buckskin couldn’t answer, of course. Not in words. But the way the horse lifted his head and looked into the thick shadows under the trees, The Kid knew something was out there.
A mountain lion, maybe. Horses and mountain lions were mortal enemies. The same was true of wolves.
The Kid bent over and reached for the Winchester from where he had leaned both of his long guns against one of the saddles on the ground. As he closed his hand around it, a swiftmoving shape leaped out of the darkness at him, teeth bared in a snarl.
The Kid snatched the rifle up quickly so the beast’s teeth closed on the barrel, not on his flesh. The next second, the animal’s weight slammed into him and knocked him off his feet. As he fell, he grabbed hold of the thick, shaggy coat and hung on.
In the firelight, he saw that the creature struggling to sink its fangs into him wasn’t a mountain lion or a wolf or even a bear.
It was a dog, and he would have sworn it was the same dog he had tossed off that rock slab more than a week earlier when he encountered that gang of bounty hunters.
He had his left hand on the dog’s throat, holding off the teeth, and he still clutched the Winchester in his right. He raised the rifle and brought the butt smashing down on the dog’s head.
The blow stunned the dog and gave The Kid time to throw the animal off and roll to the side. He came to his feet in a blur of speed and brought the Winchester to his shoulder, the barrel lined on the dog, which had regained its feet and was gathering itself for another spring.
“You pull that trigger, mister, and I’ll kill you.”
The words that came from behind him, uttered in a loud, clear voice, made The Kid’s finger freeze on the Winchester’s trigger for two reasons.
One was the obvious threat behind them. The other was the fact they were in a woman’s voice.
He heard footsteps and a crackle of brush as she stepped out of the undergrowth beneath the pines. She said, “Hold, Max,” and the dog settled down on its haunches but still looked like he wanted to tear The Kid’s throat out and gnaw on his bones.
“Put the rifle on the ground,” the woman ordered.
“How do I know you’ve even got a gun?” The Kid asked.
He heard the metallic ratcheting of a revolver being cocked not far behind his head.
“That a good enough answer for you?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” The Kid bent over and placed the Winchester on the ground at his feet.
“Back away from it.”
He did so, keeping his hands in plain sight. Depending on how much trigger-pull her gun required, it might not take much to put a bullet in his head.
“All right, turn around.” To reinforce the order she had given a moment earlier, the woman said again, “Max, hold.”
The Kid turned to face her. A shock went through him as he recognized the poncho and the broad-brimmed brown hat.
He had thought that dog looked familiar. So did his captor. “I thought you were dead,” he told her.
Her mouth tightened in a grim line. “Not hardly. What you really mean is that you thought you killed me.”
“You were trying to kill me at the time,” The Kid pointed out.
She had a blued-steel Colt Lightning pointed at him from a distance of about four feet. Too far for him to jump her before she could pull the trigger.
While keeping the revolver leveled and rock steady, she brought her left hand up and cuffed her hat back so it hung behind her head on its chin strap, revealing a head of closely cropped auburn hair and a narrow, scabbed-over wound that started on the side of her head and disappeared into the hair above her right ear. “Your bullet just grazed me,” she said. “It knocked me out cold and I had a headache for three days afterward, but I wasn’t dead.”
The Kid grunted. “I can see that. Where’s the rest of your bunch?”
“I don’t have a bunch. I was just traveling in the same direction as those men.”
The Kid had a hunch there was more to it than that, but he
A mountain lion, maybe. Horses and mountain lions were mortal enemies. The same was true of wolves.
The Kid bent over and reached for the Winchester from where he had leaned both of his long guns against one of the saddles on the ground. As he closed his hand around it, a swiftmoving shape leaped out of the darkness at him, teeth bared in a snarl.
The Kid snatched the rifle up quickly so the beast’s teeth closed on the barrel, not on his flesh. The next second, the animal’s weight slammed into him and knocked him off his feet. As he fell, he grabbed hold of the thick, shaggy coat and hung on.
In the firelight, he saw that the creature struggling to sink its fangs into him wasn’t a mountain lion or a wolf or even a bear.
It was a dog, and he would have sworn it was the same dog he had tossed off that rock slab more than a week earlier when he encountered that gang of bounty hunters.
He had his left hand on the dog’s throat, holding off the teeth, and he still clutched the Winchester in his right. He raised the rifle and brought the butt smashing down on the dog’s head.
The blow stunned the dog and gave The Kid time to throw the animal off and roll to the side. He came to his feet in a blur of speed and brought the Winchester to his shoulder, the barrel lined on the dog, which had regained its feet and was gathering itself for another spring.
“You pull that trigger, mister, and I’ll kill you.”
The words that came from behind him, uttered in a loud, clear voice, made The Kid’s finger freeze on the Winchester’s trigger for two reasons.
One was the obvious threat behind them. The other was the fact they were in a woman’s voice.
He heard footsteps and a crackle of brush as she stepped out of the undergrowth beneath the pines. She said, “Hold, Max,” and the dog settled down on its haunches but still looked like he wanted to tear The Kid’s throat out and gnaw on his bones.
“Put the rifle on the ground,” the woman ordered.
“How do I know you’ve even got a gun?” The Kid asked.
He heard the metallic ratcheting of a revolver being cocked not far behind his head.
“That a good enough answer for you?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” The Kid bent over and placed the Winchester on the ground at his feet.
“Back away from it.”
He did so, keeping his hands in plain sight. Depending on how much trigger-pull her gun required, it might not take much to put a bullet in his head.
“All right, turn around.” To reinforce the order she had given a moment earlier, the woman said again, “Max, hold.”
The Kid turned to face her. A shock went through him as he recognized the poncho and the broad-brimmed brown hat.
He had thought that dog looked familiar. So did his captor. “I thought you were dead,” he told her.
Her mouth tightened in a grim line. “Not hardly. What you really mean is that you thought you killed me.”
“You were trying to kill me at the time,” The Kid pointed out.
She had a blued-steel Colt Lightning pointed at him from a distance of about four feet. Too far for him to jump her before she could pull the trigger.
While keeping the revolver leveled and rock steady, she brought her left hand up and cuffed her hat back so it hung behind her head on its chin strap, revealing a head of closely cropped auburn hair and a narrow, scabbed-over wound that started on the side of her head and disappeared into the hair above her right ear. “Your bullet just grazed me,” she said. “It knocked me out cold and I had a headache for three days afterward, but I wasn’t dead.”
The Kid grunted. “I can see that. Where’s the rest of your bunch?”
“I don’t have a bunch. I was just traveling in the same direction as those men.”
The Kid had a hunch there was more to it than that, but he
Similar Books
