Invincible, p.1
Invincible, page 1
Invincible: A Western Novel
Richard G. Hole
Far West 1
@ Richard G. Hole, 2021
Cover: @Pixabay - XaviBGood, 2021
All rights reserved.
Total or partial reproduction of the work is prohibited without the express authorization of the copyright owner.
RESUME
Three outlaws, stationed in the rough terrain, suddenly appeared on the path, pointing at him.
But as soon as they had stopped the traveler and were trying to surround him to deprive him of the money, he, with the acquired lightness, took out the small revolver that he carried at his waist, and with two accurate shots, which vibrated almost simultaneously, he shot down two of the men. outlaws.
When the third, astonished, wanted to react and repel the aggression, a new shot brought him a hand and a revolver, forcing him to fall down an embankment so as not to suffer the fate of his companions.
Invincible is a story belonging to the Far West collection, a collection of novels developed in the American Wild West.
INVINCIBLE
CHAPTER I
TWO "LOST BULLETS"
Bud Raines was born with the "Colt" in hand, according to the unanimous affirmation of all the inhabitants of the region. We do not dare to assure that materially this would have happened like this, but metaphorically, no one would have allowed to assure that it was not true.
The morning that he came into the world in a cheerful town next to one of the great bends that forms the Colorado River, called Grand Canyon, between the Indian reservations of Havasupai and little Colorado, his grandfather, old Kelly, affirmed very seriously when observing that Bud came to the planet fiercely biting both fists:
“Look at him, poor thing; He comes mad because he has not been able to go out shooting a good "Colt" of 45, like all his family.
And realizing that it was his duty to provide the newborn with so longed”for gadget, he took his out of its holster, stripped it of the bullets, and placed it in Bud's trembling hands, who angrily raised the barrel to his mouth as if it was the tastiest bottle.
Since that day, the favorite toy to silence him when he caught a dog was the revolver. Grandpa Kelly, turned into his governess, held it in his hands, clicking the trigger to distract the boy, and when Bud started walking, he found him an old revolver, tied a rope to the striker and Bud dragged him along. through the ranch rooms as if it were a vehicle bought in the most luxurious bazaar.
When Bud was eight years old, his grandfather insisted that the time had come to begin the neophyte's primary instruction, making him seriously rehearse the handling of the weapon. Old Kelly, a great taster of temperaments, claimed that his grandson's blood was a charge of dynamite with a lit fuse inside and, therefore, a man of such temperament had no more dilemma than to learn to handle the revolver better than anyone. or worrying about acquiring a good grave in the village cemetery, to occupy it the moment his blood warned him that he had ceased to be a boy to aspire to become a man.
And to faith that old Kelly was right. Long before he expected, Bud had a chance to show his impetuousness and to attest to how well he had put his grandfather's lessons to good use.
When he was only twelve years old, one day he went out with his father to make a trip to a nearby town called Apex, where his father had to collect the amount of some cattle sold.
They were returning to the Grand Canyon at dusk, when three outlaws, stationed in the rough terrain, suddenly appeared on the path, pointing at Bud's father and despising him for considering him a creature with the bottle still between his teeth; But as soon as they had stopped the traveler and were trying to surround him to deprive him of the money, Bud, with the lightness that his grandfather had made him acquire to handle the weapon, took out the small revolver that he carried at his waist, and with two accurate shots, that vibrated almost simultaneously, struck down two of the outlaws and when the third, astonished, wanted to react and repel the aggression, a new shot brought him a hand and a revolver, forcing him to fall down an embankment so as not to suffer the fate of his companions.
The feat spread by word of mouth throughout the region and Bud began to be regarded with respect, when he was only of an age to receive a spanking for his antics.
The strange thing was that Bud was not tragically thrilled by his feat. The blood did not seem to impress him and, when his grandfather forced him to repeat for the umpteenth time the details of his feat, the boy assured very formally:
"It was something precious, grandpa." He really wanted to rehearse on someone, because he was already tired of throwing the trees and wild ducks. It seems to me that the next time I shoot again, I will shoot on that brute Fred Sanders, who has made me bite the ground several times with his terrible fists.
Fred Sanders was the son of Bud's father's ranch foreman, a tall, stocky boy, the same age as Bud and Bud's best friend. Together they had grown up loose in the pastures, without fearing God or the devil, and together they had carried out countless small robberies typical of their age, helping each other when someone suffered a disaster.
The two loved each other like brothers; But when their differences of opinion exploded, they settled the criteria with their fists, and although Bud was strong and tough, his friend was more skillful and ended up beating him.
When this happened and Bud was angry, but without shedding a tear, bleeding from the mouth or nose, Fred would carry him on his shoulder, ignoring the kicking of his friend, transferring him to the nearest stream, washing his wounds with the care that I would do it with a little brother and then I would say to him:
"Well, Bud, don't hold a grudge against me." I do it like this so that you learn to defend yourself with fists, that fists also serve a purpose. Someday you will be able to me and that day you will have learned something that you will have to thank me for.
