Doubtful Canon Read Online Free PDF

broke, but I was still breathin’, and I rolled over, pulled myself to my feet, saw the Concord there on its side, the mules runnin’ down the cañon. I spat out blood, reached for one Navy, but I’d lost it in my tumble, so I jerked the other free, and limped toward the wagon. Those Apaches was right behind us. The door on the top flung open, knockin’ off a few arrows, and then I spied Mr. Giddings’s bell crown hat. He tossed up his saddlebags afore he crawled out atop. An arrow knocked off his hat, and he pivoted like a gunman and fired two quick shots.
    Game as a bantam rooster, he was. He tossed off ’em there bags, and turned ’round, helpin’ Bruce out of the Concord.
    Well, I run faster, fast as I could, ankle busted like it was, and my leg still bleedin’ and smartin’ from that arrow wound. Takin’ up me a position by the busted wagon tongue, I eyed the Apaches and shot one of the horses dead, spillin’ the rider. Hope that Cherry Cow busted his neck.
    That took a little starch out of ’em Apaches. They figured this fight was all over, but we showed ’em we wasn’t quittin’. Couldn’t quit. Not amongst ’em red devils. Mr. Giddings hopped down beside me, carryin’ those heavy saddlebags on his shoulders, pistol in his right hand. He didn’t look too banged up considerin’ the spill he had taken in that coach. Should’ve broked his neck.
    But, Bruce, now, he didn’t fare so well. White bone was stickin’ out of his right forearm, and his face was covered with blood. Big gash on his forehead, nose smashed to a pulp. Didn’t have none of his guns, neither.
    I figgered he wouldn’t be long for this world, but don’t reckon I guessed he’d die that quick. What happened was, afore I could say a thing or draw a breath, a Cherry Cow arrow pierced his throat, right underneath his Adam’s apple, from one side to the other. Just like that. We was just starin’ at each other, wonderin’ how we was still alive, and then that hired killer was gaggin’, chokin’ on his own blood, eyes bulgin’ out of their sockets, and afore it even struck us what had happened, he had sunk to his knees and leaned against the stagecoach and just up and died.
    Mr. Giddings and I found us a better hidin’ spot, and then I spied my Enfield. Stock was busted, and it bein’ a singleshot, which I had done fired, it wasn’t good for a fightin’ weapon no more, but I sure needed some help walkin’, so I picked it up to use as a crutch.
    “We’re dead. There’s no escape, no hope, but we cannot let this gold fall into the Apaches’ hands,” Mr. Giddings said.
    “Hold on there!” I called out, but Mr. Giddings just took off runnin’ toward the rocks, the weight of that gold slowin’ him down, causin’ him to stagger and weave. “Come back here, you fool!” Bullets kicked up dust at his feet, but he made it to the cañon’s edge, disappearin’ in the rocks. I spotted black hair and a blue headband just above where he had vanished, knowed it was an Apache, and fired two shots with my Navy.
    Now, I couldn’t keep up with Mr. Giddings, not with my ankle busted, and I reckon I had me as good a spot to die as any right there by the stage. Had water, a little food, another cylinder, capped and loaded, for my Thirty-Six in my possibles bag, and my fallen comrade, ol’ Bruce from Wisconsin way, for comp’ny. I looked at the sun, then toward where I had last seen Mr. Giddings, and, with a sigh, I just leaned against the coach and sank down to a seated position, proppin’ up the busted Enfield beside me.
    The wheel was spinnin’ overhead, squeakin’, and afore too many seconds had passed, I realized that was the only sound I heard. Nothin’. Deadly quiet. I spat out some more salty blood, checked my Navy Colt, wondered if I should just kill myself now and be done with it. No use in waitin’ for the Apaches to attack, ’cause they would, soon enough.
    It’s funny what’ll go through a man’s mind when