The Riflemen
Page 16
Thaddeus drew his pistol and dismounted. “Go get her.”
Cotton hurried forward and unlocked a padlock holding a door in place.
“You keep her locked up?” asked Thaddeus coldly.
“For safety’s sake, you see,” whined Cotton. “Against the wild animals, that sort of thing.” He pushed the door open and leaned into the darkness. “Come on out, girl. There’s someone here to see you. Come on, darling. No need to be afraid.”
Thaddeus strode over, roughly pushed the man aside and looked in.
Little Emily sat on a pile of straw amidst dark shadows and pools of damp. She still wore the same ragged and dirty dress.
“I’m here, Emily,” he said softly. “Come to take you home.”
Her sad eyes lit up in recognition and she jumped to her feet and rushed into his arms.
With one hand, Thaddeus swept her up and she snuggled into his shoulder. He cocked the pistol in his free hand and turned on Cotton. Thaddeus’s voice shook with anger as he pointed the weapon full in Wooley’s face. “I ought to give it to you right here and now,” he growled. “You’re no better than some feral critter, Wooley Cotton. But I want to see you suffer some for what you’ve done to this child. I see her hands are raw with the ‘lightweight’ work you gave her. Mr. Wooley, you’re going to hang and I’m going to stand and watch it happen. Now, get along over there with the rest of your brood. You’ll have some company in hell, I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Guardeen crested a rise, his remaining pony staggering now, sweat-soaked and beyond going much further. The poor beast was run out and had no more than a few yards left in it.
It was then Guardeen saw the couple in the valley below him. They were a long way off. He reckoned nigh on a thousand yards, at the very least. He watched them for a moment as they struggled.
Christine delivered a healthy blow between Wyatt’s legs and he almost cheered out loud at her courage.
In one motion, he slid from his panting mount and drew the Sharps from its scabbard. Without giving pause for thought, the breech was opened and a cartridge drawn from his ammunition belt. His heart was beating fast and he tried to disassociate himself emotionally from the scene enacted far below. He needed stillness if he was to make the shot. It was unheard of: one thousand yards. Only a couple of old timers he knew of had made such a shot successfully in the history of the Sharps. The stagecoach operating Texan, Henry Skillman and Billy Dixon, the buffalo hunter. Legendary long shots against the Apache when both men were under attack. Well, it was not him who was under attack here, so that should take the edge off.
He dropped to the ground and spread himself. There was nothing to prop the rifle against, except a steady hand.
Wyatt pulled Christine over and grasped the saber. The steel glinted in the bright sunlight through the slot in his weapon’s ladder sight.
No longer time to think. Guardeen let his instincts take over. He cast his mind into the calm blankness between measured calculation and intuitive aim.
He took the shot.
The bullet ran along the thirty four inches of one in eight barrel twist, propelled by the blast of expanding gas that sent it into the blue and left Guardeen with only a prayer for its delivery.
Christine winced as she felt the saber point press into her neck. She knew what was coming with certainty now as she looked up into the callous coldness of Wyatt’s widening eyes.
His lips curled back to bare his teeth in a self-gratified grin and then, suddenly, it was if a giant hand had picked him up bodily and threw him over her head.
She saw the sudden look of surprise and the open mouth posing a silent question as he vanished from her sight.
Then she heard the booming sound of the Sharps.
“Guardeen!” she breathed, thankfully.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A spring day with the earth workable, rich with the scent of new growth. The land was marked out with wooden pegs and long lines of ribbon. Here, the living room, there a kitchen, storeroom and bedrooms. Cold storage would be in the cellar that was already under way.
Stripped to the waist, Guardeen and Thaddeus worked together under the bright sun, digging at those foundations. Piles of timber lay stacked and waiting. Giant trunks of tall pine trees ready to form the solid cabin walls. They’d draw water from the nearby river and mix it with mud and straw to form a cozy airtight bond between the timbers. Bark would be split and sized for roof tiling. Then planking for a board floor, doors, shutters and room separation.
There was a pleasure in all of it. They loved this spot. A river valley, sparsely forested below high rolling hills. They were living in a large tent until the work was done and the cabin made ready for the winter. And it was on schedule. From the open flap of the tent, Christine stepped out. She carried two mugs and a plate of fresh-made biscuits. “You boys ready for a break yet?”
The men looked across and dropped their picks in unison. “Could do with that right now,” said Guardeen, wiping sweat from his brow.
They came over and sat on upended tree stumps, taking the mugs and a warm biscuit each. “Thank you, ma’am,” said Thaddeus with a smile. “What do you think? Going to be a fine homestead, wouldn’t you say?”
Christine studied the piles of earth, sawn timber, stakes and strung outlines. Guardeen knew that in truth it meant little to her as yet. Slowly, she turned her gaze to meet his eyes. Steady as a rock, he returned her look.
She smiled, a secret knowing little smile that warmed her ice blue eyes and gave Guardeen an unsettling moment of pause. “I think its going to be fine, Thaddeus. Just fine.”
“Yes, indeed,” Thaddeus went on, his eyes roving over the far hills. “‘The Rifleman’s Rest’. We’ve come home, Mister Nick.”
“One thing,” said Christine after a brief moment of consideration. “Do you think that is really the best place for the kitchen? I thought maybe a little more to the left, then you might see the river from the window. I have a spot planned there for flowers and such. What do you say, could we move things around a little, or is it too late now?”
Guardeen and Thaddeus exchanged a knowing look and then slowly started to chuckle together until they laughed out loud.
“What?” Christine asked innocently. “What did I say? It’s not a problem, is it?”
Without words, Guardeen knew – and so did Thaddeus, he was sure – that their lives had changed forever.
About the author
Tony Masero is better known for putting the face on Western novels rather than writing them. He has created the cover artwork for many well known stories and cowboy series in recent years. Tony painted the covers for both of the long-running and best selling Edge and Steele series. He also created cover artwork for the series The Searcher, The Sergeant and Clint Adams-The Gunsmith published by Piccadilly Publishing. A committed fan of the genre since his younger days, Tony often found that the historical research of the Old West, necessary to create his artwork, was inspirational; it then wasn’t such a great leap from artist to writer.
Tony’s website at www.artnillustration.com displays some of his Western cover artwork.
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