Fort Hatred

A puff of gun smoke erupted from the broken window and Moran fired at it without seeming to aim. A bullet whined past his head and he fired two more shots through the window while moving for cover at the right-hand side of the shack. A man emerged at a run from the ramshackle building, triggering a stream of lead at Moran, who dropped to one knee, his gun replying with deadly accuracy. The man fell face-down in the dust and did not move again. Moran got up and ran to the front window. He saw movement there and tossed a slug into it. A man pitched to the floor inside the shack. Moran reached the window, gasping, breath searing his throat, shoulders heaving. Sweat was running down his face. 'Hold your fire, Soldier-boy,' Shorten yelled from inside. 'My two men are down and done for. They started shooting against my orders. I ain't fool enough to tangle with the Army while I'm working for them.' 'Come out of the shack with your hands up,' Moran rasped.

© 2017 Robert Hale Fiction (كتاب إلكتروني): 9780719825583

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