Chapter 39

With a sandy whoosh in a cloud of flying gravel, Frosty’s motorbike cleared the crest of the granite ridge in an airborne glide before skidding to a wobbly stop about a dozen yards down the slope.

“It’s Alice and Darlene with five guys wearing uniforms from the sheriff’s department!” Belinda panted as she took my hand and pulled herself to the top of the incline. “They are under guard, wearing handcuffs. Did the men see me?”

She lifted her binoculars to her eyes and scanned the hilltop at the far end of the trail.

“No. I could only see you. The rise is blocking their view.”

I shifted my body sideways, scrunched down, and peeked out from the shadowed corner of a wastebasket-sized rock outcropping. Eye-level to the ground, I felt like one of the little people from Gulliver’s Travels as I gazed through a forest of withered brown grass scattered before me. Having lost their struggle to survive in thin soil against the summer’s heat, the dead and decaying leaves of spring growth swayed and shredded in the wind.

“How far behind are they?”

I glanced upward to check the sun’s angle and lifted my field glasses to my eyes. Good; the sun was slightly behind me, no chance for a reflection flash. I steadied my glasses on the distant summit with one hand as I pulled a black and white cowboy bandana from my pocket with the other.

“Not far, fifteen-hundred-yards at the most, maybe five minutes.” Frosty took the offered bandana and wiped the sweat and dust from her face. “Thanks.”

“What’s going on?” the Commander whispered as she dropped next to me and observed the western skyline as, one by one, seven riders ambled into view.

The lead rider raised his arm, halted, and dismounted before lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. I froze in place like a spider in the weeds and held my breath as a stinging trickle of sweat dribbled down my forehead into my eyes.

“Crap!” Sheila hunched down and let gravity slide her body out of sight of the intruders. “What’s he doing?” Her face pressed tightly into the rocky incline as she looked at me and blinked.

I focused on the leader and snickered in surprise as the man’s hands fumbled with his midsection before assuming the familiar posture of relief. I stifled a chuckle as he began to swivel his hips from side to side. We men ain’t too far removed from our canine cousins. We love to mark our turf.

“Yup, he’s taking a piss. He’s got his pecker in his hands.”

I fine-tuned the focus of the high-quality optics and stared into the faraway face of Fitzwater, the County Assessor. “What the hell is that bastard doing here?” I growled.

“Who?” Sheila inched upward and looked over the rim of our hill.

“It’s Pisswater. The little shit is wearing a sheriff’s uniform.” I coughed and spat. “What are your orders, Commander?”

I unslung my weapon and checked the safety. I noticed Belinda matched my moves as she licked her lips and readied her rifle.

“We’ve got to free Alice and Darlene, and we can’t risk a shootout. We need to stop them here,” Sheila said as her eyes scanned the area for concealment and cover.

Sheila slipped down the embankment and climbed to her feet as the grim-faced, and tightly lipped women of our team gathered around her. The leader scanned the several dozens stunted evergreens which had taken root in the scant soil below the summit.

“This is an ideal spot for an ambush, we’ve got enough concealment.”

“Better hurry, they’re moving again,” Belinda warned as she scrambled under her poncho.

“Quickly! Get out of sight and be ready back me up. I’ll confront them here after they’ve cleared the crest.” Sheila worked the bolt action on her rifle and loaded the firing chamber with a live round.

“Boss! Let me stop them.” Slinging my rifle over my shoulder, I scooted down the slope and stood next to Sheila.

“Why?” the leader frowned.

“Because Fitzwater is a sexist pig. He won’t take you seriously, you’re a woman. He might listen to me. Maybe.” I took a pack of cigarettes from my breast pocket, tapped out a smoke and lit it with my Bic lighter.

My boss’s eyes widened in surprise. “You really wanna do that?”

“Hell no! But if you do it, you’ll get shot.” I shuddered as I took a drag and tried to keep my knees from trembling.

