Bucking the Tiger

Bucking the Tiger by Marcus Galloway Page B

Book: Bucking the Tiger by Marcus Galloway Read Free Book Online
Authors: Marcus Galloway
the burnt black powder drifted into his nose, Doc felt it irritate the tender strip at the back of his throat. When he started coughing, it seemed as if he wouldn’t be able to stop until the taste of blood welled up on the back of his tongue.
    â€œThis is precisely the sort of thing…my physician warned against,” Doc said in between vicious coughs.
    As Boyer dropped to his knees, he reached with his free hand to his own bloody torso. There was a blackened spot on his side, but it was the dark pool of blood soaking into his gut that concerned him even more. When he took his next breath, it was accompanied by a powerful, jabbing pain.
    While keeping his gun trained on Boyer, Doc reached out with his free hand to take hold of the coffee that he’d saved by placing it on the edge of his bed. He sipped it and let out a relieved breath as the warm, liquor-laced brew went down his throat. “I’m a great admirer of irony. Considering the facts, I’d say it’s ironic that you’re on the floor coughing while I’m still on my feet.”
    Boyer tried to get up, but the effort of doing so brought another agonizing stab into his gut. When he dropped down, he landed with his hand pressing down on top of his gun just to keep from falling over.
    â€œAnd considering what I’ve heard about what you did to Miss Deno’s lookout,” Doc continued, “this becomes ironic on another level.”
    â€œShut…up,” Boyer snarled through gritted teeth.
    Doc holstered his gun and squatted so he could get down to Boyer’s level. “Tell me more about this Tiger,” he said while calmly taking Boyer’s gun out from under his trembling hand.
    â€œYou’re a…dead…man.”
    â€œI knew that already. Tell me something else.”
    â€œYou won’t…get away…with this.”
    As Boyer said that, Doc heard footsteps and excited voices outside his room. He stepped over the fallen man and glanced out into the hall. After stepping out for a minute or so, Doc returned and grabbed hold of Boyer under both arms.
    â€œYou’re going across the hall,” Doc said as he dragged the man out the door. Fortunately for him, his words and actions were enough to get Boyer kicking and struggling again. That kicking made it a little easier for Doc to move the man the short distance from one room to the other. Even though Boyer was fairly slight of build, the effort of dragging him brought a layer of sweat to Doc’s brow.
    â€œTell me whatever you need to tell me,” Doc said. “In my professional opinion, you haven’t much time left.”
    Boyer was glancing around in disbelief. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was having just as much trouble accepting that he’d been shot as he was in believing who’d shot him. “There are…others…”
    â€œHow many others?” Doc asked.
    The footsteps outside were getting closer as the folks inside the boardinghouse were gathering enough courage to approach the spot where they’d heard the shots.
    Doc stepped across the room to the window and pushed it open. It wasn’t until then that he spotted the saddlebags propped in one corner and the dirty shirt crumpled near the bed.
    â€œWho’s your connection with the law?” Doc asked. “Who’s the crooked one wearing the badge?”
    Boyer shifted and looked at Doc with confusion as more and more of the color drained from his face.

    Once it was obvious that no more shots were forthcoming, the owner of the boardinghouse made her way up the stairs and down the narrow hall. She was a lady in her early sixties and had eyes that rarely missed a thing. She didn’t make ends meet, however, by pointing those sharp eyes too long in the direction of the people who were put up in her rooms by the saloon owners. Of course, she wasn’t about to be a party to murder, either.
    â€œHello?” she called down

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