But dammit, his six-gun was missing! He’d obviously lost it during his long, painful tumble down into this big gorge. Still coughing and choking in the heavy dust cloud, Longarm tied his bandanna around his face and began to crawl down to the stream, where he could hide among the shrubs and trees until he figured out who was out to fry his bacon.
A wild bullet probed the dust, but Longarm didn’t think he was in any danger as he crawled to the water and slipped in behind a big, mossy rock. He strained to look back up the slope, fearing that the ambusher might be coming right down after him. And while he had his derringer, it would be no match for either a rifle or a six- gun.
Sure enough, he saw a man coming down. Not directly, for the rock slide was slipping and only a complete fool would have attempted to descend from directly above. But about a hundred yards up the road, the slope was more manageable, and to Longarm’s surprise, Elliot was coming down with a rifle clenched in his hands.
Longarm ducked and examined his wounds. He was all scraped up and his right knee was twisted so that he was not sure if he could even stand, much less run and hide somewhere upstream. His hands and face were cut and bleeding and the bullet wounds burned like a sonofabitch, but he was lucky to be alive and he wasn’t complaining. Both slugs had just creased him, and Longarm supposed he ought to consider himself one lucky man. Or he would if this thing was settled. Unfortunately, Elliot was a determined cuss, in addition to having a pair of brass balls.
Longarm knew that he was in a poor hiding place and that Elliot would be able to spot and kill him, so there was little choice but to start moving downstream. With luck, maybe he could find a very good hiding place. One that Elliot would have to pass close enough to to give Longarm a good shot even with his inaccurate derringer.
Crabbing along the edge of the stream like a crawfish, Longarm felt panic rising in his chest. He kept glancing over his shoulder to see Elliot hurrying down the mountainside. The man was as agile as a mountain goat, and Longarm cussed himself for not giving Elliot a secondboot in the balls. Anyone that ornery and determined had to be running on a pretty potent mixture of hatred.
Longarm couldn’t stand and run. His twisted knee wasn’t up to the strain, so the best that he could do was sort of scoot along the water, crawling over rocks and through heavy shrubbery. He was in a sea of pain and growing more desperate by the minute because damned if Elliot wasn’t almost down the Mountainside.
I have to find a place to hide and it had better be quick, he told himself, chest heaving with exertion.
And then sure enough, he heard the familiar slap of a beaver’s tail striking water and knew that he was about to reach a pond. Longarm bulled his way through the thick brush and sized up the pond, which was long and quite deep. Longarm’s first thought was to dive into the water. The pond was at least ten feet deep, and maybe he could bury himself in the mud and debris on the far side and thus avoid being detected.
“To hell with that,” he decided out loud, knowing that it would eliminate any chance he had of using his derringer and putting a well-deserved end to Elliot’s life.
Instead, Longarm chose to hobble along the edge of the pond and then duck behind the beaver’s dam. There, he could have at least a half-decent chance of catching Elliot by surprise and at a close enough range to make use of his derringer.
The water was freezing as he waded into the stream below the dam and then leaned in close to the barricade of sticks and mud. He dared not raise his head because he didn’t know how close Elliot was behind him. So he tried to block out the sound of the rushing water and listen hard for his pursuer.
Elliot wasn’t very cautious. Longarm heard him coming from some distance. He was panting heavily and cussing under his breath. Twigs and limbs were snapping under his feet, and it was obvious that Elliot believed that he was chasing a dying man and had cast all caution aside.
Longarm’s derringer was affixed to his gold watch chain, and it had saved his life on more than one desperate occasion. Trouble was, the two-shot derringer had no range at all. Beyond thirty feet … well, it all depended on luck.
Just sit tight and let him come to you, Longarm told himself. Not that you have much choice.
Elliot must have stopped at the top end of the beaver pond and realized that Longarm could have taken to the deeper water. Longarm eased his head up just a fraction of an inch above the uneven crest of the beaver dam and watched the revenge-crazed man study the still water.
“I’ll find you, gawdammit!” Elliot screamed. His threat echoed around in the deep gorge. “You ain’t getting away alive, you big bastard!”
That’s what you think, Longarm grimly thought. Come on and let’s get this over with! I’m freezing down here and I haven’t a clue as to how I’ll get out once I put an end to your miserable life.
“You might as well show yourself and get this over with!” Elliot bellowed. “I’ll put a quick bullet in your head. I know you’re hit and dying anyway. Be smart!”
Come on, come on!
Elliot turned very cautious as he began to skirt the beaver pond. Rifle held up and ready, he advanced very slowly. Longarm began to wonder if he’d chosen a very good ambush position after all. He’d just assumed that Elliot would come charging past the dam and become an easy target, but now it appeared that this was not going to happen. Because of his sudden caution, the odds had dramatically turned in Elliot’s favor. Longarm was quite sure that, instead of running past him, Elliot was going to anticipate his hiding place and stay too far back to come within the range of the derringer. Longarm knew that he had to do something, and do it fast.
He bent over and selected a water-worn rock. Then, he found another and stuffed it into his pocket as his mind raced, still uncertain as to his next move.
A diversion. Make him turn and look away, then, somehow, try to rush him from behind and give yourself enough time to get within the derringer’s range.
Longarm inched his head up just over the dam. Elliot was a real hunter, head swinging back and forth, every nerve in his body attuned to seeking his quarry. He was very close now. Another ten, maybe fifteen steps and he would reach the beaver dam. Longarm waited until Elliot’s head swiveled away, and then he gritted his teeth and tossed a rock in a high, looping arc. It crashed into the brush causing Elliot to spin around and fire in a blind panic.
Longarm knew that he wasn’t going to have a second chance to fool Elliot with a simple diversion, so he jumped forward, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his bum knee. His right hand gripped his derringer and he snatched the second rock out of his pocket as he charged full-tilt forward.
