Free A Lust For Lead by Robert Davis Page B

impossible. I got a pretty good idea I know where he is.’
‘You fixing to cause trouble in my town?’ Fletcher asked.
Shane looked him levelly in the eyes. ‘Not if I can help it,’ he said.
The marshal nodded, understanding him perfectly. ‘Well then,’ he said. ‘In that case I’ll leave you to go about your business. Oh there is one thing: Benedict Hunte rode into town a little while ago and I understand there’s quite a price on his head. I’ve got him locked up in the jailhouse and there’s some federal marshals coming to pick him up in a couple of days. Until they get here though, me and the boys are likely to be a little nervous so I’d stay out of our way if I were you. I’m not threatening you, you understand; I’m just saying. A man like you has a reputation and we don’t want any misunderstandings around here now do we?’
Shane smiled slightly, admiring the old man’s nerve. ‘No, we wouldn’t want that at all.’
‘So everything’s clear?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Well, good day to you then.’
Shane tipped his hat to them and watched as they retreated back toward the jailhouse. He had hoped to have been able to intimidate them into giving him Hunte without any trouble, but it seemed as though things were going to be a little more complicated than that.
He swore quietly to himself. Hunte was becoming more trouble than he was worth.
    The stroke of noon was the Gunfighter’s Hour. It was sacred to the Fastest Guns and Shane thought it curious that no match was fought to honour it. Instead, the contest between Luke Ferris and the woman, Vendetta, took place, like every other match, at half-past the hour.
Vendetta was the woman that evil men feared. Ten years ago, her husband had been murdered by a gang of outlaws led a famous gunfighter named Michael Brett. The local sheriff had been powerless to do anything about it, being too scared and too underpaid to risk his neck over something as trivial as justice, and so Mary Elizabeth Becker had learned to handle a gun, changed her name to Vendetta, and sought her own retribution.
It had been bloody and dangerous. Vendetta had pursued her enemies relentlessly and only Michael Brett had managed to elude her. In 1881 he had competed in the first tournament at Covenant, from which he had never returned. Since then she had wandered the continent, fighting for others that the law was powerless to protect and championing the causes of those too weak to fight for themselves.
Shane had it on good authority that Michael Brett had been one of the six men who had won the first tournament and was willing to bet that Vendetta had come to Covenant to complete her revenge. To do that, however, she would need to win.
She squared-off against her opponent with a look of tough determination smouldering in her eyes. Luke Ferris was a handsome man in his late twenties whose deceptively laconic nature concealed a vicious talent for murder. He wore no gunbelt but simply had his gun tucked into the waistline of his pants. It was a .44-40 calibre Remington with an inch-long brass spur protruding from the handle for use in close-combat. With it, Ferris had killed close to three-dozen men. He was a notorious train and coach robber, wanted dead or alive in Nevada, Utah, Texas and Oklahoma. He stood with his left shoulder slouched, hands idle, the stub of a cigar hanging from the corner of his lips.
When Nathaniel called it, both fighters burst into an explosion of speed. Their hands reached instantly for their guns, flicked back the hammers and drew.
Two gunshots rang out almost simultaneously, thundering through the silent streets of town. Vendetta’s hat was blown from her head and fell, spinning, into the dust behind her. As it landed, a sudden hush closed upon the crossroads as if a smothering fist had tightened, choking all further sounds.
Then there was a heavy thump as a body hit the ground.
    Luke Ferris had been the quicker of the two by a mere fraction of a second but his