Gun Work: The Further Exploits Of Hayden Tilden - Plot & Excerpts
. .” BROUGHT MY WINCHESTER to bear on the trio. Addressed the man sitting on the backside of the table when I called out, “Okay, Mort, you boys best throw all your iron on the floor. Then get up real slow. Keep your hands where I can see ’em when you do it.” Mordecai Staine, who’d spent the whole time I approached them staring at the scarred tabletop, as though on the verge of drifting off to sleep or maybe passing slap out, snapped his head back with all the speed of a man sitting on the bottom of a deep, cold lake. With agonizing, near-paralytic slowness, he pushed back in his chair, then shoved a sweat-stained, wide-brimmed Stetson to the back of his head with one finger. Brothers Darius and Dolphus swayed to their feet. Hands hovering over still holstered, well-used pistols, they backed into the tent saloon’s far corner. Took a stand on either side of their eldest. Mordecai’s bloodshot, rheumy-eyed gaze wobbled around the room till it landed on me. “Jus’ be got damned,”
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