Martha stepped to the Commander’s side and tugged her shirt sleeve. “He’s right Sheila, let him do it.”

“All right, we’ll cover you.”

Sheila joined Martha in the sheltered position behind a rock outcropping. I unslung my firearm and stepped behind a tangle of bushes. AS knelt down out of sight as I glanced around, and waved to my comrades. As if they were shadows in the night, the caped sisters moved like silent mist between the branches and blended, nearly invisible, with the background.

I took a deep drag from my cigarette, smothered the butt in the soil and closed my eyes for a moment to collect my thoughts and gather my wits. Confronting a group of lawmen with a drawn weapon? Nope. Not a good idea. I fingered the beads on my Vietnam service necklace and moved my mind to a place with neither past nor future. The eternal now was all about me.

“Relax, my friend,” I whispered as I pushed worry to the center of my thoughts and acknowledged the terror within me.

Fear is a useful servant, but it is a lousy master. Once I accepted the fact I was scared beyond words, an icy calm stilled the trembling of my hands and mind, and I was no longer a refugee from reason.

From the far edge of hearing, the sound of approaching hooves tickled the wilderness of silence ringing in my ears. “Okay? What’s my plan?” I mused to myself with a shudder. Uncertainty answered. I had no Plan B. Hell, for that matter, I didn’t even have a Plan A.

I crouched and peered between the branches and leaves of the shrubbery in front of me and watched as the party of intruders and their female prisoners meandered into view. Whew, the leader’s firearm was slung over his shoulder, and the weapons of the mounted guards were safely secured in leather scabbards. When the little twit from town came abreast with my concealed position, I stepped out from behind my bush with the barrel of my downward-pointed AR-15 draped over my forearm, held in place by the rifle butt tucked into my armpit.

The color drained out David Fitzwater’s face as his eyes widened in shock and surprise.

“Does anyone have a match?” I took the unlit cigarette dangling from my lips and held it aloft. “I seem to be out of fuel.”

“Stop! I don’t think you’ll be needing that,” Sheila called and stepped out from the rocky shadow and squinted down the barrel of her 30.06 Kimber Mountain Ascent rifle as she aimed at a spot between Fitzwater’s eyes.

“Same here!” sang a chorus of sisters as they emerged from concealment and took aim at every uniform in the contingent of men.

To his credit, the posse’s leader froze in place and made no effort to prevent the gun he had started to unsling from dropping to the ground.

“Now now, that’s no way to treat a fine weapon.” I slung my long gun over my shoulder and walked forward and retrieved the assault rifle from between the legs of his skittish mount.

I checked the safety, ejected the clip, cleared the chamber and used the sleeve of my jacket to dust the dirt from the weapon.

“Much better. I suggest you stow it for safekeeping.” I nodded to the empty scabbard at his side.

“Gentlemen, please keep your hands on your saddle horns where we can see them. Thank you very much.” With a smile and a slight nod, Martha shifted her steady aim from one rider to the next as she made eye contact with each man in the party.

Sheila relaxed her arms as he slipped his empty firearm into its holster and he rested his hands on the worn cowhide pommel of his seat. “Excellent. Let’s keep this a friendly meeting, Mister Fitzwater.”

“It is Acting-Sheriff Fitzwater!” he snarled and stiffened his body as his knuckles whitened with rage. His lips formed, but did not speak the next word: “Bitch.”

“Mind your manners. Play nice.” I ditched my smoke and ground the cigarette butt into the soil with my boot. The tension within the circle had reached a new equilibrium. The Commander was in charge.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Mister Acting-Sheriff?” Sheila smiled. “And why are our friends in handcuffs?” Her face melted into a frown.

“I have a court order.” He carefully opened his coat to reveal a folded white sheet of paper protruding from the inside breast pocket of his jacket.

Sheila returned my curious glance with a small tilt of her head.

“Slowly, if you please, Sheriff.”