Read Online ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories) by Jane Prescott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Prescott
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as they headed back to their caves to sleep. That meant dawn was coming on quicker than Jerry had anticipated. It could also mean that there were bandits out in the desert keeping coals burning to stay warm, and the slight smoke was driving away the insects and making hunting for the bats near impossible.
“Sure are a lot of bats headed home early,” Dillard said.
Dillard usually picked up on these things just as quick as Jerry, so Jerry wasn't surprised that his partner was thinking the same thing.
“I don't reckon the sun to be coming up for some hours,” Jerry said. “So it might stand to reason that we should take the bats early return as a kind of warning.”
Jerry heard Dillard cock the hammer on his Winchester repeating rifle, the newest that had come out yet. It held a good handful of bullets in the magazine and was lever action. That made Jerry feel a whole lot better because Dillard was a crack shot with a rifle, one of the best that Jerry had ever seen. And Jerry himself wasn't a bad shot, but with a pistol. He was also one of the fastest draws on the front range. It had been up in the air who was faster, him or Slick Tony, but after they had a walk down not but a month ago that left Not so Slick Tony dead the mattered had been settled. So Jerry wasn't all that worried, even if it did seem like things were headed toward violence. It wouldn't be the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last the way things seemed to be going. The government needed to do something about all of the crime that crossed state lines. So far it didn't seem to have an answer, so criminals that were wanted in Wyoming were free to ride down to Colorado with little chance of pursuit or capture once they arrived since states only talked to each other about the most wanted criminals.
Dillard and Jerry had almost hightailed it out of Denver and headed west when things had really heated up the last summer. That's when they'd kept having run in with the locals bandits. Jerry couldn't believe they were going to have another. He just knew it. It was one of those times where he could feel something was going to happen as sure as if the sun was cresting the horizon and he could see the bandits mounting their steeds off on the distant prairie. Of course they wouldn't be out in the open and Jerry knew that, he knew that they would most likely be laying low in an arroyo, waiting to ride out and ambush them somewhere along this stretch of lonely road. While he thought about it Jerry slowly reached behind him grasped the stock of his double-barreled sawed off shotgun. In the dark it would be hard to see, and he'd specially loaded the two cartridges that were currently ready to go with nail heads and pieces of barbwire so the pattern would be wide and erratic. It was a trick Jerry had picked up while he was still a young man, from an old man who'd fought the Confederacy for the Union. That old man had been his grandad, and he'd said that at night there wasn't anything like a bunch of nail heads to scatter shot about the dark—if you weren't going to hit intentionally then why not increase the chances of an accidental strike? Jerry had found the special loads to be useful in situations where he only intended to let off both barrels at once, then drop the shotgun for his pistol.
“They'll probably ride out of some gulch and surprise us,” Jerry said in a low voice. “When they get close enough to throw a rock at I'll let loose with the nail heads. That should put enough of the little metal buggers in their horses that most of them rear and bolt. Whoever is left we'll need to finish off quick with small arms fire.”
Dillard didn't say anything, just put the butt of his rifle in the crook of his shoulder and settled into a waiting position familiar to
“Sure are a lot of bats headed home early,” Dillard said.
Dillard usually picked up on these things just as quick as Jerry, so Jerry wasn't surprised that his partner was thinking the same thing.
“I don't reckon the sun to be coming up for some hours,” Jerry said. “So it might stand to reason that we should take the bats early return as a kind of warning.”
Jerry heard Dillard cock the hammer on his Winchester repeating rifle, the newest that had come out yet. It held a good handful of bullets in the magazine and was lever action. That made Jerry feel a whole lot better because Dillard was a crack shot with a rifle, one of the best that Jerry had ever seen. And Jerry himself wasn't a bad shot, but with a pistol. He was also one of the fastest draws on the front range. It had been up in the air who was faster, him or Slick Tony, but after they had a walk down not but a month ago that left Not so Slick Tony dead the mattered had been settled. So Jerry wasn't all that worried, even if it did seem like things were headed toward violence. It wouldn't be the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last the way things seemed to be going. The government needed to do something about all of the crime that crossed state lines. So far it didn't seem to have an answer, so criminals that were wanted in Wyoming were free to ride down to Colorado with little chance of pursuit or capture once they arrived since states only talked to each other about the most wanted criminals.
Dillard and Jerry had almost hightailed it out of Denver and headed west when things had really heated up the last summer. That's when they'd kept having run in with the locals bandits. Jerry couldn't believe they were going to have another. He just knew it. It was one of those times where he could feel something was going to happen as sure as if the sun was cresting the horizon and he could see the bandits mounting their steeds off on the distant prairie. Of course they wouldn't be out in the open and Jerry knew that, he knew that they would most likely be laying low in an arroyo, waiting to ride out and ambush them somewhere along this stretch of lonely road. While he thought about it Jerry slowly reached behind him grasped the stock of his double-barreled sawed off shotgun. In the dark it would be hard to see, and he'd specially loaded the two cartridges that were currently ready to go with nail heads and pieces of barbwire so the pattern would be wide and erratic. It was a trick Jerry had picked up while he was still a young man, from an old man who'd fought the Confederacy for the Union. That old man had been his grandad, and he'd said that at night there wasn't anything like a bunch of nail heads to scatter shot about the dark—if you weren't going to hit intentionally then why not increase the chances of an accidental strike? Jerry had found the special loads to be useful in situations where he only intended to let off both barrels at once, then drop the shotgun for his pistol.
“They'll probably ride out of some gulch and surprise us,” Jerry said in a low voice. “When they get close enough to throw a rock at I'll let loose with the nail heads. That should put enough of the little metal buggers in their horses that most of them rear and bolt. Whoever is left we'll need to finish off quick with small arms fire.”
Dillard didn't say anything, just put the butt of his rifle in the crook of his shoulder and settled into a waiting position familiar to
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