her position.
When he saw Maggie’s face, Jubal immediately
rejected his angel theory. Angels didn’t have tangled, dirty blonde
hair, huge dark rings around their eyes, smears of blood and sweat
on their faces, and look as though they had been dragged, kicking
and screaming, through the fires of hell.
Maybe this is
hell , he thought then. That would certainly
account for the pain.
He tried to concentrate on Maggie’s
face.
Can’t be
hell , he decided.
Because that face was a good one, even if it
was dirty and tired-looking. And, while he wasn’t all sure about
himself, he didn’t figure a face that good would have made it into
hell.
His right hand, the hand that was attached
to the shoulder which was presently being consumed by a raging
inferno, was resting near that good face, and Jubal found the
strength to lift a hand and place a finger on its cheek. His finger
gently stroked Maggie’s soft cheek twice. That activity took every
single remaining ounce of his energy. Jubal Green’s illness
overcame him again, his hand fell, and he slept once more.
It was the sound of gunfire that woke Maggie
up. She was jolted awake and up onto her feet in one jerky motion
that was too sudden, and she nearly blacked out and toppled over
onto her patient. She managed to keep upright by clinging
desperately to the table beside the bed. Then she was horrified at
what might have happened had she actually fallen onto the invalid.
It didn’t bear thinking of.
“ Oh, my God, I’m sorry, Mr.
Green,” she whispered.
She was trying to chase the black fog,
sprinkled with shooting stars, away from in front of her eyes where
it gyrated in sickening waves.
When she could move without falling down,
she dashed into the kitchen to try to figure out where the gunshots
were coming from and where they were being aimed. She picked up
Kenny’s Spencer rifle just in time to hear a bullet slam into the
side of her house. She briefly thanked God that Kenny had built the
house out of thick piñon logs.
Then she got furious.
“ How dare those bad men
shoot at my house?” she stormed. “I didn’t have anything to do with
their problems. I’m just trying to keep one of them
alive.”
Maggie couldn’t remember ever feeling such a
combination of rage and indignation before in her life. She crept
over to the kitchen window and peeked outside, making sure she
didn’t give anyone who was out there enough of a target to aim
at.
Daylight was just beginning to creep over
the forest. The trees still looked black, but their pointy tops
could barely be perceived outlined against the gray sky. Maggie
strained to pick out men in the trees and then gave up the effort
in disgust.
“ My eyes are so blamed bad,
I couldn’t see anybody in those stupid trees in broad daylight,”
she grumbled to herself.
She saw the flash of light just before the
sound of the shot reached her, and a tiny split-second after the
sound of the shot came the noise of the bullet thunking into the
wooden log siding of the house. Maggie smiled a nasty smile.
“ You son of a bitch,” she
said to her unknown adversary, and she aimed as well as she knew
how to aim and pulled the trigger.
The rifle’s recoil nearly knocked her across
the kitchen floor and the sound almost deafened her. That startling
result of her self-defense, however, was not enough to block out
the satisfying cry of pain that wailed across the clearing from the
woods. She grinned triumphantly.
Then another flurry of shots assailed her
ears, followed shortly thereafter by the thundering of hooves. She
was shaking with terror when she heard Dan Blue Gully call out to
her.
“ Mrs. Bright! Mrs.
Bright!”
She peeked out of the front window to
perceive Dan Blue Gully’s big chestnut horse slide to a stop across
the bare winter yard, sending up a spray of dust and pebbles. Dan
Blue Gully was off the horse and running toward the house before
the horse had finished skidding. Another horse and rider
When he saw Maggie’s face, Jubal immediately
rejected his angel theory. Angels didn’t have tangled, dirty blonde
hair, huge dark rings around their eyes, smears of blood and sweat
on their faces, and look as though they had been dragged, kicking
and screaming, through the fires of hell.
Maybe this is
hell , he thought then. That would certainly
account for the pain.
He tried to concentrate on Maggie’s
face.
Can’t be
hell , he decided.
Because that face was a good one, even if it
was dirty and tired-looking. And, while he wasn’t all sure about
himself, he didn’t figure a face that good would have made it into
hell.
His right hand, the hand that was attached
to the shoulder which was presently being consumed by a raging
inferno, was resting near that good face, and Jubal found the
strength to lift a hand and place a finger on its cheek. His finger
gently stroked Maggie’s soft cheek twice. That activity took every
single remaining ounce of his energy. Jubal Green’s illness
overcame him again, his hand fell, and he slept once more.
It was the sound of gunfire that woke Maggie
up. She was jolted awake and up onto her feet in one jerky motion
that was too sudden, and she nearly blacked out and toppled over
onto her patient. She managed to keep upright by clinging
desperately to the table beside the bed. Then she was horrified at
what might have happened had she actually fallen onto the invalid.
It didn’t bear thinking of.
“ Oh, my God, I’m sorry, Mr.
Green,” she whispered.
She was trying to chase the black fog,
sprinkled with shooting stars, away from in front of her eyes where
it gyrated in sickening waves.
When she could move without falling down,
she dashed into the kitchen to try to figure out where the gunshots
were coming from and where they were being aimed. She picked up
Kenny’s Spencer rifle just in time to hear a bullet slam into the
side of her house. She briefly thanked God that Kenny had built the
house out of thick piñon logs.
Then she got furious.
“ How dare those bad men
shoot at my house?” she stormed. “I didn’t have anything to do with
their problems. I’m just trying to keep one of them
alive.”
Maggie couldn’t remember ever feeling such a
combination of rage and indignation before in her life. She crept
over to the kitchen window and peeked outside, making sure she
didn’t give anyone who was out there enough of a target to aim
at.
Daylight was just beginning to creep over
the forest. The trees still looked black, but their pointy tops
could barely be perceived outlined against the gray sky. Maggie
strained to pick out men in the trees and then gave up the effort
in disgust.
“ My eyes are so blamed bad,
I couldn’t see anybody in those stupid trees in broad daylight,”
she grumbled to herself.
She saw the flash of light just before the
sound of the shot reached her, and a tiny split-second after the
sound of the shot came the noise of the bullet thunking into the
wooden log siding of the house. Maggie smiled a nasty smile.
“ You son of a bitch,” she
said to her unknown adversary, and she aimed as well as she knew
how to aim and pulled the trigger.
The rifle’s recoil nearly knocked her across
the kitchen floor and the sound almost deafened her. That startling
result of her self-defense, however, was not enough to block out
the satisfying cry of pain that wailed across the clearing from the
woods. She grinned triumphantly.
Then another flurry of shots assailed her
ears, followed shortly thereafter by the thundering of hooves. She
was shaking with terror when she heard Dan Blue Gully call out to
her.
“ Mrs. Bright! Mrs.
Bright!”
She peeked out of the front window to
perceive Dan Blue Gully’s big chestnut horse slide to a stop across
the bare winter yard, sending up a spray of dust and pebbles. Dan
Blue Gully was off the horse and running toward the house before
the horse had finished skidding. Another horse and rider
Similar Books
