Читать книгу Six-Gun Gorilla - Anonymous - Страница 9

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On the slope leading down the ford the lame horse stumbled, and Jim Lane rolled to the ground. He was up in a moment, darted behind a boulder, and crouched there to meet the oncoming peril.

The pony was tiring beneath the terrific weight of the gorilla. Two ordinary riders would not have weighed so much. Only fear kept the beast going.

Then, as it staggered down the sloped, the gorilla left its back. O'Neil did not dismount in the ordinary way, but snatched for the branch of an overhanging tree with one hand, and lifted himself from the pony.

He had seen one of his enemies go to earth, and he meant to deal with him. Waving the gun wildly, but without firing it, the Six-Gun Gorilla charged upon Jim Lane.

White faced, trembling, the gunman opened fire.

Crack-crack-crack!

O'Neil felt something red hot strike his chest, but it did not penetrate very far. His thick hair and tough flesh could stop many bullets of that kind without his suffering real damage.

The pain made him roar, and he must have clenched his finger on the trigger at the same moment, for the gun went off twice, sending bullets over the river.

His rush brought him up against the boulder behind which Lane crouched. The killer paused to reload, then as the gorilla sidled round to the left the terrified ruffian dodged to the right.

Three times they completely circled the boulder, playing a terrible game of hide and seek. Jim Lane was panting with dread, for he knew that if once he came within reach of those long arms he would be finished.

Again the pumped a bullet into the gorilla's chest as the beast followed close upon his heels, and this time the impact rocked O'Neil.

Jim Lane grunted with satisfaction, but although he did not know it, he had sealed his fate. O'Neil lost his temper and his patience at the same time.

This boulder was holding him up too long. It was delaying his vengeance. He decided to get rid of it.

Sticking the revolver loosely in his belt, he grasped the boulder with both his great arms, and heaved.

Up rose the boulder, although it weighed more than half a ton, and a moment later it went hurtling over Jim Lane's head, to roll down the slope into the river with a terrific splash.

It was all done so suddenly that the amazed gunman could only stand gaping at the spot where the rock had stood. There was now nothing between him and the avenger of Bart Masters.

A gurgle of fear came from his parted lips, and he tried to point his gun to empty it into that snarling head.

But for once the gunman was too slow. He pulled the trigger clumsily, and the Six-Gun Gorilla was a fraction too quick for him.

Crack!

It was the gorilla that had fired. At that range it could not miss. The heavy bullet took Jim Lane between the eyes, and he fell flat on his face, killed instantly.

The gorilla was not satisfied. Guns were all very well, but its own strong hands were more certain. A second later it had leapt on the prostrate man, had gripped him in both hands, and lifted him into the air.

Snarling and roaring, making the night hideous with his outcry, O'Neil wrought vengeance on one of the gang men who had murdered his master.

Then, his rage spent, O'Neil recovered the revolver which had dropped from his belt. Very carefully he looked it over to make sure that it was not damaged, and then the stuck it back into the holster.

He was quite calm now. He picked up the revolver which Jim Lane had dropped, sniffed it, became angered by the scent of the man who had held it, and snapped it in two with his strong, hairy hands.

This seemed to satisfy him completely. He went to the river, and drank deeply. Then he sat there on the bank staring across to the other side, and drummed on his massive chest with his clenched fists.

The eerie sound echoed and boomed out over the valley and the three terrified riders in the distance spurred their weary beasts to greater efforts. It was probably the first time that the sound had been heard in Colorado, but they recognized it, and their mouths dried with horror.

O'Neil was telling the world of his success! He was announcing the death of an enemy. The three fugitives knew that they would never see Jim Lane again.

Then Pete Stark's horse began to founder, and the gang slowed down almost to a walk. Sweat glistened on their evil faces as they heard the booming sound come again. O'Neil was still sitting by the river sounding the death knell of Jim lane on his hairy chest.

"We've got to get that brute before it gets us!" snarled Tutt Strawhan. "It'll pick up our scent again when it's tired o' doin' that. It'll be after us before long, and these horses won't take us any further. We can't keep on the run all the time."

"An' besides, we want a chance to get the gold that Jim was carrying!" grunted Pete Stark. "Surely we ain't going to leave it lying back there by the river?"

El Valdo said nothing, but his lips curled evilly. His hand was on his knife.

"We've got to finish the gorilla before we do anythin' more," repeated the leader of the gang. "The only way is to set a trap for it. Revolver bullets won't have much effect, unless we get the brute in the eyes."

