"David L. Robbins - Endworld 08 - Denver Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robbins David L)

Mitchell attempted to see the driver, but the truck's windshield was
caked with dirt and grime. He could distinguish nothing more than a
blurred form behind the steering wheel.

The troop transport stopped ten yards from the three troopers.

Brandon took a step toward the truck.
 Mitchell abruptly, inexplicably, was filled with premonition of
impending danger. He'd felt it before, during the campaign against the
Flatheads, and had learned to trust his instincts.

But what could be wrong now?

The driver's door on the transport was flung open, and a lean, blond,
buckskin-clad figure jumped to the asphalt. His blue eyes were dancing
with mirth, and his blond mustache and lips were curling upward in a
wide grin.

"You!" Mitchell cried in alarm.

"Howdy, gents," the newcomer offered in a friendly manner, his tone
belied by the proximity of his hands to the pearl-handled revolvers
strapped around his narrow waist.

Mitchell glanced at his two companions. From the shocked expressions
on their faces he knew they also recognized the man with the fancy
handguns.

"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you boys to drop your M-16's," the
man in the buckskins stated.

Telford licked his dry lips. "And what if we don't?" he demanded.

The newcomer chuckled. "That suits me right fine," he said. "But it
would be a heap healthier for you if you did drop тАШem."

Brandon gazed at Mitchell and Telford. "There's three of us and only
one of him."

Mitchell hesitated. From what he'd heard, this man could take out all
three of them without working up a sweat.

"I ain't got all day," the newcomer informed them.

Telford stupidly made the first move. He tried to bring his M-16 up,
envisioning the great reward he would receive if he killed the man in the
buckskins.

But he never lived to claim it.
 The newcomer's right hand flashed to his right holster, his motion a