But Bud didn't learn to beat Fred. He had rehearsed his sturdy fists on other boys older than him, succeeding in applying them terribly; but when he relapsed with his friend, he was fatally defeated by him, and failure kindled his blood and he vowed to take fierce revenge upon him.
Grandpa Kelly, he saw himself and wanted to put that idea out of his mind. He should not do that with the best friend he owned, and if Fred was more skilled with his fists than he was, his obligation was to learn to handle them better, to defeat him nobly.
The success of that day was terrible for him. Emboldened by this display of mastery of the weapon, he did not shy away from showing off as a small gunman, and when the bozo began to point under his nose and he thought he was a man with the right to alternate between real men, he did so with such bragging that more than once he was forced to have to show that what he released through his tongue he could sustain with the gun in his hand.
Being eighteen years old, and very shortly before his father died, and a collapse occurred in his life that almost plunged him into tragedy, he heard people say from the valley that a terrible gunman called "el Rojo del Colorado ", and that he, using his fame and his safety handling the revolver, was fleecing all the industrialists of Gran Canyon, living like a king and forcing the gamblers to give him a bonus for every night they opened the game. in the gambling dens.
Bud didn't care if he ripped off the gamblers. He hated them, because he had the suspicion that on one occasion they had won him five hundred dollars with bad arts, although he could not verify it; but he could not admit that no one in the region presumed to command respect with weapons in hand while he was there, and he decided to finish off the bully.
He looked for Fred and simply proposed:
“Do you want us to go down to the village and finish off that boastful and conceited "Red"?
"Well; But, don't you think that two for one is going to be a bit cowardly?
"Not. We are going to propose one thing to you. We give you five minutes to ride a horse and get out of town. If I don't want to, then let him choose between you punching him, or me shooting. Maybe he despises you, but accepts me, and then ...
"Well, accepted." That you choose; But if it kills you, tell me I'll turn it into pulp later.
“Seem right. I'll do the same to him if he beats you first.
That night they appeared at "El Gallo Verde", where the bully stopped more frequently, and when they discovered him at a Pharaoh's table, watching the game, Bud approached him, dropped his hand on his shoulder and without further ado preambles he said:
"Listen, friend; This one “ this was Fred “ and me, it bothers us a lot that here, where we were born, there is no one who claims to be stronger and more skilled than us. They say that you boast of having iron fists and agility of hands, driving the "Co1t", that there is no one equal to you. Well, here we are ready to show you your mistake, and we don't give you to choose more than two paths: either you fight with his fists, or shoot me, or you have five minutes to leave town and forget about the route. where you can return to it.
The gun”man looked at them smiling, very amused, as he considered them two beardless boys, unconscious and boastful; but since the challenge had been formal and in front of many people he answered with irony:
"I am not used to spanking children, because I have never considered it a man's thing;" But when children insist on being spanked, they must be pleased. I'll give this fist”bragging brat a good beating first, and then I'll put two bullets in your ribs so you have to scratch for a while.
"Well, stay with the plan." Now, tell us if you prefer violets for your grave, or are
The bandit burst out laughing and said:
"I don't want to ruin you guys." With a good bunch of thistles, I'll have plenty.
“Very well. Well, you will be pleased.
The crowd, who knew Bud and Fred well, were delighted by this event. Only that couple of madmen could free them without exposure, for their part, from the robberies of the gunman, and they awaited the fight with expectation, since they considered both worthy rivals.
Fred stripped off his leather jacket and waistcoat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal two not very thick arms, but with terribly cultivated muscles, and addressing "the Red one", who was proceeding with the same operation. , He said:
"Anytime you want we can start the show."
They all stared at the outlaw's hairy, blackened arms, and deep down they didn't bet a dollar on Fred. His rival was much tougher and heavier, and they presumed that he was going to award him a beating to death.
The fight began in the game room of the gambling den, which had been cleared, leaving a great space for the contestants, and they, in a magnificent fight, began the fight that was tough, spectacular and exciting.
"El Rojo", despite his strength and his fists, received terrible caresses from Fred's, who fought with the utmost courage; but he also knew how to administer terrible blows to his rival that made his face look like a pity.
Both bled from the mouth, nose, and eyebrows, neither yielding in the terrible contest; but it was observed that Fred could withstand less than his resistant enemy and that if the combat was not null, it would lean in favor of the gunman.
So it was. When both were already exhausted, "the Red" managed to place, in an oversight, his enormous fist on the chin of his rival, and he, caught by surprise and with his energies turned off, rolled on the floor, leaving him senseless. .
The outlaw flopped down on a stool, huffing like a bear, and asking for whiskey to collect himself, and Bud, who was watching him calmly, came up to him, saying:
"I suppose you will not be in a good condition to handle the revolver and I don't want them to say that I take advantage of it to kill you like a chicken." I give him all night to rest and get well, and tomorrow, at ten o'clock, I'll come get him so we can finish this matter. I have made up my mind that after five past ten you should not cast a shadow over the land of this town, and I will not give you another minute.
