Free Showdown at Gun Hill by Ralph Cotton Page B

among the higher rocks, he knew he needed to offer some defense, anything to deflect the shooter while the sheriff and Parker Fish scrambled across the rocky ground for cover.
    Another rifle shot reached down, then another. Sam didn’t take time to see what damage the shots might have caused. He levered and fired round after round into the high stony hillside. Two more shots pounded down as the sheriff and Fish hurried out of sight behind a large boulder. Sam heard one of the shots ping and ricochet away. He leaned back against the pine, his smoking rifle levered and ready. He looked over at the horses, seeing their position was safe enough unless someone was deeply committed to killing them.
    He waited in a tense ringing silence for a few seconds, realizing the shooters had run out of targets now that the sheriff and Fish were out of sight. Then he ran tothe horses, grabbed his telescope from under his bedroll and hurried to a spot behind a rock where he could scan the upper hillside. As he stretched out the telescope and raised it, he called out toward where the sheriff and Fish had taken cover.
    â€œStone? Are you two all right?” He started scanning the lens among the rocks. He caught sight of three figures running through a stand of brush toward waiting horses. One carried a rifle with a long brass scope atop its barrel. All three wore long dusters and their heads were topped with black cavalry-style hats. Within the flapping lapels of the riding dusters he saw the black suits.
    Hinler’s rail detectives . . .
    When Sheriff Stone didn’t reply, Sam lowered the lens for a moment and called out again. Still no reply. He closed the lens and shoved it down in the back of his belt, looking all around warily. Without another word, he inched his way around the perimeter of the clearing and stopped when he got to the boulder he’d seen Fish and the sheriff crawl behind.
    When he eased a look around the edge of the boulder, he saw Sheriff Stone lying facedown in the dirt, a wide circle of blood on his back, more blood in the dirt beside him and a bullet wound in Stone’s back. As the wounded sheriff tried to push himself up, Sam looked around and hurried to him in a crouch. He saw no sign of Fish. When he stooped down to help the wounded lawman, he noted the discarded handcuffs lying in the dirt; he also noted Stone’s empty holster.
    â€œWatch yourself . . . Ranger,” Stone said in a strained voice, struggling up from the dirt.
    â€œI’m watching for him,” Sam said in a lowered tone, looping his arm around the sheriff’s shoulder. “Are you able to get up?” Blood ran down the sheriff’s back.
    â€œI’m doing it,” Stone said with pained determination. He hobbled along beside the Ranger, leaning against him. “Get us . . . to the horses . . . before he makes a run for it,” he warned in a weakening voice.
    But even as they struggled forward, Sam and the wounded sheriff heard Fish shouting at the horses, trying to shoo them away. They heard the sound of a horse’s hooves as the fleeing outlaw batted his boots to the horse’s sides and sent it galloping away along the rocky hill trail.
    â€œI—I lost a prisoner,” Stone said in a struggling voice.
    â€œYou’ve been ambushed and back-shot, Sheriff,” Sam said, helping him get to the place where they had left their horses. He helped Stone lie down onto his side. Looking around, he saw the sheriff’s claybank barb and his own copper dun standing only a few feet away. Fish hadn’t been able to spook the animals. The outlaw had raced away with Bowlinger’s horse beside him, Stone’s loaded Colt in his hand.
    â€œStill . . . I lost one,” Stone said in a pained voice. “No need . . . softening it any.”
    â€œWhatever you say, Sheriff,” said Sam. “Lie easy here.” He walked over to