The other two killers saw that Strawhan had some idea in mind, and looked at him expectantly.

The gang leader reminded them that about half a mile away there was a posting house, a depot belonging to one of the coaching companies which still ran services to link up the main line railroad which had recently come to the West.

At this depot horses were changed, mails accepted, and passengers given a chance of a meal when the coaches pullet up.

At this particular place there would be two of the coaching line's employees in charge. The building itself was strongly built of stone so as to withstand the raids of Redskins who still gave trouble occasionally.

"We'll head there now," decided Strawhan. "We need fresh horses, and we'll get them there. And, what's more, we'll wait there for the gorilla."

"Wait for that terror—why?" croaked Pete Stark.

"Because I've told you we'll never shake it off our trail until it's dead," growled his leader. "Five years ago that post house held out for three days against a hoard of Indians. After that attack the coaching company decided to dish out some of that new fangled dynamite to each of these depots. They'll have some there. We'll see how Bart Masters' little pet can digest a stick o' dynamite."

His companions nodded. At last they saw his idea. They would wait under cover of the building for O'Neil, then kill him with high explosives. Once he was out of the way they could clear out of the territory with the gold they had stolen from the gorilla's late master.

So for the next half mile the three killers coaxed and goaded their horses, forcing them to last the rest of the distance.

The trees thinned out at the mouth of the valley, and the killers saw the coaching trail, which was little more than a pair of wheel ruts, winding its way along the edge of the prairie.

The post house was known merely as Post 78. It was in darkness, though smoke curled lazily from a chimney at one corner. The two occupants had stoked up the stove before going to their bunks.

At the rear of the building were the stables, which were likewise built of stone. The builders had not forgotten that the Redskins sometimes used flaming arrows to attack such a place as this, and the roofs were covered with flat slabs of stone.

Tutt Strawhan whispered to his two henchmen. It was not the first time that the Strawhan gang had raided such a place. They had a simple but effective plan for doing this.

They knew full well that an open attack would be useless. Trickery must be used.

Pete Stark took the best of the horses and circled to a point half a mile down the trail. Strawhan and the half-breed crouched in the open facing the door of the windowless building, hiding behind the bushes. Their revolvers were ready in their fists.

After a brief interval the sound of a galloping horse could be heard approaching. It was Pete Stark, slumping forward on the tired horse as though in dire distress.

As he approached the post house he began to call in a weak, frightened voice:

"Help! Help! Hi, there! For the love o' pity let me in. I'm wounded. Help!"

Movements inside the building told that the two employees of the coaching line were awake. They peered from one of the narrow observation slits, saw a white man almost falling from a thoroughly exhausted horse, and concluded that he had some important message for them.

They unbolted the door at once and rushed outside, guns in hand.

"What's happened?" shouted one of them. "Is it Injuns or a holdup? Where are you from?"

Suddenly there came a volley of gunfire from behind the nearby bushes, and the two luckless men fell, riddled on their own threshold without ever knowing who their cowardly assailants were.

Pete Stark laughed harshly as he reined in his staggering horse. Strawhan and the half-breed came out from behind the bushes and ran forward. All three killers were now grinning broadly.

"Durn fools!" grunted Tutt Strawhan, as he pushed one of the dead men with his foot. "We'd better stack 'em in one corner of the stable. These horses can be put away there as well. You two see to that while I look for the dynamite."

The hurriedly lighted candle still burned in the post house. With the aid of this, the scoundrel searched around, finally discovering under one of the bunks what he sought.

It was a small, red-banded box marked: "Danger." Inside were half a dozen sticks of dynamite and a length of fuse.

The high explosive was just becoming popular in Colorado. Miners had discovered that with its aid they could move many tons of earth and rock in a few seconds. Blasting was just beginning to come into use.

Tutt Strawhan had used it for other purposes. He had used it to blow open the strongbox on more than one coach which he and his gang had help up in various parts of the country.

Skillfully he set to work to attach the right length of fuse to two of the grayish sticks of death.

A few minutes later his two companions returned to announce that they had carried out his instructions, and that there were half a dozen fine horses in the stable.

"Good enough!" nodded Tutt Strawhan, as he barred the heavy door on the inside. "Now we can make ourselves comfortable. There's grub in that cupboard. I see three express rifles on the wall there, and there's plenty of ammunition in the box. All we have to do is to wait for the durn gorilla to catch up with us!"

The three men settled down to watch through loopholes. The dynamite was ready on the table in the centre of the room. This time they intended making certain of their terrible pursuer.