The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [34]
He was wrong. His ruse didn’t throw Upton at all. But one factor in his favor was that by crossing the bottoms to the east wall, the same side as Upton, the two gunmen couldn’t hit him. The east wall was too steep. Or so he hoped. He would not find out until he tried it.
If he was still in their sights, then they would have him cold, for there was no cover at the foot of that wall. All the loose boulders were on the west side where the cliff was more broken, a steep but not vertical drop to the bottom.
As soon as he broke cover, Upton and Dobey opened fire. Upton had hissed a warning of what might happen, so they were ready. Fortunately for Quantro, it was Dobey covering the way he had chosen to run. His reactions were not as honed as Upton’s, nor was his shooting. But once started, he shot fast.
Quantro ducked across, dust devils springing up by his heels as he sprinted. With one shoulder scraping the wall he ran for the bend. Bullets cracked persistently overhead.
There was sudden sharp pull on his left foot. He staggered, rifle swinging in counterbalance. He’d been hit. It took another five yards to fall back into the rhythm. A moment later, he was skidding around the bend. And safe.
He fell against the wall, panting. Air rushed in great gulps down into his aching chest. Too many cigarettes, he thought absently. They’ll be the death of me, ruin my running. One of these days I’ll really need to make a run and that’ll be the day they get me. Then he remembered his foot. He raised his left leg for inspection. No blood, not even a hole in his high moccasin. Then he saw where a narrow chunk of leather had been gouged diagonally out of the extra sole he had added to make them tougher. A bullet char. Two inches higher and it would have been his ankle. Maybe his luck was running good.
Now for the buckskin before Upton or Dobey ran along the rim to throw down shots on him. He shouted, competing with the gunfire still coming from where Pete was holding them off. The stallion came over. Quickly, he mounted and slid his Winchester into the saddle boot out of the way. He patted the horse’s neck as he waited.
Then he heard it. The gunfire was beginning to wither away. Pete’s rapid covering-fire had long since become irregular as he took care in placing his shots, but now Upton and Dobey began to slow. With any luck, at least one of them would be reloading when he made his dash.
Now. He kicked his moccasin heels into the stallion’s ribs and it leapt forward. Around the bend, then they were galloping between the walls, powerful hooves throwing up dust. All three rifles opened up, shooting across him as he threw himself low on the buckskin’s lashing mane.
It was over in a moment. The guns were behind him and he was out in the open. The horse shambled to a stop, shuddering with the exertion. Quantro was almost shaking too, but he had no time for that. His heart still pounding, he grabbed his Winchester and slipped to the ground. A slap on the horse’s rump and it took off away from the canyon.
Now for the slow bit.
He knew where Upton and Dobey were, but the chances were they would shift positions before he got to the top. If they had any sense, that was. From his point of view, the worst move they could make was to meet him headlong at the crest. They would have him cold.
Soft-footed, cautious, he made a start on the slope. Over on the right the sun had begun its long climb to noon. He hoped matters were resolved one way or another by then. Midday on top of the rim would be unbearable. Already sweat had soaked his armpits and was running down his ribcage, and his shirt was stuck fast between his shoulder blades.
After twenty feet he paused to study the rim. One careless move, that’s all it would take. But there was only a blank skyline staring immovably back. He took a deep breath, shifted his weight on to his bad leg. It was holding out. He started up again, picking his way through the scramble