Man with No Name- Blocked Door Kills

He grinned faintly and sprinted for the iron wagon in the center of the courtyard. As he had noticed, the benches were supported by short lengths of thick timbers. He wrenched one of them out, ran back and planted it on the floor just inside the postern gate. Back at the wagon he took his time lounging against the side and fishing out one of the short cigars. He lit up and leaned back like a man of leisure, enjoying a respite.

A few moments later the squat figure of Bandera appeared outside, flanked by four of his usual bodyguards. Grinning, he peered through the bars, prudently showing only a corner of his face.

“Ain’t that cute? Old Terrible is so ree-laxed because he figgers he’s safe inside them stone walls and iron gates. What a shock he’d get if we was to just barge in, like this …”

He rammed a shoulder against the barred door. The ravaged lock popped off and the door slammed open—but only as far as the length of timber permitted. There was just room for one man at a time to squeeze through. Driven by Bandera’s wild roaring, one of the bandits squeezed through. Almost casually the bounty hunter shot him through the head.

The second bandit, treading on his heels, tripped over the tumbling body and went down on his hands and knees, swearing. He was still trying to get his gun up when the hunter shot him in the throat. The next bandit, treading on his heels, leaped back a split second before the hunter fired, his third bullet fanning a hot breath across the bodyguard’s face. There was an interval of quiet and non-activity. The hunter took the time to leisurely reload his gun and refire his cigarro. He had a fair idea of what the next move would be.

It came with the appearance of a long, crooked dead branch that poked in under the gate, fished around briefly, felt the obstructing block and pushed it aside. The bounty hunter watched with interest. When the gate’s opening was clear he straightened up, took a final puff on the cigarro and tossed it away. He slid his feet apart and waited, the forty-four hanging loosely at his side.

It was a brief wait. The remaining two hit the gate together, with Bandera prudently in the background, yelling encouragement. The gate slammed wide and the two charged through, shoulder to shoulder, with guns blazing at the spot where the hunter had been lounging. Unluckily for them, he was no longer there. He was some yards away, his left hand slapping the hammer of his gun, and two worthless lives ended in the dust.

- Blood for a Dirty Dollar, chapter 23