Strekker was glad for the light. He crept closer to the clump of sagebrush he’d selected, laid down, and peered through the telescopic sight.
Beautiful. The corral came into soft focus. An easy two hundred-yard shot. He adjusted the bipod so that it was firmly planted and waited for the show to begin.
Shoshoko felt the sun on his back. He felt honored and grateful that the Creator would be there to see his death. Also it made the tracking so much easier.
Neal sipped his coffee and watched the sky grow brighter.
I’m glad I’m exhausted, he thought. Otherwise I’d be completely terrified instead of just scared out of my skin.
The coffee was exquisite. Maybe this is the way condemned men feel, eating their last meal, savoring every little smell and taste. But I wished I had touched Karen one last time. I wish…
He looked over at Graham, who sat with a pistol at his side and a glass of whiskey in his hand. And Steve, who had a revolver strapped to his hip, a shotgun by his hand, and was lighting a cigarette.
He looked at Ed, who had a rifle in his lap, his own pistol tucked into his belt, and his shotgun strapped over his shoulder.
“Don’t think about it,” Ed said to Neal.
“Think about what?”
“Dying. None of us are going to die.”
Neal thought about the men in the barn with their guns trained on the corral. He thought about Hansen and Craig Vetter and the other gunmen he’d be facing any minute. He thought about dying.
Then Neal heard Hansen’s voice. “Come on out, Jews! It’s sunrise!
Neal stood up. He grabbed the old Marlin 336 and cocked a round into the chamber. Then he helped Graham to his feet.
“Good luck, Dad.”
“Take care of yourself, son.”
Neal felt his legs start to quiver and the fear rise in his stomach. He looked out the window and saw four men approaching the far end of the corral. Bekke, McCurdy, Vetter, and Hansen.
Ed got to his feet. “Everybody remember what to do?”
They all nodded. Ed noticed Neal’s shaking hands.
“Hey, Neal,” Ed said. “I ever tell you about my days in the Marines?”
What the hell? “No,” Neal said. “I didn’t even know you were in the Marines.”
“Yeah,” Ed answered. “I was a sniper.”
He grinned at Neal and cocked his head to the door.
Neal propped up Graham and followed Ed out the door toward the corral.
The Jeep was cutting through the snow pretty well when Karen saw something move in a little dip ahead.
“Get down!” she yelled.
As they came over the dip, three men stood up in the road. John Finley raised a pistol in one hand and stuck his hand out for her to stop with the other. He had an idiotic grin on his face. The other two men lifted their rifles.
“Why, you arrogant bastards,” Karen muttered.
She ducked her head behind the steering wheel and stepped on the gas.
She heard a thunk as the Jeep ran over the man. It was a few more seconds before she heard the rifle shots crackling behind her.
We must make a pathetic sight, Neal thought, as they slowly advanced in a row toward the corral. He was holding Graham under the arm and leading him along. He could feel the rifle barrels pointed at him from the hayloft to his left. Ed was on the right of him, Steve to the right of Ed.
In front of him, at the other end of the corral, Hansen and his men climbed through the metal bars and then stood in the corral waiting for them. McCurdy directly in front of him, then Bekke, Vetter, and Hansen on the far right, across from Steve Mills.
“Who’s the best shot?” Ed asked Neal as they walked.
“Definitely Vetter, the tall one across from you. Then McCurdy, the runty one straight ahead. Then I would guess Hansen, then Bekke, the guy with the beard.”
“Okay. You remember what to do?”
“I remember, I remember.”
“Just checking.”
Then they were at the corral.
Cal Strekker snuggled in behind the rifle and watched.
Let’s see who’s left standing, he thought. No sense in wasting precious time and bullets. Just for fun, though, he trained the cross hairs on Neal Carey.
Neal stood just inside the metal piping of the corral. He took a long, deep breath to try to steady his shaking hand.
McCurdy, Bekke, Vetter, and Hansen stood facing them on the other side.
“Are you ready?” Hansen called.
Neal heard some fear in his voice.
“We’re ready!” Ed answered.
Hansen nodded and went for his gun.
“Now!” Ed yelled.
Neal remembered what to do. He grabbed Graham, dropped, and flattened to the ground.
Karen Hawley raced another half mile before the adrenaline let her stop the car.
“Are you all okay?” she asked.
“We’re fine!” Shelly answered. But she remained lying in the backseat over Cody, who was crying to beat the band.
Peggy looked ashen but she nodded her head. “I think you killed that man,” she said.
“Good,” Karen answered. Then she punched the accelerator and headed for town.
The noise of the engine masked the blast of gunfire that came crackling over the valley.
It’s all happening so quickly, Neal thought. Not like in the movies, where it goes in slow motion and the bodies twist and fall in a graceful ballet.
He’d hit the ground and the volley of bullets passed harmlessly over his head. He did what Ed told him. He kept his head flattened and just pointed his rifle up toward the barn and fired. Beside him he heard Graham doing the same thing with his pistol.
Bullets smacked around them, but the men in the barn were having a tough time shooting around the metal pipes.
Then he heard the steady pop of Ed’s rifle beside him. Crack, crack, crack, crack. He inched his eye up and saw Bekke on the ground, McCurdy standing but bent over, clutching his stomach, and Vetter backing up, firing his rifle with one hand, blood streaming from the other.
Neal aimed at Vetter, fired, and missed. But Graham’s two shots didn’t, and Vetter crumpled to the ground.
Ed rolled, placed himself behind a vertical post, and fired up into the hayloft.
“Go!” he yelled.
Neal sprang to his feet and sprinted toward the bottom of the hay barn.
Bullets from Hansen’s rifle stitched behind him as he ran. From the corner of his eye he saw Steve Mills get up and head toward Hansen, who was lying behind a post at the other end of the corral.
Neal ran for the bottom of the barn as Ed kept pumping rounds into the loft. Come on, come on, he told himself. Get it done. He grabbed a gas can, spilled its contents on the floor, lit a match, and threw it. Then he took three long strides and dove for the ground.
The fire rose quickly as it burned through the gasoline and dry hay. The barn was ablaze in an instant.
Neal heard Ed yell, “Juden raus! Juden raus!”
There was a moment’s hesitation and then the three men in the loft stood with their hands up.
Suddenly it was strangely quiet, except for the ringing in his ears. Neal slowly stood up. He looked down at Graham, who in turn was looking at the two bullet holes in his artificial arm.
Ed had gotten to his feet also and was covering his prisoner with the shotgun.
Then Neal turned and saw Hansen and Steve facing each other at the far side of the corral. Each man had a pistol at his side.
“It’s over, Bob,” Steve said.
Hansen stood for a second, looked around, and raised his gun.
Steve raised his own and shot three times.
Hansen dropped.
Steve lowered his gun and walked slowly toward his old neighbor.
On the little rise of ground two hundred yards away, Cal Strekker watched through the telescope. He was glad he had decided not to join the battle. The big guy on the other side was damn good, and it was better to live to fight another day.
But there was time for one shot before he got away.