Jake by C. Petit (top novels TXT) 📗

When the small posse crossed over the pass and spotted Dave making the next ascent, Sheriff Jefferson was surprised that they’d cut the gap so quickly.

Deputy Henderson shouted, “He’s only a couple of miles ahead, boss!”

Bill Potts asked, “Do you figure he hasn’t seen us yet?”

The sheriff replied, “It’s possible, but let’s not lose our advantage. We’ve got another downslope, so let’s make good use of it.”

Mike Henderson then said, “I woulda thought he’d set up for an ambush if he saw us.”

Bill loudly replied, “So, did I. I expected to hear bullets go whistling past my head when we were close to the top.”

Mike snickered then said, “You should count your lucky stars if you get to hear them buzz past.”

Pat Jefferson grinned at his deputies because they seemed so confident and unafraid.

While their boss hadn’t paid much attention to that last warning on Arv Zendt’s telegram, Bill Potts had noticed it and had thought about asking the sheriff if it was something to worry about. But he was sure that Sheriff Jefferson knew about it and didn’t seem worried, so he wasn’t about to act as if he was afraid.

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Dave found it difficult to avoid turning around to look for the posse but managed to make it over the top of the pass without checking his backtrail. Once he was a hundred yards on the downslope, he pulled up and dismounted. He walked his tired horses into a small mixed forest of pines and oaks on the west side of the road and led them to a small pond. He let them drink until he knew they’d had enough, then pulled them away. After tying off his gelding on the lowest branch of a big oak so the horses could graze, he slipped the Martini-Henry from the packhorse’s scabbard then walked to his horse and opened the left saddlebag. He pulled out one box of the mammoth cartridges and dropped it into his jacket pocket before taking off his hat and leaving it on his saddle horn.

Before he began walking back to set up his ambush, Dave grabbed his Winchester just in case any surviving lawmen were stupid enough to keep coming after losing their horses.

He returned to the road and headed for the summit. He didn’t want to let them see him, so he dropped into a crouch as he duck-walked along the roadway.

Dave was almost at the highest point when he leaned both rifles against a rock then dropped to the ground and began to crawl. He reached the top of the pass and soon spotted the three riders who had almost reached the narrow valley. They were already less than a mile away.

Dave slid back a couple of yards, then bounced to his feet and picked up the rifles. He stayed low as he headed back to the top and soon stretched out just before he reached the spot where he’d spotted them. He’d give them another two minutes to start their climb and then another minute or so before they had no place to go.

While he waited for those hundred and eighty seconds to pass, he pulled the box of ammunition from his jacket pocket and set it on the ground. He extended the lever opening the Martini-Henry’s breech and slipped in one of the bottlenecked cartridges. After pulling the lever closed, he took six more cartridges from the box and dropped them into his jacket’s right pocket.

He had been counting since he’d lost sight of the lawmen, and shortly after filling his pocket with the ammunition, he reached the magic number and stood up straight. He still didn’t see them but knew they must be close by now.

He kept his sights pointed south as he stepped to the top of the pass.

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Sheriff Jefferson and his deputies were closer than Dave had expected but were still more than two hundred yards away from the summit. They had slowed their horses for the climb but while they didn’t expect to run into an ambush, they were far from complacent.

Bill Potts looked at the sheriff and asked, “How far are we gonna follow this guy? We don’t have any food.”

Pat Jefferson turned to his deputy and replied, “We’ll follow him as far as the county line.”

Mike Henderson exclaimed, “But that’s just past Fort Shaw, boss!”

The sheriff grinned as he said, “I reckon you might be missing a meal unless we catch that feller before sunset.”

Bill was about to ask about resting the horses when he wobbled in his saddle and stared wide-eyed at the sheriff as the loud rifle report echoed off the nearby granite cliffs.

Sheriff Jefferson was so startled that he didn’t react even as his deputy rocked twice then tumbled from his saddle.

Mike Henderson was reaching for his Winchester when a second shot rang out and the sheriff’s horse reared in pain, throwing his boss from his saddle.

Mike pulled his repeater and nudged his horse into a gallop as he levered in a fresh round. He didn’t want to waste time to see if he already had one in the chamber. The unused cartridge spat out of the Winchester as Mike brought it to bear on the shooter who was standing at the top of the pass reloading his rifle. Mike knew he was still out of range but hoped to make the shooter miss by sending a .44 in his direction.

Dave had the Martini-Henry reloaded when he spotted the deputy charging up the road with his Winchester level. He had to ignore any gunfire as he settled his sights on the horse’s head.

Mike Henderson fired and was levering in his second round when Dave fired his third shot. He may have been aiming at the horse’s head, but he was high, and his powerful slug slammed into Mike Henderson’s forehead, removing the top