Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

A trial. Yes. “How many people have you killed in these hills, Pagan? How much grief and pain have you caused?”

Sweat dripped from Pagan’s face, his eyes locked on Trent in a vain hope of reprieve. “I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.”

“No, Pagan, you’ll not be leaving. It’s too late. You have Reverend Stephens to answer for, and the McCracken family. God knows how many others.”

“You’re the law, Trent. You have rules. You can’t just….”

Knowing the man was a coward, Trent glanced to the side. Instantly Pagan’s hand streaked for his gun.

The Watcher stood looking at the girl in the print dress. Beautiful and willowy, blond hair and large breasts, skin soft and unblemished. Not now. It was too soon. There were too many people. But she was worthy. He could taste her—feel her flesh under his hands. The Watcher drew in a shaky breath. And what of the man? The man he’d come to see fight with Pagan Reeves. He’d known it would be no contest, but three men? And the man was close. He would come for her, come hard! The hero would come for the killer. The Watcher laughed to himself. The hero would not return. So be it. Maybe it was time for that, too.

Silently, the Watcher moved up behind the girl. She had come in with Starking, but had separated and was walking toward the church and Katie. The girl flinched as shots rang out in the street below, and the Watcher glanced disdainfully in that direction. It would be no contest. The man would win. Would he always win?

The Watcher mentally shrugged his shoulders as he advanced on the girl. It didn’t matter. It’s the girl that matters. The one who is worthy.

Chico and Trent walked back up the hill toward the church, Chico leading his horse by the reins.

“I used to think I was very fast with my guns. Even in this day and age, it is important in some circles. I used to do some of those cowboy shooting contests. It was fun.” He shook his head ruefully. “Now, I think I’ll throw them away. I saw Reeves kill a man on that very street, and I thought he was fast. It’s not so. And then, when you looked away from him… on purpose?”

“I had to bait him. Otherwise, he would have crawled away. I just couldn’t shoot him in cold blood. Not even him.” Trent palmed his gun and held it up. “You know, this isn’t something I asked for, or ever wanted. I was born with quick hands. Seems to me there should be something better to use them for.”

“You did a good thing, today, my friend. If you had shown him mercy, he wouldn’t have stopped killing. He would not have changed.”

He thought of all the situations he’d been in, the things he’d done in the name of survival. It was a long list. “In my heart, I know. But in my mind, sometimes I don’t know.”

A scream snapped their heads up in unison. A girl was struggling with someone in front of the church. As they watched they saw the man swing, and her head snap back. Katie came rushing around the building, but was knocked sprawling by a sweep of the man’s arm. Almost in the same motion, the man swung the girl to his shoulders and disappeared into the forest behind the church.

Cruz was trying to line up a rifle shot when Trent pushed down the barrel. “Too risky.”

They both mounted Cruz’s horse and arrived at the church in moments, scattering divots of grass and dirt around the porch. A faint trail led away in the wet grass toward the forest beyond.

He wrapped Katie in his arms. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she answered groggily.

Trent ran to his horse that was tied to the porch. He pulled out his knee-length moccasins, dropped to the ground, shucked his boots, and pulled them on. Pulling his Bowie, he threaded his belt through the loop in the scabbard. Donning a long-tailed hunting shirt, he stuffed trail mix in the pouches. Strapping a Velcro strip over his revolver, to keep it tight against his leg, he reached up and took out his rifle.

“Let me come with you.” Cruz was already turning away to remount.

“No time. I’m going to run him, Cruz. He will have a horse back in the brush. If I push hard enough, he won’t have time to stop and hurt the girl. On rough ground, I can make better time on foot. I might even be able to outrun his horse. But above all, I’ve got to keep him running.”

Cruz nodded. “You mean like a wolf pack runs a deer.”

He was already looking up the trail, trying to visualize how it would go. “You got it.”

“What can I do?”

He held his friend’s gaze for a moment. “This may be a long run. If the worst happens and he kills the girl… I’ll stay with him. Once I start running him, he’ll know that. You and Katherine round up some men, and supplies to follow, but not too close. Just stay close enough that I can find you. If I don’t get him right away, I’ll need supplies. If you get a chance, and can see where he’s going, cut in front of him. We don’t want to lose him. Not now.”

“Then you better hurry. This man is a devil. You must run like the wind.”

He didn’t answer. He was already ducking into the gloom of the forest.

Trent hit the edge of the forest at a dead run. For the first few minutes, he would throw aside caution. The girl’s life was at stake. He picked up the trail immediately. Broken grass and bent limbs, then the churned grass where the man had mounted a skittish horse. The trail went straight away down a dim path in the forest that would skirt around the mountain. This was second growth forest, which meant there weren’t many large trees, and the grass and bushes were almost waist high.

Keeping his lungs from trying to match pace with his legs, he ignored the burning pain in his chest. He was trying to match the pace of the man ahead. The assailant’s first burst of speed would be from the panic of discovery and trying to get away. Soon, reason would set in and he’d stop. If Trent could keep from overrunning them, that would be his first and best chance.

The initial burst of speed from the man was a lot longer than he expected. It was a full half hour later when the stride of the horse he was trailing began to shorten. Keeping his eyes as far up the trail as possible, Trent still almost missed the torn grass and dirt clods where the man had reined in his horse and gone off the trail about fifty feet ahead.

The first shot passed with a sonic crack and punched into a tree behind him, the second creased his hip, leaving a burning red hole in his hunting shirt. Panic shooting? Or, a warning? The first came too high, the second too low. He didn’t stop, just swerved to the side and into the brush. The growth under the taller trees wasn’t thick here, mostly sumac and scattered fern, so he began a weaving approach toward a copse of trees ahead.

Moments later he rolled into the clearing, bringing his rifle to bear around the perimeter. Nothing. The sun glittered off the bright shell casings ejected into the grass. The man had dismounted to shoot. The imprints in the soft earth were small, maybe a size nine or ten. After the missed shot, he’d mounted and continued down the path, leaving a trail a child could follow. Knowing something of the man he followed, that fact worried him more than anything else. This man never left a trail before. All right, then. A challenge—and maybe his first mistake.

Standing in the middle of the clearing, breathing heavily, he silently cursed his luck. He hadn’t been fast enough. The man was gone… and so was the girl.

He quickly cut three sticks and made a crude arrow in the trail to show which direction he was going. Stepping into the trail, he felt cold fear knot up in his belly. From now on, the man would be more cautious—and he would have to give him the first shot. He wouldn’t miss the next time.