Free Blood Bond 5 by William W. Johnstone Page A

their gunbelts to the floor in ten seconds, I swear I’ll blow your goddamn guts out your back.” He cocked both hammers of the Greener.
    John Carlin’s face was greasy-pale. He knew Tom Riley meant every word he’d said. “Do it, boys,” the rancher said. “Right now.”
    Matt was holding his Greener on the gang at the bar, and Sam was covering those seated at nearby tables. The hired hands and gunnies knew that at this short distance those terrible Greeners would wipe out half the room, and those left alive would be horribly crippled. These were ten gauge sawed-offs, loaded with ball bearings, rusty nails, and God alone knew what else. Gunbelts started hitting the floor.
    â€œAll of you,” Tom ordered. “Up against that north wall and keep your hands in sight. When all the guns are gathered, you boys can ride out, five at a time. If you show your faces back in this town until after the hearing, I’ll kill you on sight. And I think you boys know that I mean every word of that.”
    The hands and hired guns nodded their heads. They all knew Tom Riley’s reputation.
    Tom cut his eyes to the barkeep. “George, gather up all those guns and stack them on the bar.”
    â€œYes, sir, Tom. Right now.”
    Not a word was spoken as George quickly gathered up the guns and placed them on the bar.
    When that was done, Tom said, “None of you boys better be holding back a hide-out gun with plans to use it.”
    â€œI got a derringer in my back pocket, Marshal,” Rambling Ed Clark said. “But I ain’t got no plans to reach for it.”
    â€œMe, too,” Jack Norman said. “But it’s gonna stay where it is.”
    A half a dozen others had hide-out guns, but all stated that openly and none had plans to try any gunplay. Yok Zapata and Phillip Bacque stood with new respect for the marshal in their eyes. As did most of the hired guns. This, they knew, was a man with no back-up in him and tough clear through. And with Matt Bodine and Sam Two Wolves now wearing badges, this was a team that would be hard to beat. At this moment.
    â€œStartin’ with the first five nearest the door,” Tom said. “Get on your horses and ride. I’ll let you know when you can pick up your guns. Move!”
    The saloon emptied quickly. Tom still stood with the Greener shoved up against the belly of John Carlin. “The judge will be here tomorrow, John,” Tom told him. “I wouldn’t try to keep you away from your kids’ hearin’. And you can bring some hands in with you. The way you and Bull feel about each other, I wouldn’t ask you to commit suicide by comin’ in alone. But all guns will be checked at my office. Clear?”
    â€œClear enough.”
    â€œGit.”
    John Carlin got.
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    At the Flying BS, Bull Sutton was awakened from a sound sleep with the news of what had taken place in town that night. He sat in his den and chuckled at the news. Along with nearly everyone in the area, he was sure the judge would do little else but fine the Carlin kids, but the public humiliation would be something they would not tolerate for very long.
    John and family would strike back at the town, and they would strike back hard. All Bull had to do was keep his people in line, and John would destroy himself. He and his family would attend the hearings and all have a good chuckle and some belly-laughs at the expense of the Carlins. That would really put the icing on the cake.
    All in all, Bull thought, things were working out right well.
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    Petunia got things off to a rousing start at nine o’clock the next morning by calling the judge “a bald-headed, frog-eyed, son of a bitch.”
    â€œThirty days in jail for contempt of court!” the judge hollered.
    Then she told him to go commit an unnatural act upon himself, but not in those words. John’s mouth dropped open in shock.
    â€œPetunia!” he