Free A Good Day to Die by William W. Johnstone Page B

rasped, “and from the sound of things, they’re doing the same to Eben.”
    â€œComanches! What’re we gonna do, Ma?”
    â€œYou’re gonna run like you never ran in all your born days, missy.”
    Ada shoved Lydia toward the window. It opened on a long, grassy field bordered by woods on the east and west. The field stretched a hundred yards north to a dirt road that intersected it at right angles—Rimrock Road. Beyond the road lay a thicket of woods, with Sentry Hill peeking over the treetops.
    â€œClimb out the window and run for the brush.” Ada indicated a patch of woods on the east, right-hand side of the field. “Get under cover as soon as you can. Don’t try to reach the road. It’s too far away. Hide and don’t come out no matter what you hear.”
    â€œWhat about you, Ma?”
    â€œI’ll follow you.”
    Lydia climbed on the narrow, wooden plank bed under the window and put a leg through the open space above it, scraping the back of her thigh against the windowsill. Holding the frame with both hands, she pulled her other leg after her.
    She sat on the sill, bent forward from the waist. It was a tight fit.
    Frightful noises came from the front of the house, rising and falling.
    Lydia paused, hesitant. Ada put a hand on the girl’s back and pushed her forward.
    Lydia fell to the ground, feet and ankles tingling from the impact. She turned, looking back. “Come on, Ma,” she urged.
    â€œYou go first, gal,” Ada said.
    â€œMa—”
    â€œI’ll cover you. Don’t argue. Git!”
    Lydia started forward, angling toward the treeline east of the house. She felt naked and exposed in the open. The sun shone brightly on green grass.
    She was about ten trembling paces away from the house when a Comanche rode out of the west woods. He’d been posted there earlier to keep watch on the road.
    He put heels to his horse’s flanks, kicking it into motion, intending to run the girl down. It was better sport than he’d dared hope for.
    Ada saw him coming. She shouldered the shotgun, planting both feet squarely on the dirt floor. When the brave drew abreast of the window she pulled the triggers, giving him both barrels. A booming blast of buckshot blew him off the horse.
    Stung by a few pellets, the horse reared, shrieking. It raced toward the road.
    Ada broke the shotgun, shucking expended cartridges out of the bores. Reaching into a front pocket of her apron, she took out two fresh shells and reloaded.
    Lydia stood frozen in place.
    Ada cried, “Run!”
    â€œI ain’t leaving you, Ma!”
    Ada shook her head. “I’ll hold off them red devils as long as I can. Go, before they get us both. I’m gonna give ’em what for. Don’t let it be in vain.”
    â€œMa, no!”
    Ada smiled sadly. “You always minded your momma. Don’t stop now. I love you, darlin’. God save you!”
    â€œMama, please.”
    â€œ Run! ”
    Lydia stumbled a few steps forward, sobbing. She looked back, blinking away tears. Ada lifted a hand in farewell, and moved away from the window, lost from view.
    Lydia staggered away from the house, weaving toward the trees. She caught sight of the dead Comanche sprawled on the ground, his upper body a wet, red ruin from the double-barreled shotgun blast. Recoiling, she lurched away from him, stiff-legged.
    Ada nodded approvingly to herself as she saw Lydia closing on the treeline. She had thought about keeping Lydia with her and making a stand against the Comanches. The ranch house had guns, ammunition, and solid walls. But the roof was made of wood. The braves would set fire to it to burn them out. It was better to distract the Comanches, keep them focused on the front of the house while Lydia escaped through the rear.
    The plan had almost gone awry thanks to the brave hidden in the west woods. Luckily he’d showed himself in time for Ada to down him,