A Texas Hill Country Christmas by William W. Johnstone

“I must admit, it’s a bit unsettling to think about shooting at, well, a fellow human being. I mean, you said the tree is about the same size, Chance, and that made me reflect on what a deeply profound experience it must be to take aim at someone for the express purpose of doing them harm, nay, ending their very existence—”
    â€œJust shoot the tree already,” Ace said.
    â€œVery well.” Porter took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.
    The dragoon boomed like thunder and kicked up so hard that it flew out of Porter’s hands as the recoil knocked him backward. Chance exclaimed, “Whoa!” and jumped forward to catch the revolver before it fell into the mud.
    Nobody caught Porter. He wound up sitting in a puddle looking stunned and miserable. Ace managed not to laugh, but he couldn’t keep from smiling and shaking his head.
    Porter opened his mouth and then closed it again a couple of times. Chance grinned and said, “I reckon Will’s been struck speechless for once in his life.”
    Ace stepped forward to offer Porter a hand, but as he did, something whipped past his ear and thudded into the road. Ace knew instantly what had just happened.
    Somebody was shooting at them.

C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
    The crack of the shot came almost at the same time as Ace sensed the slug passing by his ear, with just enough delay to tell him that the bushwhacker was a little distance away. That meant a rifle. He had a split-second while the would-be killer levered the weapon, so he lunged forward, grabbed Porter’s collar, and hauled the man to his feet.
    â€œRun!” Ace snapped.
    Chance was moving, too, grabbing the horses’ reins and pulling them toward the far side of the road. The trees and brush there were thick enough to provide some cover.
    Ace gave Porter a shove in the same direction. Porter stumbled but stayed on his feet and hurried toward the trees behind Chance and the horses.
    Another bullet whined past Ace’s head. This time the sound of the shot gave him an idea where the bushwhacker was, and he yanked out his Colt and triggered three fast rounds in that general direction. He didn’t expect to hit anything, especially at long range, but he wanted to give the rifleman something to think about.
    Chance and Porter vanished into the cedars. Ace’s long legs carried him into the trees as well. A third shot ripped out from the hidden gunman. The bullet clipped a tree trunk and showered Ace with splinters as he darted past it.
    Then he was in relative safety with a lot of those trunks between him and the rifleman. He stopped and pressed his back against a tree. Several yards away, Chance had stopped with the horses. Porter’s mare was spooked, and Chance had to struggle to keep the animal under control. Porter, his clothes smeared with mud from his fall, stood nearby, wide-eyed with fear.
    â€œAnybody hit?” Ace called to the other two.
    â€œWe’re fine,” Chance said, then he cursed and thrust the mare’s reins into Porter’s hands. “Hang on to her, blast it!”
    The brothers’ mounts were more accustomed to gunfire, so they weren’t causing any trouble. Chance could drop their reins and be confident that they wouldn’t go very far. He did that and started dragging out the Winchesters from their saddle boots.
    The bushwhacker couldn’t see them anymore, but that didn’t stop him from spraying lead through the stretch of woods where they had taken cover. Bullets tore through tree trunks and rattled through branches. Just by sheer luck, a few of them came a little too close for comfort.
    Chance tossed Ace’s Winchester to him. Ace plucked the repeater out of the air and said, “We need to discourage that varmint.”
    â€œThat’s just what I was thinking,” Chance agreed. “Will, stay here.”
    â€œI . . . I can assure you that’s precisely what I intend to do!”