Thirteen Tombstones Chapter One - Part One By: David K. Montoya


Thirteen Tombstones
Chapter One - Part One
By: David K. Montoya

“Well if we can be on our way, I have a morning execution to attend to,” the Sheriff said and ran his hands over his unshaved face and tried to ignore the mayor’s comments.

“All right, Mister…” He stopped and turned back to face me once more. “You know, I didn’t catch your name, good sir.”

“Garret. Garret Colson,” I said. Wallace gave me that damned grin again. I didn’t like where this was headed.

“Well, Mister Colson, follow me next door and I’ll have you your money and have you on your way,” he said. Wallace headed for the door and stopped to look back at me. “No harm, no foul?”

I forced a weak smile. “No sir. No harm, no foul.”

As I walked outside, I was hit by the smoldering heat. I knew it was too hot to head out just then. I needed to think of something to keep me in town until nightfall. But, my attention was turned away from my travel arrangements when I heard someone shout in the distance. “Wallace!” they yelled.

The three of us turned in the direction of the person who called out. Before any of us knew what happened, a gun shot split the air. Sheriff Henry jumped in front of Wallace and took a slug directly in the gut. A second shot was fired and hit the Mayor in his shoulder.

I grabbed him and pulled Wallace down behind a barrel. “A friend of yours?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. The Mayor was sheet white and stared off into nowhere. “Shit!”

“Come on out Wallace!” the man with the gun yelled, “time to pay for pulling down on a helpless ole cripple like my Pa.” I glanced around the barrel and saw a young kid. He was no more than seventeen, eighteen at the most.

“Look kid,” I shouted, “I don’t know what you and the mayor’s history is. Heck I really don’t care, just leave me out of it.” He responded by firing of a few rounds into the barrel, one of which busted through and zinged past my ear. “Damnit kid! I don’t want to kill you!”

The shooting stopped and I heard laughter from the boy. “You think you’re faster than me, mister?” he asked. “I’m the fastest draw in these here parts.” I saw him as he twirled and flipped his pistols in and out of his holster. I really didn’t want to kill the boy; he was just young and foolish. I turned back to Wallace who appeared to be coming around.

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