Longarm on the Thunderbird Run

to his knees, and leaped toward the wall where the night lamp was burning. He didn?t take time to blow the lamp out, just slashed sideways with the barrel of his Colt, smashing the bulbous globe and extinguishing the flame that was provid­ing the sniper with light for his shooting.

The jail went dark, only a faint glow of light from the staircase landing seeping in through the half-open door now.

?Stay where you are,? Longarm hissed.

There was no answer, and Longarm could not be sure Potter had heard. There was no time to worry about that now.

Another lead slug spanged off the jail bars. But this time Longarm was able to see the muzzle flash of the gun­shot from the hillside facing the back of the courthouse.

Longarm fired twice toward the place where he had seen the flame, then spun away from the window and raced out of the jail and down the stairs, taking the steps two and three at a time and fumbling to reload as he ran.

If the gunman thought he was still trapped inside the jail

He raced out into the night, ignoring a handful of con­fused, loud-talking men who were standing on the street corner pointing up the hill toward the source of the gun­shots.

Elsewhere the men on the street were unalarmed, the noise of the crushers partially drowning the sound of the shots so that there was little commotion.

Longarm ran around to the back of the courthouse and began climbing the steep hillside. Another spear of flames and lead split the night far above him. Good. The gunman did not realize that he had suddenly become the hunted rather than the hunter.

Longarm ran past the pilings that supported the founda­tion of a house suspended over midair from a precariously thin purchase against the hard rock of the hillside. He ran beneath the house, emerged on the far side of it, and began climbing again.

Twice he tripped over loose stones or trash that had been discarded on the hillside. Once he sprawled forward, landing painfully on his chin and chest. He scrambled back onto his knees and drove himself upward, grabbing with his free hand for support whenever he could.

He was only halfway up to the level where the gunman had been, and already he was puffing for breath at the steepness of the climb and the altitude of this canyon head. If only the man was still there

Another shot rang out overhead, and Longarm almost smiled. He was closer now but did not want to tip the ambusher with a shot that might miss. He needed to be closer still. Gulping for breath, his chest aching from the effort of it, he continued to climb as rapidly as he could force himself.

He was close enough to hear now as the gunman turned and began to run. Damnit, Longarm groaned to himself. With a burst of waning strength he threw himself upward the last few feet until he reached a level section of trail or ledge.

The gunman was a dark, dimly-seen shape retreating up the trail to Longarm?s right. The town was beneath them now, its lights bright and its sounds gay in the night. Above, in the direction the trail led. there was only the dark, unlighted bulk of the mountains and the wild, empty lands beyond the mines.

Longarm raised his Colt and made an effort to control his breathing. His chest was heaving and heart pumping, and he knew the conditions were impossibly poor for accu­rate shooting. He aimed as carefully as he could, though, and squeezed gently on the trigger until the big .45 bucked and thundered, and his vision was blurred by the burst of muzzle flash in the night.

The footsteps of the fleeing gunman continued without faltering, and he was sure he had missed.

Doggedly, Longarm holstered the Colt to leave both hands free in case he fell. He set out at the swift, flowing lope of a long-distance runner, chasing not so much the gunman now as the diminishing sound of the man?s foot­ falls as he retreated high into the mountains.

?Gotcha, you son of a bitch,? Longarm panted into the darkness before him. Because with Longarm between him and the town, the gunman had nowhere to go now except to hell.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Longarm stopped and leaned against a pillar of cold, jagged rock on the uphill side of the ledge. The ledge dis­ appeared around the stone spire at this point as it curved sharply with the contour of the mountain. Beyond the turn­ing would be a perfect place for an ambush.

He breathed deeply?easier now that the pain of exer­tion was subsiding in his chest. He drew the Colt again and replaced the one expended cartridge in the cylinder before, gun held ready, he edged forward once again. Speed was not a factor now. And a mistake could mean death.

He dropped into a crouch and shuffled forward on the ledge. Before him there was nothing but darkness. Behind him was the danger that he might be silhouetted against the glow of lamplight from the bustling mining town. Despite the danger, he kept his eyes down on the slender thread of rock ledge immediately under his feet. In darkness the hunter cannot trust his eyes. A shadow can turn suddenly into an imagined enemy. A rock can seem a charging grizzly so real the hunter would swear he can smell its breath. In darkness the hunter has to reli on his ears alone.

Longarm crept forward.

There was nothing ahead. Nothing at all he could hear except the faint soughing of the breeze winding its way past rocks and through the branches of an occasional juni­per or cedar with its roots clinging to bare stone.

Longarm cursed softly to himself. The gunman had gained ground on him here. But he had had no choice. To go bursting fast and stubbornly around such bends would be perfectly safe every time but one. And that one unsafe time could be fatal. He jammed the Thunderer back into its leather and pressed forward.

The ledge they were following was probably a game trail, but no human had ever improved it. It widened and narrowed without plan or pattern, sloped down toward a dizzying drop here, then leveled out as smooth and wide as a city road not a handful of rods further up.

The gunman had to be somewhere ahead of him on the trail, though. There was nowhere else for him to go. Not unless he was willing to climb up or down, and in the darkness it would not be possible for anyone to do that without dislodging the loose stones on the steep hillside. Longarm would certainly hear if the gunman tried to leave