“I’ll Pay You Back When I Grow Up,” Girl Told Mountain Man — 15 Years Later, He Remembered
Chapter 13
Theme:
Font Size:
24px
Gideon watched her, stunned into silence. He saw the way she held the rifle, the stock tucked tightly under her arm, the barrel pointed upward. He saw the cold, analytical focus in her eyes. It was the exact same look she had when she took the scalpel to his rotting flesh: she was diagnosing a problem, and she was preparing to cut it out.Outside, a voice echoed across the clearing. It was loud, confident, and utterly devoid of fear."Gideon Hayes!" the voice barked. "Company business! We know you're in there, old man. We smell the smoke. You come out right now, and we'll let you ride down the mountain. You stay in there, we'll burn you out."Clara looked at Gideon. He gave her a slow, grim nod. The siege had begun.Clara didn't answer the shout. She pressed her shoulder against the log wall, sliding up to the edge of the frosted windowpane. She scraped a small patch of ice away with her thumbnail.Four men stood in the snow 20 yards out. They carried repeating rifles and wore heavy wool coats bearing the brass buttons of the Blackwood Consortium. The speaker, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred jaw, stood a few paces ahead of the others. He wasn't looking for a parlay; he was looking for an execution."I'm giving you to the count of three, Hayes!" the man bellowed, his breath pluming in the freezing air. "One!"Clara glanced back at Gideon. He had managed to pull his heavy Colt revolver from its holster with his left hand. He rested the heavy barrel on the arm of the chair, his face pale and sweating, but his eyes locked onto the door with lethal intent."Two!" the man outside yelled.Clara stepped in front of the window. She didn't hesitate, and she didn't warn them. She raised the Winchester, sighted on the broad-shouldered man's chest through the dirty glass, and squeezed the trigger.The blast shattered the windowpane in a shower of jagged ice and glass. The roar of the rifle in the enclosed cabin was deafening—a physical blow to the eardrums.Outside, the foreman jerked backward as if kicked by a mule, the heavy .44-caliber slug catching him high in the shoulder. He dropped his rifle into the snow, screaming in shock and agony. The remaining three men froze for a fraction of a second, completely unprepared for returning fire, let alone an ambush through the glass.Clara racked the lever, the brass casing ejecting in a spinning blur, and fired again. The second shot splintered the trunk of a pine tree inches from a mercenary's head, showering him in bark."Take cover!" one of the men screamed, diving behind a cluster of boulders.The clearing erupted. The company men opened fire blindly, peppering the front of the cabin. Bullets tore through the heavy oak door, throwing wooden shrapnel across the floorboards.Clara dropped to a crouch, making herself a small target beneath the windowsill. The smell of sulfur and burnt black powder flooded the room, sharp and metallic.