The Revenger
Page 127
Simms was down on his side now, just like Lawton. He stared warily at the woman moving toward him and the outlaw leader. Olivia’s face was expressionless, and her eyes were opaque. Her breasts rose and fell heavily.
It had been a long trail. She was near the end.
She headed for Lawton but then she switched course and walked over to Neville Simms, who lay raking out curses while clutching his bloody knee with both hands. His eyes grew fearful as he watched the woman approach. Olivia had her .41 caliber revolver in her right hand.
The naked girl tattooed on Simms’ neck danced with each throb of his pulse. She was slick with fear and pain sweat.
“Now...now, listen, lady,” Simms plead. “You hear me out. I had nothin’ to do—!”
The crack of Olivia’s pistol cut him off.
The bullet carved a small puckered hole in the middle of his forehead. Simms’ head wobbled as though his neck were broken, then he sagged to the ground. His legs jerked a little and he shook his head a few times, and then he lay still.
Holding her pistol in both hands, Olivia turned to Lawton, who was looking at her now, his eyes wide with terror.
“No,” he groaned, wincing, closing his eyes, and turning his head away. “No...please. This ain’t gonna bring your boy back.”
Olivia stood gazing down at him. She shook her head slowly.
“No,” she said. “And it won’t change what you did to me. It won’t wash your ever-present filth off of me either. It won’t make up for any of that. In fact, killing you would be too kind, Lawton.”
Lawton looked at her, his eyes hopeful but cautious. “Huh?”
Olivia glanced at Lawton’s Bowie knife, which lay in the dirt a few feet away from her. Lawton followed her gaze to the long, broad blade and bone handle.
The fear returned to his eyes. “Wait, now! I don’t know...I don’t know what you got in mind, but...”
Olivia turned to The Revenger, who was standing between Lawton and the house. “Can you hold him down, Mister Sartain?”
Sartain glanced at the knife, glanced at her, and shrugged. A smile pulled at his mouth. “Why not?”
Sartain had to knock Lawton half-unconscious again, or Olivia’s task would have been impossible. Lawton would have jerked around too much, convulsing against the excruciating pain of the big knife cutting into his forehead. As it was, Sartain had to hold the man’s head steady with both of his big hands.
Lawton still thrashed.
He screamed and thrashed and cried and begged for mercy.
When Olivia was finally through, her hands and arms were covered with blood. She wiped them off on Lawton’s sweaty shirt, then she and Sartain stood looking down at the man’s bloody face and the words CHILD KILLER glistening on his forehead.
Lawton sobbed, tears mixing with the blood dribbling down his cheeks.
Sartain looked at Olivia. “Nice work.”
She smiled and tossed the knife away. “Thanks.”
“Sure you don’t want to finish him? When that heals, he’ll hunt you.”
“I’d just as soon take my chances,” Olivia said. “Life will be hell for him now. He’ll wear that brand for the rest of his worthless years, however many there are. I’m betting not many.”
“True.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Olivia said, stepping in front of Sartain as she started toward the house. “I have to give my hands a proper wash—”
Sartain saw the shadow rising from the barn roof—a man’s shadow sprouting a long gun.
“Olivia, down!” he shouted, throwing himself into the woman while bear-hugging her, hurling them both forward.
Olivia’s screamed was nearly drowned by the rifle’s belch.
The bullet fired from the barn roof slammed into the ground a foot from The Revenger’s right boot. Sartain rolled back against Olivia, shielding her body with his as he brought up his LeMat and emptied all six cylinders at the shadow on the barn roof.
The shadow staggered backward.
Then it staggered forward.
The rifle dropped from the ambusher’s hands and clattered to the ground. The man pitched off the roof, turned an entire forward somersault, and hit the ground with a resounding thud on his back, near his rifle.
Sartain turned to Olivia. “You all right?”
She looked around, dazed, and nodded.
Sartain ran over to the man on the ground, who was dressed like a dude. He had sweeping red hair, an outlandish red mustache and goatee, and he wore a Pinkerton’s shield. His hands clutched at the several holes in his bloody chest.
He blinked and looked up at Sartain as though he were seeing right through him.
“A miserable Pinkerton,” Sartain said.
The man lifted his head and moved his lips as though he were trying to speak. A mouthful of blood oozed out over his lips. His eyes blazed for a moment at Sartain, and then his head fell back to the ground and turned to one side. His chest stopped rising and falling.
“Who is it?” Olivia asked, walking up to Sartain, staring incredulously down at the newcomer.
“Another shadow.”
Olivia looked at the Cajun. “The last of them?”
“For now, maybe.” Sartain looked around. To Olivia, he said, “Let’s turn Lawton loose and pull our picket pins.” He smiled at the woman. “Time for you to start a new life.”
Olivia smiled back. There was color in her cheeks and a healthy luster in her eyes. She was going to start over, and she was going to make it. Sartain could see that. He knew a note of envy at the prospect. It could never be that way for him.
“Maybe we could go somewhere together for a while,” she said. “Somewhere far away from here.”
“Maybe,” Sartain said. “For a while.” He turned to where Lawton writhed and sobbed on the ground by the house. “Our work is done here, looks like.”
“Thanks, Mike,” she said.
“Thank you, Olivia.”
She frowned. “For what?”
“For callin’ me Mike.”
The Revenger drew her to him and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss.
CSW
A Look at Once a Marshal (A Sheriff Ben Stillman Western)
By Peter Brandvold
FROM THE CURRENT KING OF THE VIOLENT, SEXY, HARD-HITTING WESTERN
The Classic Sheriff Ben Stillman Series Begins...
Playing poker, smoking cigarettes, drinking whiskey—retirement was treacherous business for ex-lawman Ben Stillman. The best of life seemed to be past, but then the past came looking for him...
The son of an old friend rides into Ben's life with a plea for justice and a mind for revenge. Up on the Hi-Line in Montana, a rich Englishman is rustling ranchers out of their livelihoods... and their lives. The boy suspects these rustlers have murdered his father, Milk River Bill Harmon, and the law is too crooked to get any straight answers.
But can the worn-out old lawman live up to the legendary lawman the boy has grown to admire?
For fans of William W. Johnstone and George P. Cosmatos’s Tombstone, you’ll love this first novel in the epic, fast-paced Sheriff Ben Stillman series.
AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON
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Peter Brandvold
About the Author
Peter Brandvold grew up in the great state of North Dakota in the 1960’s and ‘70s, when television westerns were as popular as shows about hoarders and shark tanks are now, and western paperbacks were as popular as Game of Thrones.
Brandvold watched every western series on televisi
on at the time. He grew up riding horses and herding cows on the farms of his grandfather and many friends who owned livestock.
Brandvold’s imagination has always lived and will always live in the West. He is the author of over a hundred lightning-fast action westerns under his own name and his pen name, Frank Leslie.
READ MORE ABOUT PETER BRANDVOLD HERE.