Page 43 of At Love’s Command

Unfortunately, they found it.

The red-bearded Dawson and a fellow in a brown vest dove behind the large branch that Matt and Charlie had moved. The outlaws had to lie on their bellies to protect themselves, but they didn’t seem to care about aiming. They just braced their gun hands atop the thick branch and shot in Matt’s general direction while keeping their heads down. Matt pivoted sideways to make himself as thin a target as possible, but bullets still zinged by him far too close for comfort.

Willfully ignoring the gunfire around him, Matt steadied his arm and shot a notch off the branch an inch from Dawson’s hat. The outlaw flinched and brought his gun hand down to cover his head. Matt didn’t expect the deterrent to last, but at least it slowed the current barrage.

A movement to his left drew Matt’s attention. Three men were pushing the chuck wagon, rolling it past the fire pit. Once they maneuvered it into position, half a dozen men or more would be able to take shelter behind it, leaving Matt’s position vulnerable no matter how much cover fire Jonah and Wallace laid down.

He glanced up the wall to judge Charlie’s progress. Halfway. Preach was dragging him from the top now, and the kid just hung on. Eyes squeezed closed. Mouth pinched tight. Hands white-knuckled as he clung to the slow-moving rope.

Matt frowned. He should’ve given the kid his gloves. Too late now.

Turning back to the fight before him, Matt caught a glimpse of a horse walking against the grain of the other animals. Small, controlled steps. Matt pivoted that direction to get a better view. A pair of black trousers distinguished themselves between the mount’s brown legs. Someone had caught a horse and was using it as a shield.

Coward. A cavalryman might use a fallen horse as a shield in the midst of war as a last resort, but to use a live horse as protection in an offensive maneuver when other defensive options existed made his hide itch.

Another movement returned Matt’s attention to the men behind the branch. Brown Vest was peeking around the end and taking aim. High aim. At Charlie. Matt fired with his left hand, then followed with his right, showering the outlaw with enough bark shards to force his eyes closed and hopefully keep him out of commission for several seconds.

The shield horse reached the chuck wagon, then shied as the wagon jerked forward. The animal tossed his head and revealed the ingrate hiding behind him.

The leader. Taggart.

Of course.

Taggart jerked the reins down with enough force to injure the bay’s mouth and tied the animal’s head with no give to the side of the chuck wagon to maintain protection on his flank.

“Burkett! You worm!” Taggart yelled. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Taking care not to shoot the horse, Matt let a shot fly directly over Taggart’s head, taking enormous satisfaction when he ducked behind the wagon.

His satisfaction didn’t last long, however, for now that more substantial shelter was in place, the outlaws grew bolder.

Jonah and Wallace had the high ground advantage, but two couldn’t hold off a dozen men forever. Bullets whizzed past Matt with greater frequency. A couple even creased his skin. He tried not to flinch when fire burned across his forearm, but when he lost a chunk of hide from his left thigh, his step faltered.

He dropped to the ground, partially to cover his injury and partially to make himself harder to hit. Yet as soon as the dust hit his face, an advantage became clear. Bringing his right hand around in front of him, he took four shots beneath the wagon. He hit three different trouser legs and a wagon wheel. Taggart’s black trousers unfortunately remained intact, thanks to an inconvenient spoke. But the bullets pelting the canyon wall around him slackened as the other three outlaws behind the wagon howled in pain.

“We got him, Captain,” Preach called from above. “Get to your rope!”

Holstering the empty gun in his right hand, Matt took a few last potshots at Taggart with his left, then rolled the few feet to his rope. He scanned the area, spent his last bullet on Dawson, whose head was poking up from behind the log again, then shoved the spent revolver into its holster and leapt onto the rope. Praying for strong arms and trusting his men to cover him with all they had, Matt gritted his teeth and scaled the wall.

Jonah and Wallace picked up the shooting pace, their repeating rifles spitting in rapid-fire fashion. Preach and Charlie would be fetching the horses. The pieces of the plan clicked through Matt’s brain, keeping him focused.

A bullet hit his boot heel, spinning him sideways with the force. Matt tightened his grip on the rope as his body bounced against the canyon wall. All his momentum disintegrated. He clenched his jaw and glanced up to judge the remaining distance. Ten feet. He could climb ten feet. Even with a throbbing thigh and a bleeding forearm. He was a cavalryman. Built for war. He could do this.

Ten feet.

A groan tore from his throat as he flexed his biceps and pulled his body upward. He released one hand and grabbed for a higher position. Then another.

Nine feet.

Hand over hand he climbed. But fatigue drained his strength. Despite his mental fortitude, his arms unfolded. He dangled, five feet from the top.

Gunfire continued all around him, friendly and non-friendly alike.

C’mon, Hanger. This isn’t how you want to go out. Get moving, soldier!

He pulled, then stopped when he felt his grip slipping. Heart thumping, he darted his gaze along the cliff wall, desperate to find some kind of support. He wasn’t going to make it without help.

There. To the left. A root protruding from the wall.