teeth. Dog took two or three steps toward the sounds that were coming nearer. Ty motioned to his left, and Dog immediately circled in that direction while keeping his eyes toward the approaching danger. As Dog disappeared into the night, Ty also crawled into the dark shadows. He hunkered beside an old tree trunk to wait.
He didn’t have long to wait. Two shadows moved almost silently past him toward the campfire. Ty could make out that each carried a gun and was about to attack the camp. They were so close that he could hear them breathing and smell their scent. Ty held his breath. Slowly, he raised the shotgun. His sights were on the one closest to him, Ty’s finger slowly tightened on the trigger. When Dog growled, Ty heard Dade say, “Look out for the dog, Matthew!”
Ty recognized the two shadowy figures as Dade Peterson and his nephew, Matthew. “If you’re planning on sneaking up on a fellow’s camp, you’d better learn to be a little quieter.”
“You sonofabuck, Ty Holt,” Dade moaned. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Maybe that’s what you deserve.”
“You and that dad-blame dog can blow out a lamp and jump into bed before it gets dark. And now you scared me so bad you’ve done gone and made me cuss. Are you all right, Matthew?”
“I’m fine, Uncle Hubert.”
“Hubert?” Ty said. “That your name? Hubert Peterson?”
“Hubert Dade Peterson. What’s the matter with it?”
Ty could tell by the tone in Dade’s voice that it was time to let it go. “It’s a fine name. Come on, I’ll boil the coffee again.”
While Dade and Matthew were fetching their animals, Ty stirred the coals and placed a few twigs on the embers. When a small fire sprang to life, he added water to the pot from his canteen. By the time they returned, the coffee had begun to boil, and Ty set it to one side to let the grounds settle. Dade reached into his trail bag and took out a small box.
“Have you tried these yet?” he asked and handed Ty the box.
“What is it?”
“Corn flakes.”
“Corn flakes?” Ty repeated as he read the box by firelight.
“They ain’t too bad with sweet milk on ’em. Dry, they kind of taste like paper.”
“Picture of a pretty woman on the box,” Matthew said, “ain’t it, Mr. Holt?”
“Mr. Holt was my daddy, Matthew. I really don’t like to be called that.”
“What’s the matter, Ty?” Dade guffawed. “The boy make you feel old?”
Ty ignored Dade. “W. K. Kellogg—I wonder how they smash the corn. You reckon they have men sitting around smashing kernels with a hammer? Boy, I sure wouldn’t want that job.”
“Me neither,” Dade said.
Ty poured a handful of the toasted Kellogg’s Corn Flakes into his hand and took a mouthful. “They’re not too bad but I think I’ll stick to pemmican.” Ty untied the thongs on a leather pouch, taking out some of the dried meat and berries that had been pounded into silver-dollar-sized cakes. “Now this is what a man ought to carry, not some smashed corn in a box with a picture of a woman hugging a corn stalk.”
Dade took one of the hardtacks and agreed. As the three of them sat around the fire, eating pemmican, Corn Flakes, and drinking boiled coffee, Dade said, “It don’t get no better’n this.”
Ty began to tell Dade and Matthew all that had happened. Dade looked surprised and shook his head, saying they had not seen anyone on the road since they had left Shine Barrow’s cabin.
“How’s Mary Jane?” Ty asked, and then wished he hadn’t.
“I guess she’s all right,” Dade answered. “Why do you ask about her?”
Matthew giggled and said, “I think Mr. Holt’s sweet on her, Uncle Hubert.”
“Dad-blame it boy, I told you not to call me Uncle Hubert while you’re my deputy,” Dade scolded Matthew. “Now see what you’ve done. First, Ty made me cuss and now, you add to my worries. You two ought to read this book I got at home about neurasthenia.”
“What’s that, neuras-whatever?” Ty laughed.
“You shouldn’t laugh. This here doctor, name of Beard, said that all this modern development, you know, trains and things like that, have caused people to get nervous, and that makes ‘em sick. He wrote in some book that you got to get a lot of fresh air and rest to stay healthy.”
“I do that.”
“I bet you don’t take no nap every day, like he said, and swallow a bit of arsenic.”
“Arsenic? That stuff’s poison.”
“I think it kills worms or something,” Dade said, defending what he had read.
“I reckon I ain’t got no worms,” Ty said. “But I am plenty tuckered. I’m going to sleep and hit the trail at first light. You two can jaw all night if you want to. If you’re thinking about lapping a little of the arsenic stuff tonight, don’t worry. I’ll bury you in the morning.” Ty moved the coffeepot from the coals and rolled into his blanket. In a few minutes, all three men were asleep.
Chapter 9
It was just past daylight. Dade was up and had the coffee made by the time Ty awoke. “Get a cup, Ty; let’s move out,” Dade said as he booted Matthew. “Get up, boy, let’s ride.”
Dade had no more spoken the words when he grunted and fell. Ty then heard the shot, but Texas Ranger Hubert Dade Peterson never heard the shot that split his head open and spilled his blood all over his nephew. Matthew’s eyes bugged about the time Ty heard the second shot. Matthew spit blood and fell back, dead.
Ty rolled from his bedroll and under a fallen tree limb as a third shot splintered bark next to his head. Scrambling under the limb, he scooted into a clump of thick brush. Ty clawed as fast as he could move toward some sort of protection from the hail of slugs that had just rained death upon Dade and Matthew. He looked for Dog, but he was not to be seen. Blaze was hobbled about twenty yards from where Ty had dug in. The horse twisted then reared, trying to break loose and get out of the way himself. Ty crawled on his stomach, cutting the hobble with his jackknife.
No sense getting you killed, too, Ty thought as he quickly crawled back behind a small live oak. Blaze ran about twenty feet before Ty heard him squeal and watched him stumble. He fell about the same time Ty heard another boom from the sniper’s rifle.
All Ty could do was watch as his horse kicked his hind legs in the dirt three or four times and then lay still. Ty’s rifle, shotgun, and pistol were all beside his bedroll, next to the campfire. Even though it was now good daylight, Ty knew if he were to have any chance of surviving the assassin’s assault, he would somehow have to get to his Winchester.
The shotgun and the Colt are useless at this range, he thought as he rolled, and then ran for the carbine. He scooped the barrel and immediately fell into some scrub brush, just as the stock of the rifle splintered in his hand. He heard the distant roar of another shot. As he fell, Ty saw a puff of black smoke. Now he knew exactly where the sniper was sitting, crouched in some rocks about three hundred yards up the side of a low hill.
“Dang Jonah’s luck,” he said, diving behind a log. Another puff, and bark flew not a half-inch above Ty’s head. With a splintered stock and the sniper having the high ground, Ty figured he might as well be fish in a barrel.
Looking for a place to run, Ty spotted Dade’s .50 caliber Sharps lying next to his body. Ty didn’t even think about it. He spun, grabbed the long gun, and ran as hard as he could into some trees on the other side of the camp. Quickly he checked the gun and found that the tube was fully loaded. He was hunkered under a limb that curled to the ground.