Pale Horse, Robert L. Ross [beach read book .TXT] 📗

often violent but persuasive manner, Colt looked at his partner, putting his hand up towards him as to say “Wait, and suggested that he himself would handle it. Pale Horse kinda smirked, shrugged his shoulders, and poured himself another shot as to say “Fine, my friend, he's all yours.” Colt picked up his mug of beer, and upon finishing it, grabbed the fool by the back of his hair with one hand, and proceeded to pummel his face with it, breaking his nose, and shattering several teeth, then letting go of the man, he watched him slump bewildered and beaten to the floor. The mans friend pulled him up by his arms and dragged him out of the bar without saying a word. Pale Horse had already ordered his partner another mug of cold & frosty, and toasted him on the job well done as the two downed their beers and headed out the door on their way to Wolf Canyon.
“You think we'll run into any of them Mexican's on the way to Walters hideout?” Colt asked, just to strike up a conversation on the way. “Yeah, probably so,” he answered back with a tiring sigh, “I'm damn sure not in the mood to be bothered with their “give me your horse and money, or I'll shoot you” ignorant bandit bullshit,” he added. “Well, I say, since we got a job to do, and we don't need the extra hassle, Let's just shoot 'em all before they get a chance to slow us down any.” “It's funny you'd say that, because that's exactly what I was thinking myself,” he said as he shook his head and smiled at the similar thinking between the two of them. They hadn't ridden an hour out of the city before a group of 5 of the dreaded bandits approached from the East side of the canyon ahead. Pale Horse suggested they “cut and shoot” to his friend, who agreed with him immediately.
Both of the bounty hunters unstrapped their shooting irons, and loosened their rifles from their sheaths as the bandits drew ever closer. Pale Horse looked over at his friend and said “Lets Ride.” Both of the men spurred their horses to a full gallop as they approached the bandits, pulling their weapons and began firing at the unsuspecting outlaws. Colt shot the one on his right, knocking him out of his saddle and eliminating one of their adversaries immediately. Pale Horse, snug atop his mount, was firing with both weapons, lead and fire bellowing from his guns, and finding deadly their mark. Three of the bandits now lie bleeding in the desolate sands, as the other two were firing wildly as they raced past the bounty hunters. Colt and Pale Horse both pulled reins abruptly and cut sharply to face the outlaws as they turned their horses around. One of the shots fired dropped the horse of one of the Mexicans, leaving him pinned under the beast that now lay heavy on his leg in the dirt. Unable to free himself and his pistol just out of reach, Colt and Pale Horse both fired at the remaining outlaw on horseback, both hitting their mark, as he slumped forward, lifeless and his horse slowed to a stop. The bounty hunters, sparing no mercy for the bandit now pinned, rode up on him and stopped. Looking at each other, Pale Horse and his partner stared the Mexican in his eyes as they unmercifully emptied their remaining chambers into the bandit. Pale Horse, who had inadvertently wounded the horse that lay atop the deceased outlaw, pulled his long rifle and relieved the fallen beast of it's misery.
“That ought to do it,” said Colt, as the two bounty hunters reloaded their weapons and returned them to their holsters. Both of the men kept a sharp lookout for any other bandits as they began to make their way into the entrance of the canyon, remembering the last time they had ridden through and were shot at by the sniper who lay hidden in the jagged cliffs that surrounded them.
Tying their horses to the branches of the trees that hid the entrance of the hideout, Pale Horse and his partner walked boldly through the entrance towards the shanty that Shane Walters and the new recruits he had paid to protect him were holed up. Unaware that the bounty hunters knew of their location, they drank their rotgut and played cards as Shane slept in the rear of the cabin. Pale Horse made it clear to his friend that he wanted Walters alive if at all possible, and Colt, understanding his reasoning had agreed to be careful of killing the outlaw.
As they boldly approached the dilapidated cabin with steel drawn and at the ready, The men inside could be overheard as they laughed and placed their meager bets on the losing hand they were soon to draw. “Let's just go in firing,” Pale Horse said calmly, as they both cocked back the merciless hammers on their weapons of death. Knowing their adversaries would hear them as they stepped across the wooden porch, together, they bolted for the door and kicked it open as they entered. Pale Horse immediately shot the first man he saw standing as the door swung open. Colt, remembering the layout of the cabin, immediately hit the floor, now on his side with pistols blazing and sending their message of death to the right of the room where the card game was taking place. The outlaws, quickly outgunned, and scrambling to their feet as they reached for weapons still holstered, were gunned down before they could get off a shot. Pale Horse, killing the outlaw at the head of the table, and knowing Colt had the rest of the card players dead to rights, immediately trained his weapons, both hammers arched, at a startled and weaponless Shane Walters. Putrid smoke filled the small room from the volley of death now silenced. With his pistols still holstered, slung over the back of the chair that sit next to the bed, the leader of the gang, defenseless and caught unaware, stood up as Pale Horse instructed him to do so. Colt, to assure of no further complication or interruption, put a taste of lead in each of the fallen men's heads, before he and Pale Horse walked their long sought after prisoner from the cabin.
