they had, then they’d known of the girl’s existence and that they were leaving one person alive who could tell them what they wanted to know. By a twist of Fate or sheer luck, the girl must have been absent from camp when the attack occurred. Then Race had arrived, forcing the killers to hide. They’d obviously been watching him and the girl ever since, hoping Race knew the whereabouts of whatever it was they wanted. Now they realized he didn’t, and they meant to kill him so they could torture the girl for information.
Crazy, so crazy. What in the hell were they after? Race found it difficult to believe these poor dirt farmers had anything of value in their wagons. As for the girl, those murdering skunks would get their hands on her over Race’s dead body.
He recalled his vow to keep one bullet in reserve for the girl. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but realistically, he knew the odds were against him. By his calculations, there were sixteen men up there, maybe more. He was a damned good marksman—one of the best, even if he did say so himself—but no man was that good.
He glanced at his charge, who lay so deathlike beside him, her face a pale oval in the deepening twilight. If those men circled around him in the darkness, they could sneak up on him from behind. If they did, they would probably rush him, and he might have time to fire only one bullet.
For her sake, he had to make that one bullet count.
Chapter 2
Race didn’t have enough hands. While firing one Colt in the general direction of the hillside, he worked frantically to reload his other .45 and the Henry. He didn’t care if he hit anything. At this point, keeping the enemy busy dodging bullets while he replenished the rounds in his other two weapons was his main concern. The second he backed off, the bastards would be on top of him.
Since the shooting started, he’d lost track of time. The sun had slid behind the mountains, darkness had closed in, and one by one the stars had come out. Judging by their position, the actual time that had passed was probably closer to forty minutes, maybe an hour. If so, it had been the longest hour of his life. Trying to keep the girl safe, shooting almost ceaselessly, reloading with only one hand, and constantly searching the darkness for movement already had him drained. His back ached, and his arms trembled with exhaustion.
So far, he had hit only three men for sure. That left thirteen still out there, and the lulls between fire were few, which provided him with his only opportunities to reload.
A blessing though they were, the lulls worried him, one thought pounding away at him in the sudden silence. What were they up to? In their shoes, he’d be circling the encampment.
Race was in serious trouble, and he knew it. One against thirteen was damned rotten odds, even for a man used to fighting for what he got. When the enemy advanced from two directions at once, he wouldn’t be able to cover himself from both the front and the rear.
Glancing over at the girl, Race grimly accepted the fact that he not only didn’t have enough hands, but that the two he did have were tied. Normally he wouldn’t remain behind a barricade, vulnerable to attack. He’d attempt to turn the tables. They would never expect a lone man to sneak up on them from behind, and with a little luck, he could take them out, one at a time, using his knife.
Only he didn’t dare leave the girl. If something happened to him, her fate would be sealed. He couldn’t allow that, knowing as he did what those animals would do to her.
The possibility that he might have to take her life hadn’t been far from Race’s mind since the shooting started, and with each passing second, it loomed as a bigger threat. God help him, he only hoped he had the guts to do it.
After reloading the Henry, Race resumed his firing position. The metal edge of the trunk was sharp and had creased his forearm, making his wrist numb. He kept seeking a more
Crazy, so crazy. What in the hell were they after? Race found it difficult to believe these poor dirt farmers had anything of value in their wagons. As for the girl, those murdering skunks would get their hands on her over Race’s dead body.
He recalled his vow to keep one bullet in reserve for the girl. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but realistically, he knew the odds were against him. By his calculations, there were sixteen men up there, maybe more. He was a damned good marksman—one of the best, even if he did say so himself—but no man was that good.
He glanced at his charge, who lay so deathlike beside him, her face a pale oval in the deepening twilight. If those men circled around him in the darkness, they could sneak up on him from behind. If they did, they would probably rush him, and he might have time to fire only one bullet.
For her sake, he had to make that one bullet count.
Chapter 2
Race didn’t have enough hands. While firing one Colt in the general direction of the hillside, he worked frantically to reload his other .45 and the Henry. He didn’t care if he hit anything. At this point, keeping the enemy busy dodging bullets while he replenished the rounds in his other two weapons was his main concern. The second he backed off, the bastards would be on top of him.
Since the shooting started, he’d lost track of time. The sun had slid behind the mountains, darkness had closed in, and one by one the stars had come out. Judging by their position, the actual time that had passed was probably closer to forty minutes, maybe an hour. If so, it had been the longest hour of his life. Trying to keep the girl safe, shooting almost ceaselessly, reloading with only one hand, and constantly searching the darkness for movement already had him drained. His back ached, and his arms trembled with exhaustion.
So far, he had hit only three men for sure. That left thirteen still out there, and the lulls between fire were few, which provided him with his only opportunities to reload.
A blessing though they were, the lulls worried him, one thought pounding away at him in the sudden silence. What were they up to? In their shoes, he’d be circling the encampment.
Race was in serious trouble, and he knew it. One against thirteen was damned rotten odds, even for a man used to fighting for what he got. When the enemy advanced from two directions at once, he wouldn’t be able to cover himself from both the front and the rear.
Glancing over at the girl, Race grimly accepted the fact that he not only didn’t have enough hands, but that the two he did have were tied. Normally he wouldn’t remain behind a barricade, vulnerable to attack. He’d attempt to turn the tables. They would never expect a lone man to sneak up on them from behind, and with a little luck, he could take them out, one at a time, using his knife.
Only he didn’t dare leave the girl. If something happened to him, her fate would be sealed. He couldn’t allow that, knowing as he did what those animals would do to her.
The possibility that he might have to take her life hadn’t been far from Race’s mind since the shooting started, and with each passing second, it loomed as a bigger threat. God help him, he only hoped he had the guts to do it.
After reloading the Henry, Race resumed his firing position. The metal edge of the trunk was sharp and had creased his forearm, making his wrist numb. He kept seeking a more
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