Chapter 9

Almost on schedule we saw a group of about eight men ride up to just out of rifle range, dismount, tie their horses, and approach on foot. As they moved into long rifle range, they went to ground and started to snipe at the wagons. My people fired back once in a while, but neither side was in much danger from such long range fire unless someone was very unlucky. Deciding that I had best tend to my own business, I ducked down into the riverbed and joined Tara at our prepared position.

“How’s it going?” She asked.

“So far they’re on schedule and following the script,” I replied. Let’s just hope that the rest of them do the same.”

“I pray to God that they do,” she said as she cocked her Henry.

Following her example I cocked my Winchester and we settled down to wait. Then several things happened in short order. From downstream we could hear screams and yells, quickly followed by rapid Henry fire, and from upstream we could hear a number of men moving towards us. We looked at each other, smiled, and then set our cheeks to the rifles. Seven men came around the bend into our view. I could see Tara tense up.

“Steady,” I whispered, “wait until I shoot.”

A few moments later they were just a few feet from the downed log, and I fired, hitting my target mid chest. Tara fired less than a second later also hitting her man. The remaining five men dove behind the tree and started firing at our stone wall. I notice that another man was behind the original seven and he quickly dove around the bend, out of danger. I was certain that he was Gill. He fit the description that Diego had given us, of a tall, stocky man wearing butternut pants with a yellow strip down each leg. Deciding to deal with the problem at hand and worry about Gill later, I pulled on the fish line and everything went as planned. After the explosion, all we could hear from our front were moans. We checked out the men behind the tree, and all I could do was deliver a mercy cut to the two men who still clung to life. That’s when Murphy showed up.

“You son of a bitch, you ruined everything,” Gill screamed from the bank above us, pointing his revolver at me. Tara took a quick shot at him, but he saw her and dived down the bank. When he landed, I was between him and Tara so she had no shot. In his fall he had lost his gun, so he drew his knife and screamed in rage.

“Forget your guns you son of a bitch and face me man to man with your knife. Or are you a coward?”

I drew my Ruger and shot the dumb ass in the head. Mrs. Olsen didn’t birth no fools who would take silly chances. If a man wants to bring a knife to a gun fight, I’ll play, as long as I have the gun.

When we met back behind the wagons, Cal reported. “Seven of them came at us, and they walked into your trap, we think that three stepped on nails and by the time it was all over four were down, and three got away but two were wounded.”

“Good job,” I responded, “we got eight including Gill. Now all we have to do is convince the rest to give it up as a bad deal and take off. Wait a bit, I have an idea”.

I went to Gill’s body and pulled off his pants. Cutting down a sapling, I tied his pants to it and waved them over my head.