Free Lassiter Tough by Loren Zane Grey Page A

storage shed behind the store. He gave Millie a hard shove that sent her stumbling toward the front door of the store. And at the same time he yelled at Chandler. “Get out, Rep! I smell a trap!”
    Chandler, with his splinted leg resting on the dashboard, awkwardly hauled in the spirited team. And as he brought them to a halt, there was a gunshot. It came from the roof of the saddle shop. A bullet splintered a corner of the wagon seat.
    Lassiter had already noticed movement on the roof. He saw part of a face and the gleam of a rifle barrel over the edge of the wooden parapet. And as if jerked by wires from an observation balloon, a man popped into view on the roof. As women began screaming, he dropped the rifle. He lurched to the parapet, blood pumping from a hole in his neck. He bowed low as if to inspect the descent of his falling weapon. Then he pitched over and followed it to the ground. Lassiter had a glimpse of a badly scarred face.

9
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    â€œI’m callin’ you, Lassiter!” It was the screech of Doug Krinkle in an off-key voice. He had been running from the protection of the shed along the west side of the store. Now he had halted, his mouth hanging open, probably because the man on the roof had fired too soon and taken him by surprise. Now Krinkle was snapping into action and apparently going ahead with the plan, whatever it was. But his gun was already out and you don’t call a man unless your weapon is holstered. Obviously, he had been told to shout the challenge and so he had done so, belatedly.
    He was coming at a run, firing at a corner of the store where Lassiter had ducked. Millie was crouched near the door. Women inside were still hysterical. Rep Chandler had backed his team and was reaching on the floorboards for a rifle. Adobe chips were flying as bullets dug into the wall of the store, which were fired erratically by a nervous Krinkle. The man was running hard now; Lassiter could hear his foot-steps.And in another handful of seconds, Millie and Rep Chandler could be in danger.
    Krinkle’s third shot was aimed chest high as he swung away from the store for a glimpse of his target. But the bullet went screaming in ricochet off the wall. At that moment Lassiter sprang into a crouching run into the open before Krinkle could fire again. He glimpsed the look of surprise on Krinkle’s face and saw the man recover quickly to try and bring down Lassiter’s sprinting figure with a snap shot. But it missed. As Krinkle thumbed back the hammer for another desperate try, Lassiter shot him twice—once high in the chest, the second just above the belt buckle.
    As Krinkle collapsed, someone yelled a warning. Lassiter spun around in time to see Brad Sanlee just kicking through the weeds of the vacant lot. He held a big .45. In his wild run, Sanlee’s hat sailed off and his coarse, reddish hair bounced at each step.
    The .45 came up, but not aimed at Lassiter. Sanlee fired into the weeds. “He was tryin’ for your back, Lassiter!” Sanlee shouted. “I got him for you!”
    Men were coming at a run, some of them crowding around the one who had fallen from the roof. Sanlee had just fired into the side of the skull.
    A white-faced Millie came to grip Lassiter by his arm. “Are you all right?” she breathed.
    He nodded and saw a stricken Rep Chandler at a limping run toward Millie. Lassiter gave her a shove toward the rancher and turned to look at Krinkle. He pushed through a circle of men to stare down at the crumpled figure.
    â€œDead as last night’s beer,” a man said with a shaky laugh. “That was some shootin’, mister,” he added to Lassiter.
    Lassiter smeared a shirt sleeve across his forehead and watched Sanlee lumber up.
    â€œThat was close,” Sanlee said, breathing hard from the run. “I saw him about to make a try for your back.”
    The man was already dead. I’ll bet on it!
    Lassiter kept his thoughts to