Page 59 of New Storm Rising
“Get up! Hands in the air!”
There was no reaction. The men in tattered miners’ clothes continued to cower on the floor, unmoving.
“What are you waiting for? By my authority as an officer of the law, I order you to get to your feet!”
Still, nobody moved. They truly had to be terrified.
Either that, or something was going on. Hm…considering this was Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s place, which was more likely, I wondered?
I grinned.
“You refuse? Very well!” The sheriff cocked his revolver. “You have till the count of three to move! One…two…three!”
Bam!
A bullet slammed into one of the men’s legs. It jerked—then lay still.
As did all the rest of them.
Nothing moved.
Not even the drops of blood one might reasonably expect to dribble out of the hole in the trousers.
“What the hell…! Move, I said!”
Bam! Bam!
Not a single twitch in response. By now, even the marvellous intelligence of the pitchfork mob was sufficient to realize there was something off. A realization that also dawned on Gallagher. Leaping forward, he grabbed one of the figures on the floor by the shoulder and turned it around, only to be faced with—
“Goddammit! What the—?!” Leaping back, he stabbed a finger at the straw and twig monstrosity on the ground, glaring at my hubby. “What the hell is this?”
“This?” Mr Ambrose cocked his head. “Ah, of course, someone not involved in agriculture might not recognize it. This called a scarecrow, a farming tool commonly used to scare away—”
“I know what a freaking scarecrow is! What I want to know is what they are doing here!”
“Why, is that not obvious? I always pay attention to local developments. Seeing how much Señor Navarra has recently invested in local agriculture, helping local people to get their hands on so much farmland, I felt I had to do my part. So, I obtained these,” he gestured towards the scarecrows, “and thought I would distribute them to the new farmers. After all, one should always be helpful to one’s neighbours.”
By this time, the sheriff’s face was twisting and convulsing. I gazed at him with interest. Overcome by gratitude, was he?
Yeah, that was probably it.
“Rrraaaah!”
Raising his revolver with a roar, Gallagher pressed down on the trigger.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
Gritting his teeth, he shot bullet after bullet into the scarecrows, then whirled to face Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his eyes glinting with murderlust.
“You son of a bitch! You did this on purpose!”
“Did what?” Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s face didn’t even twitch. “Being neighbourly?”
God. After the little session in the saloon, I thoughtIhad a good poker face. Note to self: never ever ever play against Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
“You know exactly what I mean, you bastard!” Gallagher hissed, once more raising his revolver. “Where did you hide the fugitives? Tell me right this moment, or—”
“Now, now, Sheriff.” Stepping up beside the lawman, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, at a place that just happened to be rather close to his jugular. “You’ll want to be careful with that revolver. Especially considering the little fact that, you know, you just completely emptied it of bullets?”
