Battling Boxing Stories. C. J. Henderson

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СКАЧАТЬ Gnarled Teeth warned, “or there’ll be hell to pay.”

      “I’ve no doubt you’ll be paying a debt in hell one day,” the professor said calmly, “but unfortunately you won’t be sent there by our hand. You have effectively stripped us of any weapon against you.”

      “Damned right. And best you remember that if you know what’s good for you.”

      The second front rider had nudged his horse closer and now Hugo lifted the strongbox and held it out to him. As this was taking place, the professor pleaded with Gnarled Teeth. “Take whatever you want. Just get this over with and spare the lives of me and my people. I beg of you.”

      “Quit your whinin’. We’ll get to the rest soon enough,” Gnarled Teeth told him. “But first things first...Virgil”—speaking now to the rider who’d taken the strongbox from Hugo—“pop that thing open and let’s see what we got.”

      Virgil slipped from his saddle and dragged the box down with him. A moment later he sent it crashing to the ground and then dropped to his knees beside it, forcing open the lid. Several loosely bundled bills spilled out.

      “How much is there?” called one of the riders who had moved up alongside the rear wagon.

      “Looks like a pretty good haul,” Virgil answered, scooping up some of the bills. “Two, three hundred dollars here at least—maybe more.”

      “Chicken feed!” spat Gnarled Teeth.

      All eyes swung to him.

      “I’m on to your tricks, old man,” Gnarled Teeth said to the professor. “How many times I have to tell you I been watchin’ you. You think I don’t know a plant when I see one? Your take from all these minin’ camps you been hittin’ has been a helluva better than that.” He jabbed the muzzle of his rifle threateningly. “So you pitched out what you wanted us to settle for.... Now where’s the real stash?”

      “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” stammered Hanratty. “We take in money, yes, but there are expenses—feed for the mules, ingredients for my elixir—”

      Gnarled Teeth swung his Winchester and fired a round into the nearest mule, shattering the poor beast’s brain. Molly screamed as the shot rang out. The stricken animal emitted a soft snort and then its legs buckled and it collapsed heavily to the ground. The mule harnessed next to it pawed and jerked wildly for a moment but was held in check by the weight of its fallen mate and by Hugo hauling back hard on the reins. “You murderer! You bastard!” Hugo wailed at Gnarled Teeth.

      “There. Now I cut down part of your expense,” Gnarled Teeth proclaimed. “Best shut up that loud-mouthed lame-brain, Professor, or my next bullet goes in him.”

      Molly fell against McMahon, sobbing. “Make them stop! No more shooting—Don’t let them hurt Hugo.”

      “All right,” McMahon said, patting the girl comfortingly as he addressed Gnarled Teeth. “That’s enough. You win, you bastard.... You’re right, there’s more money to be had.”

      Hanratty looked aghast. “McMahon...stop and think...all we worked for, the money we put away for Molly’s operation....”

      McMahon shook his head. “It ain’t worth it, Professor. What does any of that mean if this scum decides to cut us all down.... And he will, sure as can be, just as cold as he pulled on that poor dumb mule.”

      “Damn betcha I will,” Gnarled Teeth confirmed.

      “What’s to stop him from killing us all anyway?” Hanratty protested.

      “No guarantee,” allowed McMahon, giving another faint head shake. “But it’s damn certain he will if he thinks we’re holdin’ out on him.”

      “Ain’t no thinkin’ left to it now,” Gnarled Teeth pointed out. “You done admitted you got more money hid away. The only question left...where is it?”

      Grim-faced, McMahon said, “Let me climb down, I’ll show you.... You and your boys hold easy on those triggers, right?”

      Gnarled Teeth nodded. “Go ahead. Just move real slow and careful-like.”

      McMahon gave Molly another comforting pat before quitting the wagon seat. “Everything’s gonna to be all right, little girl,” he assured her.

      “It had better be,” Gnarled Teeth said. “Just to be sure, O’Toole”—he gestured to the rider who had moved close to the rear wagon—“you train that rifle gun of yours right on the little cripple. If boxer man tries anything funny, you blow her clean out of that seat, you hear?”

      Dropping lightly to the ground, McMahon walked forward to the front wagon. There, he stopped before a large rectangular storage bin that had been fastened to the sideboards on the near side. “What you’re askin’ for is in here,” he said over his shoulder to Gnarled Teeth, as he began untying the ropes that were lashed around the bin to hold its lid shut.

      “Mackie-boy, are you sure about what you’re doing?” asked Hanratty edgily.

      “Trust me, Professor. This is our best chance.”

      “That’s right. Trust the boxer man,” said Gnarled Teeth, “and while you’re at it keep your whinin’ trap shut.”

      McMahon wrestled off the lid to the storage bin and let it drop to the ground. Dust puffed up from the rocky footing and swirled in the cold wind. Then he began rummaging in the bin, in time scooping out an armload of small burlap pouches, which he turned and also dumped to the ground. He’d turned back to rummage some more when Gnarled Teeth called sharply.

      “Hold up there! What foolery is that? What do you think you’re doing?”

      McMahon jerked his chin. “The money you want—it’s squirreled inside some of those pouches.”

      “The hell you say! Didn’t you hear me tell the old man that I been watchin’ your shows? You think I ain’t seen how those pouches get used—you knockin’ ’em outta the air when they’re throwed at you?”

      “That’s true enough,” McMahon allowed. “But that don’t mean they still can’t have another use too. You never heard of hidin’ something in plain sight, where it’s least likely to be looked for? I’m tellin’ you there are tight balls of money shoved down in the pea gravel inside several of these pouches—the ones tied with red string, the ones we never use as part of the show.”

      Virgil looked anxiously at Gnarled Teeth. “When he says it like that, it makes sense in a sneaky kind of way. Might be tellin’ the truth.... Want me to check some of ’em out, Boss?”

      Gnarled Teeth scowled suspiciously. “You go ahead and do that, Virgil,” he finally said. “But you hear me, boxer man: I don’t real soon see some money spillin’ out amidst that pea gravel, I’m gonna take you tryin’ to make a fool outta me mighty damn hard—hard on you!”

      From where he stood, his right arm still dangling down inside the storage bin, McMahon said, “Let Virgil have his look...you’ll get what you’re askin’ for.”

      Virgil left the spilled strongbox and went over to the pouches that had been tossed to the ground. He squatted beside them, СКАЧАТЬ