Payback at Big Silver Read Online Free PDF

at the waist, his hands clutching his solar plexus. The Ranger sidestepped, reached out and grabbed Ferry’s Remington from its holster in one slick professional move and pitched it away. The other two gunmen had already grasped their revolvers, but upon seeing the Ranger toss the Remington into the dirt, they kept themselves in check and stood staring. The Ranger grabbed the back of Ferry’s shirt collar and raised the gasping gunman up and down at the waist as if operating a pump handle.
    â€œThat’s it, Ferry. Breathe deep,” he said calmly.
    â€œJesus, he walked right into that,” said Rudabaugh, giving Ferry a look of contempt.
    â€œI saw it coming,” said the other man, unimpressed.
    Sam straightened Ferry onto his feet and steadied him a little.
    â€œThere, you’re doing fine,” he said encouragingly. He patted Ferry’s bowed back. Ferry gasped and wheezed.
    â€œI’ll ki-kill you,” he managed to say in a strained, weakened voice.
    â€œLet it go, Ferry, he got you,” Rudabaugh cut in sharply. He said to the Ranger, “I’m Silas Rudabaugh, Ranger.” He raised his hand from the butt of his Colt and gestured it toward the third man, a stout man with a thin mustache who wore a wide-brimmed hat with a flat crown. “This is Clayton Boyle. We’ve both heard of you.” With that he let his hand fall to his side, away from his holstered Colt. “You wield a wicked shotgun.” He nodded at the bowed gunman with a string of spittle hanging down from his lips. “I’ll remind Donald that you could have done much worse, had you a mind to.”
    â€œI know Dirty Donald,” Sam said. “He was stoking himself into pulling that Remmy on me. I figured it better to stop him before he went too far.” As he spoke he picked up the shiny gun, wiped it off and handed it to Clayton Boyle. The serious-looking gunman stuck it down into his waist.
    â€œAre you here to back the sheriff’s play?” Boyle asked in a blunt tone.
    Sam stared at him.
    â€œWhat
play
is that?” he asked coolly, with a fixed stare.
    â€œTypical lawman,” Rudabaugh cut in quickly as if to change the subject. “No offense, but do all you lawmen answer a question with a
question
?”
    â€œDo we?” Sam said flatly. Hearing Donald Ferry breathing a little steadier beside him, he touched the brim of his sombrero and took a step back. He caught a glimpse of Stone walking out into the street, facing his direction, a raised rifle in hand.
    â€œWe’re not out to break any laws here,” Rudabaugh called out.
    â€œWe’re here overseeing things—making sure things go smooth for Edsel Centrila with his new businesses,” Boyle added. Beside them, Donald Ferry straightened some more and wiped a sleeve across his mouth. He reached out toward Boyle, one hand still clasped to his aching chest.
    â€œGive me . . . my gun . . . I’ll kill him,” he rasped.
    â€œLower your hand,
Dirty
Donald,” said Boyle, “or I’ll kill you myself.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Stone turned on the street and walked alongside the Ranger to the faded, run-down Hermosa Cantina. Inside the cantina the Ranger handed the empty shotgun sidelong to an elderly bartender, who broke the gun open and walked it behind an ornate but faded tile bar. Stone tapped his fingers nervously on the rifle in his hand and adjusted a sweet cough drop in his mouth.
    â€œYou sure put a dent in Dirty Donald’s apparatus,” he said with a slight grin. “I expect he won’t be singing in any choirs for a good long while.”
    â€œHe was working himself into a lather, Sheriff,” Sam said. “If I’d waited any longer, I would have had to kill him.” He paused, then said, “How’s the woman?”
    â€œMama Belleza’s all right,” said Stone. “One of her