Chapter 2
A horse appeared as if summoned, and on the big animal’s back was a boy. Deadshot froze for a second as confusion washed over him. He watched as the kid steered the horse right past him without even noticing him. A few seconds later, another horse came rushing toward Deadshot. This one carried a much bigger man. He had a pistol in his hand and a neckerchief covering his face. Deadshot knew an outlaw when he saw one.
Four more horses, with bandits on their backs, followed. There were five in total, and they were clearly after the boy. Deadshot had no idea why they were trying to capture or possibly kill the kid, but he wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No matter what the kid did, his fate shouldn’t be left up to outlaws. Knowing what needed to be done, Deadshot stood up and headed back to his cabin. His knee protested as he ran to where he knew the kid would go.
Deadshot had a clean path to his cabin, unlike the kid and the bandits who were making their way through the forest. Breathing heavily, he took his position behind a big wooden barrel at the side of his house. It reminded him of his dream, and he shook his head in disbelief. There was no time to analyze hisdreams, or nightmares, depending on how one looked at them. Instead, he cleared his mind and focused his eyes.
The kid came into view. In the darkness, Deadshot couldn’t make out the boy’s age, but his frame was definitely that of a younger person. The kid steered his horse toward the cabin, getting closer and closer to Deadshot. That was good. Deadshot needed him out of the way. Once the kid was only a few feet away, he brought the horse to a stop and jumped down.
From within the forest, the first bandit appeared. Deadshot waited; patience was necessary in such situations. The longer he waited, the less time the bandits would have to react. Right now, they didn’t know he was there, but as soon as he opened fire, they would go into hiding. He wanted all of them in sight before he did anything. That way, he would be able to track their movements and see where they took cover.
Knowing when to act and when to wait was one of the skills that had made him a good bounty hunter. Many bounty hunters and lawmen got so excited when they finally tracked their target down that they simply acted immediately. That often led to them attacking prematurely and giving the outlaw or gang the upper hand. Deadshot had learned that patience was a necessary skill, just like perfect aim and quick hands.
Deadshot had always been a natural when it came to shooting. He practiced often, but it wasn’t really necessary. His aim had been true since the first time he picked up a pistol. All the other skills he had were learned from a young age and thenmastered as he tracked down murderers and brought them to justice.
The kid, who was clearly panicked, had run to the cabin’s door and was pounding on it. Deadshot ignored him. Four of the bandits were now within view, and the fifth one was emerging from the forest. Three had already gotten down from their horses. It was time to take action.
The closest outlaw was almost within arm’s reach of the kid. Deadshot changed his position, careful not to make a sound, and aimed his Colt at the man. He glanced to his side, watching as the last two bandits dismounted their horses, and then pulled the trigger. The man went down before the sound of the gunshot blasted into the night sky.
The kid fell to his knees and covered his head with his arms. The four remaining outlaws panicked and scattered in different directions. Deadshot swiveled to his right. His knee almost gave in beneath him, but he managed to keep his balance as he readjusted his aim. Most people would have taken out the closest bandit, but Deadshot knew better. His hands were fast, and the closest man was still a few feet away from the kid, so instead, he focused on the one furthest away.
The outlaw was running back toward the forest, and once he escaped into the foliage, he would be much harder to find. With his back to Deadshot, he was an easy target. The .44 slug hit him right between his shoulder blades, sending him flying forward into the dirt.
“Where is he?” one of the bandits yelled as he scrambled to get back onto his horse.
Closer to them, the bandit approaching the kid had reached the porch. Deadshot still had some time.
“I don’t know! Shit, I can’t see him!” the other one yelled as he took cover behind the small shed where Deadshot kept his garden tools.
Deadshot stood up straight. A sharp pain rose from his knee, all the way up his thigh and to his hip. He held in the grunt that wanted to escape his mouth and straightened his arm. It took him only a split second to line up his pistol with the man on the horse’s head. He pulled the trigger and turned his gun on the outlaw who was now on his porch. From the corner of his eye, Deadshot saw his previous target topple from his horse.
The outlaw on the porch was bending down and had his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Deadshot aimed for his neck and let the bullet fly. The kid, still hiding, curled up under his own arms and screamed as the man hit the floor beside him.
A loud crack emanated from beside Deadshot as the final bandit took fire. The bullet had hit the barrel, which angered Deadshot. He used the barrel to store water, and now he would have to fix it or get a new one. Deadshot knew where the man was hiding, but he wasn’t in sight. It was time to change positions and end the fight.
Deadshot spun around and hurried around the cabin. More gunshots rang out, the sound like thunder in the otherwise quiet night. Ignoring his aching knee, Deadshot snuck out from behind the cabin and silently made his way to the shed. The bandit was still hiding behind it and peeking around the corner. The halfwit was still shooting at the barrel and hadn’t even noticed that Deadshot was behind him.
Without a word, Deadshot pressed his pistol to the back of the man’s head and pulled the trigger. The outlaw slumped forward, and blood splattered against the shed. Deadshot would have to clean that later, but first, he had to find out what the kid was doing on his property.
As Deadshot walked to his cabin, he reloaded his pistol. It wasn’t necessary since he still had one in the chamber, but he preferred having a fully loaded weapon at his disposal. The kid was exactly where Deadshot had last seen him. He didn’t seem to be a threat, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t trouble.
“Turn around,” Deadshot instructed as he pointed his pistol at the kid. “And no sudden moves.”
The kid slowly turned toward him, his legs sliding out from underneath him as he raised his hands. He had already been crouching, so he didn’t fall far, but he still landed on his backside with an audible thud. Even in the darkness, Deadshot could see the tears staining the kid’s face. Now that he could get a better look at him, the kid appeared younger than he had initially thought, but even so, he couldn’t be older than fifteen.
It was the kid’s length that had made Deadshot think he was younger. He clearly hadn’t had a growth spurt yet. His face, however, looked older, making it clear that he was a teenager, not a child. Whichever way, it didn’t matter. Deadshot didn’t know what to do with children or teenagers. He was once one himself, but that was a long time ago, and he never really had any interaction with young people. He decided to treat him the way he would anybody else.
“What are you doing here?” Deadshot asked.
The kid was breathing heavily, his eyes big and scared. “I... I need y-your...” he stuttered.
When he was fighting, Deadshot had the patience of a saint. When the adrenaline of the fight wore off and he had to actually talk to people, he had no patience at all. He took a step closer and cocked the trigger.
The kid took a deep breath and straightened himself out. “I need your help,” he said again.
Deadshot had helped a lot of people during his life, but most of it was indirectly. He had hunted criminals, and clearly, he was still good at it. He had never had a stranger show up at his house begging for help before, though, especially not a kid. Lowering his pistol, Deadshot shook his head in frustration and confusion. He was always in control. He always knew what to do, but this was new territory.
“Get up,” he said.
