The two men leading packhorses in opposite directions continued to ride closer. When they were about two hundred yards apart, Jake relaxed when he was sure the man wasn’t his father. He was wearing a black Stetson without any band at all. But just a few seconds later, he noticed the sorry condition of his horses and the light load on the packhorse. While it might not mean anything, Jake had to assume that the man might look at his magnificent horses and Vulcan’s stuffed packs and decide to make them his own.
Normally, when strangers passed on the road far away from settlements, they’d stop and exchange news. But Jake decided to ignore the practice and nudged Mars into a fast trot. He’d greet the other rider but not slow down. The man might feel slighted, but Jake doubted if they’d ever meet again. He then added another twist after he passed the stranger. If the man was planning to backshoot him, he’d have to pull his Winchester because he would expect Jake to stop. So, by the time that he realized he had been mistaken, Jake would be out of pistol range. Jake would count to three before he turned around to look. If the man was reaching for his repeater, then he’d pull his Colt to make him leave it in its scabbard. Even if he pulled his revolver, Jake didn’t believe he’d have to fire.
When they were less than a hundred feet apart, the other rider pulled up and obviously expected Jake to do the same. But Jake just waved, shouted, “Howdy!” and kept going. When he’d greeted the stranger, Jake noted the surprised look on his scruffy face, then began to count.
As soon as he reached three, Jake quickly looked behind him and was surprised to see that the rider had whipped his horse around and set him at a fast trot behind Jake. He was still more than fifty yards behind him, but when the stranger’s Winchester left its scabbard and was in his hands, Jake knew he didn’t have time to pull his rifle. He snatched his Colt from his holster as Mars and Vulcan continued to move.
The stranger leveled his Winchester at Jake and fired before Jake even cocked his Colt’s hammer. Jake didn’t know how much the man’s bullet missed him, but a miss was a miss and Jake couldn’t afford to be off target. His muzzle was bouncing but it was a steady motion, so he didn’t fire for a full second until he was reasonably confident of his .45’s path. The man was cocking his Winchester for a second shot when Jake fired.
Jake was pulling back his hammer when the man dropped his Winchester to the ground and grabbed his left arm. Jake pulled Mars to a sudden stop and Vulcan almost crashed into his older brother’s rump but managed to avoid the collision.
The stranger didn’t realize that Jake had stopped in the road as he was trying to stop the flow of blood from his left upper arm. His horse saved him from a horrible accident by veering around the two bigger horses in front of him.
As the injured man rode past him, Jake released his pistol’s hammer, slid the Colt home and sat in the saddle. The man could still draw his pistol, but Jake doubted if he’d take the risk.
The wounded rider had glimpsed Jake as his horse shot past and finally slowed his two animals a couple of hundred yards west of where Jake sat atop Mars watching.
He probably expected Jake to pull his Winchester and shoot him because he would have done it. He knew he was out of range, so rather than take the road past the man he’d hoped to rob, he turned his horse north onto the rough ground and continued in a wide circle as he gripped his bleeding arm and kept his eyes on Jake. He was puzzled when Jake didn’t turn his horses back to the east to keep him from regaining the road. His Winchester was still on the ground and he couldn’t understand why the other rider hadn’t even attempted to pick it up.
Jake watched him ride past him while maintaining the two-hundred-yard gap and understood why he wasn’t about to get any closer. Jake couldn’t care less about the wounded man. The bastard was going to shoot him in the back, and he was lucky Jake had fired from the back of a moving horse. He wouldn’t have missed so badly if he was in a stable firing position.
As the bleeding man continued to make his looping ride, Jake nudged Mars into a medium trot but kept watching the would-be thief. He was no longer a danger to him or anyone else who might be leaving Fort Benton. He’d probably make it to the town and survive the wound. When he returned, he’d ask about him.
After Jake was more than a five hundred yards away, he turned his eyes to the front again. It was only then that he realized he’d just had his first gunfight. In his time on the ranch and his almost three years in the army, he hadn’t fired a single time at another man. While he was wearing the uniform, he always wondered if he’d be able to shoot someone without hesitation or regret. He now had his answer. He hadn’t hesitated and felt no remorse for what he’d done. Granted, he hadn’t killed the man, but Jake didn’t think that would have made any difference.
While he was pleased with his reaction, Jake cautioned himself from becoming over confident. He knew he