The bandit, stressed by his triumph, accepted the truce and, after almost draining a bottle of whiskey, retired to rest.
Bud took the inanimate body of his friend and transferred it to the ranch, where he took care of resuscitating him, which cost him a lot of work, and when he succeeded, he said:
"You weren't bad, but your tactic was wrong." You should have worked his stomach instead of trying to break his teeth. I'm glad someone spanked you once in life, but I'm going to get back at you. Tomorrow I'll kill that braggart idiot and when you're hot, I'll give you a bigger beating than he ever gave you for letting you beat.
The next day, at the scheduled time, he went to "El Gallo Verde" in search of the gunman, who had come to the appointment like a real man. Fred had been obstinate in accompanying his friend, because if he fell like a ram, he was ready to fight again with the undesirable and paralyze his heart to beat to avenge his friend Bud.
He proposed:
"Let's go to a place where we don't dirty the floor with our filthy blood." Two hundred meters away there is a very good alfalfa field for them to bury us in it.
The bandit accepted and they went to the field. Already there, a cowboy was lent to act as godfather.
The contestants were placed at twelve meters, with their arms hanging along the body, and the judge withdrew warning that he would give a preventive slap and another to hurry to shoot.
Bud, serene as if attending a rodeo, had his eyes fixed on those of "Red", who did not seem very calm before the calm of that almost beardless boy, who seemed to have judged too lightly, and when vibrated the first slap, both stiffened with the ear attentive to the final.
When it vibrated like a cannon shot, Bud's right hand moved in an unlikely way. No one who attended the duel realized how he had reached the butt of the revolver and how he had fired; but the fact was that, when "Red" had half extracted from the holster his huge "Colt", he had received a shot in the middle of the heart that deprived him of finishing his attempt.
"The Red One" fell flat on the alfalfa, burying his face in it, and Bud calmly turned to Fred, saying:
"Let's see when you learn to shoot like that." You are an ass handling the "Col", and I think you are even moving your fists.
"Well," Fred said calmly. When I heal I will show it to you in your own flesh.
That afternoon the outlaw was buried, and Bud, complying with his offer, said a prayer for the dead man's soul and placed the bundle of thistles on his grave.
Despite this desire for a fight and blood, Bud was neither a hardened boy nor a sadist. He had a heart of gold and was splendid to satiety, and only when it came to the register of his self”esteem in handling the weapon, did he become a beast and did not recognize friends or enemies.
His exploits had caused him much displeasure, and the young man, realizing that the town was not a great experimentation field for his destructive skills, longed to get out of it and travel the West, in order, without hindrance or restriction, to put into effect his desire to Fight; but his father's opposition was fierce and Bud was forced to satisfy the author of his days, whom he loved madly.
But a little later, old Jim passed away unexpectedly, and Bud, instead of holstering the "Colt" and taking care of his estate, it occurred to him that this was the right time to please his friends. eagerness and, without prior consultation with anyone, he sold the ranch and decided to leave at random.
The day he was getting ready to fly, he looked for his faithful friend Fred and said:
"Well, wingless bird, here I am leaving you to rot between this valley and those calcareous walls of the Colorado." I'm going to run the world and give pleasure to the finger. I hope that when I return, if I return, your fists have not calloused from not using them anymore.
Fred angrily swore:
“Don't make fun of it, damn your figure! You take advantage to make fun, because you have money to afford that luxury and I don't. If I had the dollars you have in my pocket, you wouldn't tell me that.
Bud shook him by the shoulder, yelling:
“You dirty coyote! ... What are you saying? Is it just the money that binds you here? What do I have it for then? Do not disguise your cowardice with subterfuge. If what you say is true, pack your gear and follow me! As long as I have a dollar in my pocket, it will belong to both of us.
Fred did not make himself repeat the order. He went home, packed his luggage, fixed his horse, and that night, stealthily so as not to arouse the suspicions of his father, who had remained as foreman of Bud's ranch with its new owners, they set out west to enter California.
They were three wonderful years of wild and quarrelsome life in Utah, Nevada, Arizona and California. Spending the proceeds from the sale of the ranch, without any concern, they toured the hardest parts of the West, always among people who were rough and light”handed, and although they were in charge of many glorious and triumphal acts, more than once they served as a field experimentation for the old”fashioned local doctors, who tried new procedures for savage cures on them, without the devil being able to take to their dominions that famous pair of fighters who only fought for the pleasure of fighting and to keep their vanity as men taut skilled in fighting.
But one day, with many suffered emotions and a few ounces of lead inside their skin, they realized that money was coming to an end, and since they had satiated their desire for freedom and brawling, they studied the situation for the first time calmly and They decided that the best way was to return to the lost home.
