Far behind him, there were two more gunshots.
Even in the darkness, Will could make out every potential hiding spot. The trees, the well, the chicken coop, the house itself.
Inside his former home, candles burned. The muffled voices of a man and woman argued.
Will sat for a moment, scanning the darkness and listening hard.
Sully had probably tucked tail and run for town.
If so, Will would never catch him. Not tonight. Not on Clyde.
Because, while Clyde was hands down the best horse he had ever owned, he could never outrun Sully’s thoroughbred stallion.
Back in the direction of his home, there was another gunshot. A few seconds later, another shot followed.
Will listened for several seconds, but there was no more shooting.
The battle seemed to be over.
At least on that side of the creek.
Will eased Clyde forward through the darkness, his eyes flicking from one potential ambush site to another.
He knew them well.
As a young boy, he used them all, grinning as he hid from Daddy, then springing out like a wild Indian, stabbing his father with an imaginary knife.
What fun they had had together, Daddy and him, until a nameless drifter had cut across their property, and Daddy had asked him if he’d like a dipper of water, and the man pulled a revolver and?—
The farmhouse door opened behind Will.
He twisted in his seat, bringing the big bores of the ten-gauge to bear not on Sully but the Yankee carpetbagger, Mr. Braintree, who gave a terrified squawk and lifted his hands, rifle and all, high overhead. “Don’t shoot!” he begged. “I just wanted to see what all the racket was.”
“Hush,” Will growled.
And a gunshot shattered the stillness.
The bullet slammed into Will’s side, making him grunt.
But he’d seen the muzzle flash. Sully had fired from behind the chicken coop.
Will rushed forward at an angle, putting the coop between him and Sully. Then he stopped Clyde, switched the shotgun to his left hand, and drew his Colt.
He glanced quickly in the direction of the house, making sure Braintree wasn’t getting any ideas with that rifle of his.
He wasn’t. The carpetbagger had gone back inside and shut the door.
The gunshot hurt bad, but a little prodding told him it had gone in and out of his side, missing his guts, praise God.
“I got you!” Sully’s voice cried from behind the coop that Will had built with his own two hands. Everything on this place, either he’d built or his father had. “I saw you flinch. How do you like that, Bentley? Feel good? I’m no coward!”
What an odd thing to declare at a moment like this. Sully’s voice had warbled when he’d yelled it, sounding like it might break.
Apparently, it was important to Sully that Will thought he was brave.
What a strange notion. What a strange, twisted man.
“I could’ve run, but I didn’t!” Sully shouted from behind the far corner of the coop. “I stayed, and I shot you, and now, I’m going to kill you. Because I have guts!”
