"David L. Robbins - Endworld 04 - The Kalispell Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robbins David L)

Grant and the other Troll were clear of the fire, only feet from the
newcomer. "Maybe we can return the favor," Grant mentioned
sarcastically.

"Just hurry it up!" Hickok rejoined. "I'm gettin' bored."
 Grant glanced at the elderly Troll and nodded again, and both men
went into action simultaneously.

Hickok finally moved, the Colt Pythons in his hands, and he swiveled to
his right and fired, aiming for the head as he almost always did, the two
heavy slugs catching the senior Troll right between his brown eyes and
exiting out the top of his head. The Troll silently slumped to the ground,
even as Hickok turned, the Pythons held low, at waist level, and the Colts
boomed again as Grant was bringing the Glenfield barrel to bear on the
gunman.

Grant felt a tremendous impact in his groin area and he involuntarily
doubled over, still holding his rifle, as the shock and the excruciating
agony hit him.

"That's for Joan," Hickok said grimly, walking over to Grant.

Grant's vision was spinning and he dropped the Glenfield. He managed
to croak a few words as blood trickled down the right corner of his mouth.
"Don't! Please! No!"

"That was for Joan," Hickok repeated, reaching the Troll. "This is for
me."

"Don't!" Grant pleaded.

Hickok ignored the entreaty. Instead, he jammed the barrels of his
Pythons into Grant's eyes and slowly cocked the hammers of the .357's.

Grant frantically attempted to pull away from the revolvers.

Hickok pulled the triggers.

It was as if the Troll was smashed in the head with a sledgehammer. He
jerked backward and toppled on the grass, twitching.

The gunman grinned. He twirled the Colts back into their respective
holsters. "Piece of cake," he commented.

A heavy silence filled the night.

Hickok sighed, stared at the fire for a moment, then walked around it,
bearing east.
 "Wait a minute!"