Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) Read Online Free PDF Page A

an' now we won't be needin' you any longer." Kit Branc h turned his hand on a gun.
    The Cactus Kid was still sitting his horse, as was Jewell. Now, suddenly, he slappe d the spurs into the dun, and as the startled animal leaped, the Kid grabbed the shotgu n from Jewell's hands as the dun lunged by. Straight into the center of the crowd h e went, low over the horse's neck. Behind him a shot rang out, then another. The du n faltered, stumbled, and then fell all sprawled out. The Kid hit the ground rollin g and came up with the shotgun at his shoulder. The first person he saw across th e sights was Breeden. He squeezed the trigger and saw the big outlaw take the ful l charge in the stomach. The man gave a grunt and sat down hard and rolled over t o his face.
    The Kid lunged to his feet in a spatter of bullets and ran into the rocks. He mad e them, felt the tug at his shirt, and hit the ground sliding. Almost as soon as h e hit it, he was up and ducking into a thick stand of greasewood. He froze in place.
    Behind him were shouts and yells, so he moved on quietly, circling toward the corral.
    The men had fanned out and were working toward him. Studying the terrain, he fel t himself grow sick. No alternative awaited him. The basin was rockbound and to clim b that wall would mean that he would be picked off before he had gone a dozen steps.
    Nor could he remain where he was, for they were moving in.
    The shotgun was a single-barreled gun, a breechloader. And he had no more shells.
    The outlaws searching for him were not fooling. Obviously, they had decided to organize , take over Brock's ranch and saloon as a hangout, and raid the country. Kirby Broc k seemed to have slipped away for help but then had lost her horse. She had probabl y taken him for another outlaw.
    Still clutching the shotgun, the Kid rolled behind some rocks and wormed his wa y right back toward the stone corral and the houses. Several times he had to lie stil l to allow men to pass within a few feet of him. When he reached a nest of rocks t o one side of the corral, he peered out.
    Three men remained in the yard with Brock and the girl. Bully Brock had blood runnin g down his face where he had been struck with a gun barrel, and his hands were tie d behind him. The girl's hands were also tied, and Kit Branch stood nearby, with Far b and Jewell. The body of Breeden was nowhere to be seen.
    Other men were scattered out, and from time to time he could hear shouts from them.
    He had succeeded in getting back through their line, but they would be doubling bac k at any time and he must at all costs find a place to hole up. As he had crawled a n idea had come to him. There might yet be a chance to use the shotgun.
    Beyond the stone corral, back from the scattered area of campfires and shelters , was an ancient stone wall that appeared to be the face of a dugout. Obviously unused , it was the place most likely to be overlooked in any search for him. Using the corra l as shelter, the Kid worked his way along the far side, then ducked into the ope n door of the dugout.
    It was about twenty feet long and the roof sagged dangerously. The remains of som e crude bunks and a fe w pieces of broken bench were mingled with the litter on the floor. Working his wa y back into the dugout, the Cactus Kid found it was L-shaped, and around the bend o f the L the roof was intact except at the very back, where a hole about three fee t across opened into a pile of brush, boulders and cacti.
    Crouching in the half-dark of the dugout, the Kid opened the breech of the shotgun.
    There had been no chance to dispense with the brass shell, for he had been movin g too fast and had nothing to replace it, anyway. Now he got out his pocketknife an d went to work. Taking several bullets from his cartridge belt, he opened them an d extracted the powder. Outside, the search continued, but in the dugout sweat poure d down the Kid's body as he worked. Several times he stopped to wipe his hands dr y and then