Clay Nash 12
Page 11
Nash had hoped it was Mohawk Brown but then he saw the outlaw leader to one side, bringing up his shotgun. Nash fired and dropped flat. The shotgun roared and the whole front window caved in under the heavy impact of buckshot. The lead screamed through the room and smashed up the remains of the old wall mirror and tore down two shelves, finally punching a series of holes in the back wall.
Nash didn’t hesitate. He went out through the remains of the window, into the alley and dived headfirst through the small side window of the saloon.
He came in, tumbling, and caught a glimpse of Mohawk Brown frantically reloading the shotgun, thumbing back both hammers and lifting the barrels towards him ...
Nash rolled onto one knee and triggered three fast shots. One would have been enough. The first one took Mohawk through the middle of the face and the outlaw slammed backwards, dropping the shotgun, half rising to his feet as the back of his head flew off. Then the other two slugs took him in the chest and sent him spinning along the wall in a macabre dance of death until he collapsed on what was left of his face.
Nash spun to his right but there were no more outlaws. He heard guns outside and galloping horses and wild yells and he hastily reloaded the six-gun before stepping warily onto the porch. He stared as Captain Macrae led his troopers in, rounding up the last few outlaws who had their hands held high in the air; the fight having gone out of them.
“How the hell did you get here?” Nash asked.
Macrae grinned. “I wired Hume about you. He wired back and said to never underestimate your hunches—so we started lookin’ for you. The gal had sent one of her ranch hands to get help of some sort and he found us and led us here. She’d left signs for us.”
Nash nodded slowly, looking across to where Rachel Castle knelt beside her father’s body, cradling the old man’s head in her lap. He walked across, squatted down and spoke gently. “Thanks for savin’ my neck, ma’am.”
She looked at him through her tears.
“I’ve—suspected dad was involved in something for a long time. I really had no notion of helping you or Jordan when I arrived.”
Nash smiled faintly.
“Glad you changed your mind.”
“I couldn’t let you be shot to pieces by that—outlaw.”
Nash reached out and placed a hand on her forearm and glanced up as Jordan walked across.
“That’s them all rounded up. Just nailed a feller out in the brush. He’s bad wounded. Claims he’s a lawman, Pres Hayden. But he’s a crooked one and he’s willin’ to talk. So I guess that’s the last of the Ghost Riders.”
Nash nodded and gently lifted Rachel to her feet.
“I’ll take care of your pa. I’ll bring him back to the ranch. You go ahead and get back there with your mother.”
She nodded and looked into Nash’s face.
“Will you—be able to—stay on for a spell ...?”
Nash smiled crookedly. “I’ve got a heap of leave due, but I don’t aim to go back to Denver to claim it. I’ll just send Hume a wire and say I’m spendin’ it at the Rolling C—if that’s okay with you, ma’am.”
She hesitated then smiled warmly.
“That’s fine with me.”
About the Author
Keith Hetherington
aka Kirk Hamilton, Brett Waring and Hank J. Kirby
Australian writer Keith has worked as television scriptwriter on such Australian TV shows as Homicide, Matlock Police, Division 4, Solo One, The Box, The Spoiler and Chopper Squad.
“I always liked writing little vignettes, trying to describe the action sequences I saw in a film or the Saturday Afternoon Serial at local cinemas,” remembers Keith Hetherington, better-known to Piccadilly Publishing readers as Hank J. Kirby, author of the Bronco Madigan series.
Keith went on to pen hundreds of westerns (the figure varies between 600 and 1000) under the names Kirk Hamilton (including the legendary Bannerman the Enforcer series) and Clay Nash as Brett Waring. Keith also worked as a journalist for the Queensland Health Education Council, writing weekly articles for newspapers on health subjects and radio plays dramatizing same.
More on Keith Hetherington
The Clay Nash Series by Brett Waring
Undercover Gun
A Gun Is Waiting
Long Trail to Yuma
Reckoning at Rimrock
Last Stage to Shiloh
Slaughter Trail
Sundown in Socorro
The Fargo Code
Ride for Texas
Bullet by Bullet
The Santa Fe Run
This Lawless Land
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