. I pushed Davis backward, out of the way.
When the wild riders were close enough, I let off the shotgun into the dirt in front of their horses, one barrel, shifted a mite, then the other.
My, you never saw such a bunch of dancing, bucking, twisting, jumping mounts in your born life. The riders were much too busy hanging on to take any shots at the office or me. They went on out of town at a gallop, some of them barely hanging on. For the first time in a long time, I actually grinned.
Bradley came out and stood beside me, one arm bandaged and hanging, but not in a sling, a rifle in the other. He chuckled. "Damn, fer a dressed up dude, you surely know how to entertain a man."
Killdeere style. Saw Uncle Jake use it on a posse once in a narrow pass through some hills. Davis and Bradley would've got a kick outta the story. However, I didn't choose to tell it.