Shoot Angel! Read Online Free PDF

couldn’t go on forever without
some rest and now was as good a time as any. He didn’t realize how
tired he was. How much in need of sound sleep.
    He didn ’t see the afternoon shadows
lengthen. Nor was he aware of the softening light, the setting sun
bathing the town in muted orange tones. He slept through the dusk
as lamps were lit against the approaching darkness, and only
stirred restlessly at some near-at-hand noise. At first it didn’t
register … and when it did he fought against the drug of sleep,
clawing his way to consciousness … but he was too late.
    They came at him out of the
shadows, harsh whisperings reaching his ears. Angel lunged up off
the bed, snatching for the Colt, but he didn ’t have a chance to reach it.
Hard, brutal blows smashed at his body, caught his face. He was
thrown back across the bed, stunned, wild with anger. He lashed out
with booted feet, satisfaction surging hotly as he felt flesh
connect with the hard leather. A man yelled obscenely. Hands caught
hold of Angel, dragging him from the bed, He grunted in agony as a
crippling blow took him in the stomach. He stumbled to the floor.
Someone kicked him, pain flaring across his ribs. Now he could
taste blood in his mouth. Christ, he thought, they’re going to kill
me! The thought flashed a warning across his mind, and he made to
reach for one of the slim-bladed throwing knives concealed in the
tops of his boots. There was no chance. A great weight smashed down
across his skull, driving him face down on the dirty floor, and he
knew no more.

Chapter Four
    He woke to throbbing pain, his
body reacting to the savage beating. He lay on the hard, cold floor
of the shadowed cell, staring through the iron bars. At the far end
of a short passage he could see lamplight showing beneath a closed
door. At last Angel sat up, groaning against the brutal swell of
pain. There was a dull ache over his ribs and the left side of his
face felt swollen and pulpy. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom
Angel found he could make out the shape of a low cot. He struggled
to his feet and staggered across the cell. He lowered himself on to
the cot, pulling the thin blanket around his body. He lay there and
waited for something to happen. There was little else he could do.
He ’d taken a
sound beating and it was going to be a few hours before he was
recovered enough to handle any coming situation.
    One way and another he seemed
to have upset a few people in Liberty. He was curious to see what
they might do next. Whoever they were. He was pretty certain that Liberty’s
law was involved. The why of it would explain itself in
time.
    Angel reached beneath the
blanket, fingers searching the tops of his boots. A thin smile
touched his bruised lips. At least they hadn ’t found his pair of knives.
The slim, deadly Solingen steel blades, concealed in sheaths that
had been incorporated in the linings of his boots, had pulled him
out of trouble on more than one occasion. And there was always the
thin wire garrotte secreted in a shallow groove in his leather
belt. They were the tools of Angel’s trade. If the need to use them
ever arose he wouldn’t hesitate. It was a lesson Angel had learned
early: in a life or death situation there was no room for
hesitation.
    He slept lightly through the
long night, waiting and watching, but no one came until the
morning. Angel had seen the darkness evaporate, graying as pale fingers of
sunlight trickled in through the barred window of the cell, edging
slowly across the stone floor. In the cold, lonely pre-dawn hours
Angel had slipped off the cot, moving silently back and forth
across the floor, flexing and testing the bruised, stiffened sinews
of his body. His muscles ached and it felt as if each joint was
about to lock solid. But for fifteen long minutes he endured the
discomfort, knowing that the difference between life or death could
easily hang on how swiftly he could respond in a threatening
situation.
    Angel was back on the