by Brett Waring
Burns blinked at him, hoping he looked innocent, then nodded and went back to Nash. He knelt beside the agent and felt in his shirt pocket, bringing out his tobacco sack and papers and also the silver ring. Burns sat back on his hams and looked at the ring, lifted his gaze to Nash’s taut face.
“Okay, I believe you,” he whispered. “But I still owe you for what happened to me in prison. Though I swear this wasn’t what I had in mind for you.”
“Okay, I believe you,” Nash said in a fair imitation of Burns himself, a wry twist to his puffed lips. “Drop the key to these manacles near my hands. Once I get them off, I’ll do the rest. You don’t have to get in on the shootin’.”
Burns stiffened and tore the cigarette he had been making as a blind. He glared savagely at Nash. “You figure I’m yellow or somethin’?” Abruptly, he dropped the tobacco and papers and took the key from his shirt pocket and shoved Nash roughly over onto his side. He had the manacles off in a flash and they clanged against the rock, bringing Cade spinning around swiftly.
“What the hell!” he exclaimed, his hand streaking for his gun butt.
Burns shoved Nash roughly aside and palmed up his Colt, the gun blasting deafeningly in the confines of the cave. He triggered off three shots and Cade’s gun exploded twice ... but by reflex action, as Burns’ lead slammed him back into the rock wall. He cannoned off and fell face down beside the fire.
Bryant came charging in from outside and Nash, rolling, snatched up the yellow-haired man’s rifle where he had left it propped against his bedroll. He gritted his teeth as the lever dug into his raw palm but jacked in a shell and fired as Bryant got off his first shot and he felt the bedroll jerk with the impact of the bullet. Bryant staggered as Nash’s lead took him in the side and Brad Burns got off one more shot that smashed into the middle of the man's face, knocking him back several feet.
Ears ringing from the gunfire, eyes stinging from the gunsmoke, Nash lowered the rifle and took out a kerchief to wrap around his burned gun-hand. He stiffened as he heard a gun hammer click back and he looked up ... straight into the smoking barrel of Burns’ six-gun. The yellow-haired man stared down at him coldly.
“After what you got me into, I could blow your head off, Nash!”
“Well, I can’t change what happened to you, Burns,” Nash told him wearily, “and I’m almighty obliged for what you just did. But remember, I got you out of trouble, too, by trackin’ down the real bandit.”
Burns glanced down at the signet ring he had slipped onto his finger, looked back at Nash and slowly eased down the gun hammer. He reloaded his Colt before holstering it.
Nash breathed a sigh of relief. “Man, Wells Fargo could sure use a man with your gun speed!”
Burns looked momentarily surprised, then shook his head. “I want nothin’ to do with Wells Fargo again. Except, maybe, to collect that bounty you mentioned. I still aim to settle with you, Nash. We’ll run into each other some time. When your gun-hand’s healed over.”
Then Burns picked up his bedroll and rifle and walked slowly out of the cave through the gunsmoke and past the bodies of the outlaws. He ignored Nash’s call to stop.
Ten minutes later, Nash watched him ride away down the canyon and he sighed, figuring he’d better start tidying up here and get on back to Blackwood.
Jim Hume was sure to have another job waiting for him. And, wherever he rode from now on, a gun would be waiting ... in the unforgiving hand of Brad Burns.
The Clay Nash Series by Brett Waring
Undercover Gun
A Gun Is Waiting
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