“Colt?” asked Pale Horse as he kept his eye on Walters. “Yeah?” he answered back. “Could you get my rope and bring it to me?” “Certainly,” he replied, as he walked towards the narrow entrance of the canyon, reloading his six-guns along the way. “Who are you?” Walters shouted at the bounty hunter. “You'll know soon enough,” he replied as the lurid thoughts of everything the outlaw had done to his sisters swirled in his mind. “You have no right to come in here and shoot my men down like dogs!” Shane announced in useless defiance, still unsure of who the Indian was who held him at gunpoint. Rather than listen to more of the man's unwanted outburst, Pale Horse swung violently with his .45 and smashed him in the mouth, encouraging him to remain silent until all was revealed to him. Colt returned with the horses, and after tying them up to the railing in front of the cabin, unstrapped the rope tied to the horn of Spirit's saddle. “Cut the rope into four lengths if you would Colt,” he instructed his friend. “You got it,” he replied as he took the elk bone knife he offered him, and did as his friend asked. While Pale Horse kept his weapons trained on the outlaw, Colt, realizing the harrowing scene about to unfold, began tying each of the outlaws limbs tightly with the individual pieces of rope. “What are you doing!” Walters shouted, thinking at first that the rope was to hang him with, but now was baffled at what was being done. Pale Horse stepped forward, and upon removing the outlaws handkerchief around his neck, shoved it in the man's mouth while adding, “I told you to shut up!”
With the arms and legs now securely fastened with the ropes that bound them, Pale Horse made Walters back up and step on the edge of the porch, where Colt stretched the rope towards the post that held up the porch awning, and tied it off. Walking to the other side of the porch, he repeated the same. Both arms were securely held and stretched out, as Colt did the same to Shane's feet. Spread eagle, with arms in the air, Colt stepped back and looked at the outlaw and laughing, said, “He's all yours Pale Horse.” He thanked his friend, and said to him, “You can ride into town now if you would like, I've got it from here.” Colt, saying nothing, walked past the bound Walters into the shanty, and stepping over the deceased, brought out the wooden chair that had been sitting next to the bed. Placing the chair a few yards away from the porch, he looked over at his partner and said, “No, after all we've been through chasing this one down, and mainly for what he did to the girls and that poor boys family, I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the show.” Pale Horse nodded at his friend as he walked over to Spirit, and removing his tin of grease paint, he dipped into the container and smeared the darkened sign of the Comanche warrior across his face. He then outstretched his arms and looking to the heavens, began to chant, “Spirits of our Fathers, I ask that you once again make your presence known to me, and guide these hands with the vengeance and fire that burns deep within my heart that I may right the wrong that has been done to my family and once more find the peace in my heart and favor in your eyes.” Pale Horse approached the outlaw and announced to a now terrified Walters as he ripped through his shirt, exposing his bare skin before him. “The Indian girl you kidnapped is my sister, and the white girl you took as well.” Shane's eyes were wide with terror and his legs began to tremble, remembering the legend and ghastly tales he had heard in the past, as he watched the Indian reach for the infamous Shadow of Death.
The noon sun shone directly down upon the scene unfolding, and glint eerily off the fabled blade as Pale Horse held it up for the outlaw to see. “Had you chosen to kidnap them simply for the money, and leave them unharmed, and return them as you vowed, I would simply put a bullet in your head, and this would all be over, but instead, you chose to beat them, and worse yet, you chose to rape them, and for that, your punishment shall reflect the heinous error in judgment of which you chose to follow.” Pale Horse, now just a foot away, began singing a ritualistic chant of death as he slashed deeply at the outlaws chest, cleaving a huge chunk of flesh as the blade viciously made it's path. Walters screamed in agony, as the blood began to flow down his chest. Colt just sat there, reminding himself what Walters had done to his dear Temperance and said nothing. “There is nothing more cowardly and despicable than a man who lays his hand heavy upon a woman,” Pale Horse said as he slashed deep another slice of vengeance into the chest of Walters. The blood poured freely now and down the front of the outlaw, as the ravenous vultures that had gathered above began to circle the prey beneath them.
Pale Horse raised the blade again and slashed wildly several more times across the ribcage of Walters, spilling even more blood as the outlaw began to