Free Vengeance Road by Erin Bowman Page B

hammer, aiming the shot, exhaling just as I squeeze, like the bullet is part of my breathing. I image that same bullet flaring from my barrel and slicing through the flower, and I feel so in control, it’s like it can’t happen any other way. It ain’t possible. I already seen the future.
    I snap back to reality.
    Reach, draw, cock, aim, fire.
    â€œDear Lord, what is yer problem!” Will says, leaping to his feet. Jesse laughs as his brother tramples ’cross camp to Rio.
    â€œI missed,” I says, looking at the prickly pear. The flower’s gone, but so is the whole flat disc of cactus it were attached to. “I don’t know why. I saw it crystal clear.”
    â€œA flower’s a small target,” Jesse says. “If that were a person, you woulda struck true. Maybe not to the heart if you’d been aiming there, but certainly somewhere on the torso.”
    I holster my Colt. “’Cept they’d’ve shot me first. I stood here gawking for ten hours.”
    â€œThat’s where the practice comes in,” he says. “And besides, why do you think men stare at each other so much before a shootout? Everyone takes their time, pictures winning. It’s just someone has to be brave enough to pull first, and that’s when it comes down to who’s quickest.”
    â€œAce high,” I says, remembering what he said yesterday. “The best.”
    â€œYou might be an all-right student after all, Nate.”
    â€œI ain’t nothing but a good listener,” I says, teasing.
    Jesse barks out a laugh. “You hear that, Will?”
    â€œI heard it,” he says. He heaves his saddle onto Rio and looks at the sky, which is indigo directly overhead, a more violent pink closer to the horizon. “Time to ride?”
    Jesse nods. “I reckon so.”

    Having cleaned seems a waste by midday. It’s the hottest afternoon yet, and I’m dripping down my back well before noon. I ain’t sure if my hair’s still damp from my bath or if I’m just sweating from my scalp like a waterfall.
    â€œHorses are gonna need a break at the river,” Jesse says.
    It’ll be the Agua Fria. It runs nearly dead south, so we’ll cross it and keep on a southeast route, not meeting up with another river till the Salt in Phoenix.
    A break for the horses does make sense, and I been drinking so much water, I’m due to refill my canteen. But even in this heat, I hate the thought of stalled time. Yesterday’s dust storm already cost us a few hours by forcing us to make camp early. Alls I can hope is it did the same to Waylan Rose and his boys.
    As we ride I practice drawing and sighting cactuses. Jesse tails in my shadow, commenting on my form to Mutt. I think this is his way of critiquing me without being too overbearing. I sorta like it. I can hear what he’s saying, but it ain’t like he’s breathing down my neck.
    â€œYer really picking up cattle?” I ask him when my arm’s getting tired. “Yer not just tailing me ’cus Abe said I were to be in yer care?”
    â€œWe’re headed to Tucson for cattle, I swear it.”
    â€œHow’s two cowboys gonna move a herd?”
    â€œVery carefully,” Will interjects.
    â€œYeah, sure,” I says.
“How?”
    â€œWith prayer and witchcraft and the real kicker: Mutt. He’s a magic cattle dog.”
    â€œShut it, Will,” Jesse says.
    â€œI ain’t lying,” he says to me.
    â€œCourse you are,” Jesse says.
    Will spits dip at Mutt, who skirts outta range.
    â€œWe ain’t running ’em alone,” Jesse explains. “It’s a quick job from Tucson to Yuma, and we’re hired hands. Benny’s always threatening that he’s got enough boys and won’t have work for us if we don’t come join his crew as steady wranglers, and yet the boss man calls time and time again when a herd needs moving.”