Keeping the discarded equipment and the gravel piles between him and Horner’s men, he reached his designated place.Quietly, he cocked his Winchester.
He had very little doubt that the sheriff was here for his own benefit.What Horner wanted had nothing to do his sworn duty.Still, he needed to be absolutely sure.Caleb hoped his plan would give him the answer and that Doc and his daughter would not suffer for it.
He took off his hat and waved it to the side where Sheila could see it.Just as he did, a cloud drifted in front of the moon, casting the camp in shadow.He glanced up at the sky, cursing under his breath.
The plan was for her to scream loud and clear and draw the sheriff out of the shack and his deputies into the open area.Where Caleb was situated, he would have clear shooting straight down into the heel of the horseshoe, avoiding both the corral where Sheila was located and the shack where Doc was.But all the planning in the world wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t signal her.
He frowned, waiting impatiently for the cloud to pass.
One of the men at the fire stood, stretched, and started for the corral.Caleb wasn’t about to risk him stumbling into Sheila.
When the deputy got halfway across, Caleb stood and got him in his sights.The man was only about eighty yards away, and Caleb could have taken him down with a rock.
“Well,” he muttered.“The best damn schemes of mice and men…”
Before he could squeeze the trigger, the moon reappeared.Sheila must have been able to see him clearly, standing with his rifle at his shoulder, because the shriek she let out could have curdled milk.And she kept it up, riling the horses something fierce.
The deputy in the center of the camp stopped dead in his tracks, but the other two were on their feet in an instant.They grabbed their rifles and started for the corral.The man in the lead drew his pistol and ran toward the horses.
That was when the sheriff himself finally came out of the shack, his pistols drawn.
Caleb waited until Horner got out beyond the campfire before shouting, “Stop right there, boys!”
They all froze, their heads swiveling as one toward him.
“It’s me, Sheriff,” he called out.“Caleb Marlowe.The judge sent me out here, so that puts us on the same?—”
Horner’s Remingtons were spitting fire before Caleb could finish.And Horner was moving his fat carcass back toward the shack as quick as he could go.
“Kill that sumbitch!”he was shouting at his deputies as he ran.
That was all Caleb needed to hear.
He swung his Winchester toward the man closest to the corral.He was running hard and firing on the run.Caleb’s rifle barked, and the deputy stumbled once before pitching forward into the dirt.
Dropping down behind the gravel pile, he levered in another cartridge and looked back at the sheriff.Horner had nearly made it to the doorway of the shack.Damn.Caleb couldn’t afford to shoot and miss.Not with Doc inside.
As the sheriff was about to reach the building, though, the door slammed shut, and Horner—still firing in Caleb’s direction—didn’t see it until it was too late.He bounced off the door and landed on his ass.
Doc Burnett, Caleb thought with a flash of grim admiration.That stubborn old sawbones had just earned himself a drink, if any of them lived long enough to pour it.
The sound of crackling gunfire filled the camp.Bullets thunked into the gravel dust and the trough and whizzed past him.He sidestepped, swinging the rifle toward the two men raining down bullets on him.They’d quickly taken cover, one behind a rubble pile and the other behind a stack of barrels.Caleb fired a volley at each of them and glanced over at the shack.The door was still shut, but there was no sign of the sheriff.He’d disappeared.
Caleb moved quickly along the trough toward an upended cart.He wanted to get to a better angle on the gunman behind the barrels.Before he could reach the cart, one of the shooters’ bullets struck Caleb’s Winchester square above the trigger, behind the loading gate.
At first, Caleb thought he’d taken the bullet in his hand.The rifle was knocked from his hand, and he dropped to one knee, clutching his wrist as the pain flashed up his arm and into his head.
The deputies were not letting up, and the shots continued to thud into the trough and the ground around him.If he stayed there, he was a dead man.
He dove for cover, drawing his left side Colt.Holding his numbed right hand up, he saw there was no blood, no hole, and all the fingers were accounted for.But the pain in his arm was bad.
As he lay there, trying to breathe and clear his head, he knew it was futile to think that the feeling in his hand might come back.It didn’t change the fact that he had to take these two.If he didn’t, Doc’s and Sheila’s lives were over.
That was the only thought that mattered.Not the pain.Not the odds.Not even the sudden useless weight of his right hand.Sheila was by the corral, trusting him to hold the line.
The deputies were calling to each other, planning their move.Caleb glanced around the edge of the cart and saw the deputies running on an angle away from each other.They planned to catch him in the crossfire.
Caleb stood and took aim at one of them.At seventy yards in the dark, hitting a moving target would be a tough shot.One thing he was sure of, though: his left hand was as good as his right.The bullet struck the man in the chest, putting him down.
