Read Online If Wishes Were Horses by Robert Barclay - Free Book Online

steady. After situating the crosshairs just above the head of the nearest alligator and a bit to the right to compensate for distance and wind, Wyatt took a deep breath. When his aim was as perfect as he could make it, he squeezed the trigger.
    With a loud report, the rifle jumped in his hands. Without taking his eye from the scope, Wyatt immediately retracted the bolt and shoved another round home. Just as Ram had taught him to do, Wyatt resisted the temptation to see whether he had hit his first target and immediately searched for the other one. The second alligator was scurrying toward the water. Trying to gauge the animal’s speed as best he could, Wyatt let go with another round.
    With one eye still looking through the scope, Wyatt exhaled and surveyed his handiwork. The near alligator had been killed by Wyatt’s first round. Quickly moving the gun to the left, he searched for the other one. It, too, had been stopped. As he lowered the gun he wished that Ram had been here, for trying to convince the old man of this would be nearly impossible.
    After ejecting the second spent shell casing and ramming a fresh round home, Wyatt freed the gun from his leather belt and again propped it against the tree trunk. With the belt returned to his waist, he walked back to his mare. After untying her, he climbed up into the saddle and got her moving again. Given the keen ability to sense life and death that all horses seem to possess, this time the mare obeyed Wyatt’s bidding.
    The two alligators appeared to be dead. He slid the rifle back into its scabbard, turned the big mare northward, and spurred her into a light gallop.
    It seemed that Big John would be getting those new boots after all.
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    WYATT’S CABIN SAT on the northern edge of the lake. It was decidedly humble when compared with the big house, but in some ways Wyatt liked the cabin better. He and Krista had hired a Boca architect to design it for them. Following the architect’s plans, Wyatt and a group of ranch hands had built it themselves.
    On reaching the cabin, Wyatt slid off his saddle and led themare toward a small split-rail corral that stood nearby. He unsaddled the horse then walked her into the corral and removed her bridle. Glad to be free of her burdens, the horse rubbed her face against Wyatt’s shoulder then wandered off to test her new confines. Wyatt picked up the saddlebags and rifle and headed for the cabin.
    About one hundred feet from the edge of the lake, the cabin stood on ten-foot-high stilts to guard it from predators. A grassy expanse lay between the cabin and the sandy lakeshore. With the help of some Flying B hands, Wyatt had built a wooden dock that extended thirty feet out over the lake. An aluminum fishing boat with a gas outboard motor lay on the shore, protected from the elements by a canvas tarp. A ramshackle barrel float with a wooden deck was anchored about seventy feet from shore, bobbing lightly on the waves.
    After unlocking the door and putting the key back in its hiding place, he went inside. Wyatt quickly went from room to room, opening the screened windows so that the breeze could flow through. He finally returned to the master bedroom, facing the lake, opened his saddlebags, and removed the sandwiches and bottled water that he had brought along.
    There was no electricity here, and that was the way Wyatt liked it. At first he had considered installing a generator and wiring the place, but decided against it. Creating electricity was a noisy affair, and Wyatt valued the peace and quiet too much to violate them with a rattling generator. In place of a refrigerator there were cupboards full of canned food, and an ancient gas grill stood outside. Light came from propane lamps hanging in each room, and water was supplied by a nearby well.
    Walking back into the kitchen, he put the sandwiches and water down on the counter. In one corner of the kitchen lay several feed bags. He hoisted one over his shoulder and