any other hoof prints along the way. Let’s go girl.”
Jon felt crowded and trapped as he inched forward through the creek. Thick brush and slippery boulders bordered the dark passageway. He looked around for a way out but couldn’t find an opening. One thing for sure, there could be no turning back for big Jon. Trapped or not, he was moving on. Those men had to pay for shooting Jack; he would see to that. There would be no quarter asked, no quarter given.
Jon struggled along the stream toward the voices. As he got closer he decided to look for a way out of the creek. He jumped into the rushing water and waved his hand in front of Babe’s eyes, signaling her to stand still until she heard his whistle. Jon felt the cool water on his legs as he sloshed through the gently flowing stream. He heard the voices again; they were on both sides of the bank. An ambush! he thought. Jon stepped over and moved quietly along the north side of the stream next to the thick brush; he was soon just fifty yards from the culprits. He ducked down in the shadows of the brush and leaned forward. He could see the two men standing on opposite sides of the creek talking to each other. The well dressed older man had to be Zing Fuller, the other man was too young.
“Wonder if that deputy’s dead?” the younger man shouted.
“Don’t know,” came the reply from the other side. Jon watched as the nattily dressed Fuller popped a couple of bullets from his gun belt and slid them carefully into the cylinders of his six gun. Jon knew that Fuller was a dangerous man.
“His eyes were as big as saucers when I let him have it,” the young man boasted.
“I reckon so. He thought he was playin’ with amateurs,” Fuller replied.
This conversation infuriated Jon. He knew what kind of man Jack Malone was and he knew that he wouldn’t have shown any fear to these lowlifes. The “eyes as big as saucers” comment was the wrong thing for big Jon to hear. These cowards had shot Jack without warning and they were about to face a deadly shootout with an angry Jon Stoudenmire.
“Better quiet down now,” the older man remanded his younger counterpart. “Won’t be too long before that sheriff’s gunna be here. Somethin’ must have spooked his horse a little while ago, I heard a whinny. He should be here anytime.”
“Yea, I guess he’s a pretty bad hombre.” The young man seemed jumpy as he hocked a big one on the ground.
“That’s what I hear,” Fuller replied. “Now let’s both just shut up and hide in these rocks before he gets here.”
An angry Jon wanted revenge, but he knew he had to be careful with these two. Fuller sounded like a pretty hard case and was reportedly good with a gun. The younger man sounded nervous and kind of jumpy. He was the one who shot Jack. In a tight spot he would more than likely shoot first and ask questions later. His kind was predictable - trigger happy and very dangerous, but predictable. The older man would be less nervous and more calculating.
The two men had settled in and been quiet for some time when Jon decided to move out from behind the bushes and cross the creek to the other side. Jon had to be careful, both were packing rifles as well as six guns. Jon moved over and looked up at an opening in the brush at the top of the steep incline. He dug around in the bank for a foothold, and found some fairly good size rocks pushing out from the bank about half way up. He placed his boot firmly against the first rock, reached up and grabbed hold of a protruding root. He leaned back and pulled to see if the root would hold his weight. Nothing broke loose so he decided to go for it. He fell back again and pulled hard on the root. With a mighty effort, he yanked himself up to the next rock. Another root became visible on a higher rock. Jon grabbed hold of it and pulled as hard as he could again. His body flew up and out of the dark creek bed. He rolled to a stop on the ground above the creek. He quickly scanned the area to get his bearings. Jon spotted some large rocks approximately forty yards away near the water, close to the area where he had heard the young man’s voice. He moved toward them, careful not to alarm the trigger happy youngster. Jon stopped and listened for any sounds. Not hearing any, he moved quickly and quietly over to the base of the rocks. Jon dropped down on one knee and leaned against the large rock. His head jerked back as something flew by his face.
“Phftt.” A small cloud of dust plumed up as a brownish fluid hit the ground next to him. The nasty varmint had hocked one over the rock near Jon, exposing his location.
Jon leaned against the stony surface and slid quietly around to the back of the rock. The kid was busy watching the creek, his back to Jon. Jon continued to inch his way around the large rock to a crevice leading up to the top. He pushed his back against one side of the crevice and his feet against the other, and then slowly scooted up the hard surface. When he finally reached the top, he quietly rolled over to a kneeling position and leaned forward far enough to see the young scallywag staring at the stream below, clueless that he was being watched. He reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out the chaw and ripped off a big chunk.
Jon looked down at the varmint for a second and then broke the silence. He spoke very calmly and very quietly, not wanting to alarm him.
“I got a dead bead on you partner, just stay real calm and listen carefully.” The young fellow froze. Jon continued, “Pick up that rifle lying in front of you and throw it over that rock on your left side.” The nervous youngster did as Jon asked. Jon went on. “Now carefully slide that six gun out of your holster with two fingers and throw it over the same rock.” The jittery shootist reached down with two fingers to lift his gun and then it happened. At the last minute, he opened his hand, grabbed the gun and yanked it from the holster. He quickly rolled to the right and moved up to his feet; wide eyed, he lifted his gun for a shot. Before he could right himself, Jon squeezed off two shots. The bullets blasted into the frightened youngster’s gut; he reeled backward.
“I’m hit, damn it, I’m hit good!” he screamed. His body fell with a thud to the ground, jerked a couple of times and fell still.
“That’s for shooting Malone,” Jon said quietly, his six guns smoking. He jumped down from the large rock and kicked the boy over on his back. The young man’s arms flopped to the side, his head fell sideways; blood trickled from his mouth. Jon grimaced; he looked so young up close.
Jon was angry and conflicted as he quickly climbed down from the rock and moved around the formations toward the creek. Always hard on the outside, he bemoaned the killing of the young man. He was just a youngster, I could have winged him! a voice screamed inside Jon’s head as he hurried down to the creek toward the older man. There were two chest high rocks near the creek; Jon quickly ran and ducked down behind them. His gun was still warm as he popped two fresh bullets into the empty chambers.
Jon, certain that the other man had heard the shots, had to be careful. He figured the cagey gun hand would lay low and wait in ambush. This one’s going to be tougher, he thought. He felt agitated and at a disadvantage. More than likely, the other varmint had taken a position back in the rocks. If he rushed him, Jon would be an easy mark. He thought about waiting him out. At most he figured the wily poke had a couple of strips of jerky, possibly a small canteen of water. That stuff wouldn’t last long. Eventually the nasty bugger would have to try and get to his pack horse. Jon had plenty of supplies and water and could hold out much longer. When the cagey gun came out for food or water, he could let him have it. A good plan, but there was one problem - Jon was very anxious to get back to town and see Miss Libby. The thought of hanging around these rocks for a few days was unacceptable. He had to figure something out.
* * *
Beads of sweat formed on Fuller’s forehead as he lay still contemplating his next move. He had heard all about Sheriff Stoudenmire and his legendary anger. He was more than a little
