goin’ ’round gunnin’ folks down?
DEATH RIDES THIS RANGE
Sutton looked surprised. “That’s right! I didn’t—!” He broke off there and flung his coffee into Kincaid’s face.
The rancher gasped with a mixture of pain and shock, momentarily blinded.
Bill Ruskin had only managed to gasp, “What the hell . . .?” when a sixgun exploded in Sutton’s fist and the heavy slug smacked the cowboy back into the fire. The young man screamed once, then lay still, his clothing starting to smolder.
Seconds later, when the rancher could see properly, he knew he was staring death in the face.
“Why?” Kincaid groaned.
Sutton smiled like a lobo wolf. “’Cause you’re in the way.”
The rancher looked baffled and Sutton added;
“It’s too long a story to explain fully. Let’s just say the whole Fool Creek Valley is gonna change hands mighty soon.”
Kincaid laughed scornfully. “You’ll never get away with it.”
“Pity you won’t be around to find out how wrong you are.”