Free The Loner: Dead Man’s Gold by J.A. Johnstone Page A

find something else.”
    The Kid walked over to the rocks and found another one about the size of his fist. He placed it on top of the bigger rock.
    “There,” he told Annabelle. “Shoot at that. Just let me get out of the way first.”
    She waited until he came back to her side, then drew the Smith & Wesson .38 and held it out in front of her as far as she could reach. Her arm was as stiff and straight as a board.
    “See, there’s your first mistake,” The Kid said before she could pull the trigger. “You’re too stiff. Loosen up a little. Bend your elbow. Not much, just slightly.”
    “Like this?”
    “No, that’s too much.” The Kid took hold of her arm to position it and show her what he meant. “Like that.”
    He realized after a second that he still had hold of her arm and could feel the warmth of her flesh through the shirt sleeve. He let go and stepped back.
    Annabelle peered over the barrel of the gun with her right eye and screwed her left eye shut as tightly as it would go.
    “No, that’s going to throw your aim off,” The Kid said. “Keep both eyes open.”
    She bared her teeth at him. “Are you going to let me shoot or not? This was your idea, you know.”
    He stepped back and spread his hands, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Go ahead.”
    “Fine.” Annabelle turned her attention back to the target, and a second later, she pulled the trigger. A shot blasted from the .38.
    The rock didn’t budge. There was no sign that the bullet hit anything else, either.
    Annabelle lowered the gun and frowned. “Where did it go? I didn’t see it hit anything.”
    The Kid waved a hand toward the flat. “It landed a few hundred yards out yonder. You were way high. That’s because you jerked the trigger too hard, and you were aiming too high to start with.” He nodded toward the rocks. “Want to try again?”
    “Yes, I most certainly do.” Annabelle aimed and fired again. This time the slug plowed into the ground about halfway between where she stood and the rock she was aiming at. “Oh!”
    “You corrected too much. Try this. Don’t aim.”
    “Don’t aim?” she repeated. “How can I hit anything if I don’t aim at it?”
    “You’re not hitting it when you do aim at it,” The Kid said. “ Point the gun. Just point it, like the barrel was your index finger. And then squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it.”
    “I don’t think it’ll work, but…all right.”
    Annabelle did like he told her, taking a casual stance as she pointed the gun and fired. The bullet hit the big rock about a foot and a half below the target and whined off.
    “Oh, my goodness!” Annabelle cried as her eyes widened. “I almost hit it!”
    “Almost will usually get you killed out here,” The Kid said. “Try again.”
    She frowned at him. “You could tell me that I did a good job, you know. It wouldn’t hurt you.”
    “When you were back there at Yale, did your teachers tell you you did a good job every time you answered one question on an examination?” The Kid pointed at the rock. His meaning was clear. The target was still there.
    Annabelle muttered something under her breath, shook her head, and pointed the Smith & Wesson at the rocks again. This time her shot was a foot low and a little off to the right.
    “Turn your body,” The Kid suggested. “Again, not much. All these adjustments need to be slight, because the gun will magnify them.”
    “Fine.” She shifted her stance.
    “Take a deep breath and hold it,” The Kid said. “Not long, just for a second while you pull the trigger.”
    “All right.” She pointed the gun, took a breath, held it, squeezed the trigger.
    The little rock leaped in the air.
    “I hit it!” Annabelle cried. She turned to The Kid and smiled. “I hit it! Did you see that?”
    “Yep. Get to where you can do that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, and you might survive your next gunfight. Assuming, of course, that there is a next one.”
    Her face grew serious.