Free The Seeds of Man by William C. Dietz Page A

were they closing in?
It doesn’t make any difference,
Tre told himself.
The first rule of survival is to mind your own business.
    Tre heard a horse nicker and shouted, “Behind you!” That was stupid, of course. But a smart person would have been back in the shed.
    To his credit, the would-be victim threw himself to the right as a shotgun blast blew his chair to splinters. Tre fired the .410’s right barrel at the spot where the bandit should be and heard him swear. What with the spread and the long range, it was likely that only a few pellets had found their target. But the man on the ground pulled a pistol and got off three shots. They went home and a body fell into the firelight.
    Having revealed himself, Tre had gone from observer to target. He heard a branch break to his left, swiveled in that direction, and fired the left barrel. The bandit burst out of the brush just in time to take a full charge in the chest. This time the target was close enough to kill, and the man went down in a heap.
    Tre was fumbling reloads into the shotgun when the man in the clearing shouted at him. “Climb a tree! Do it
now
!”
    Climb a tree? What for?
Tre was going to ignore the instruction when the man blew on a horn. The sound prompted a chorus of howls and sent a chill up Tre’s spine. He dumped the pack and was in the process of shedding the snowshoes when the first animals came ghosting through the trees on the far side of the clearing.
    His heart was in his mouth as he climbed a ponDerosa and the dogs caught his scent. They surged his way, and it was only a matter of seconds before they were jumping high into the air, jaws snapping, as they tried to bring him down. Fortunately he was too high for them to reach.
    The attack came to an end as a shrill whistle sounded and the dogs turned away. That was when he heard the man say, “Find them! Kill them!”
    Tre remembered the third rider at that point and wondered where he was. The dogs began to sniff around the edges of the clearing. Then one of them produced a joyous bark and took off. The rest followed, howling as they ran.
    “How many?” the man shouted.
    “One left,” Tre replied. “He may be on horseback.”
    “The dogs will get him,” the man said confidently. “Come on over.”
    Tre dropped to the ground, paused to retrieve his empty brass, and slipped two fresh shells into the .410. Then it was time to pick up his gear and carry it to the fire. He was only a few feet away when a chorus of howls was heard, followed by the screams of a horse.
    The man who stood waiting for him was dressed in a grubby business suit and a pair of high-heeled cowboy boots. The jacket was brushed back to expose a Colt .44 Magnum revolver. His right hand was dangling near the butt.
    Both men turned to look as three shots were heard. They were followed by a scream. Tre thought it was from the horse but couldn’t be certain. “They’re after the horse’s legs,” the man explained. “Then, once they bring it down, they’ll kill the rider.”
    Based on the man’s matter-of-fact statement, Tre got the impression that this wasn’t the first time the dogs had been sent to kill a horseman. “And then?”
    “And then they’ll have dinner,” the man said. “My name’s Charlie. Charlie Winthrop. And you are?”
    “Tre Ocho.”
    “Glad to meet you, Tre.
Real
glad. The dogs were out hunting when you showed up. And a good thing too—since they would have torn into you otherwise. How did you wind up next to the clearing anyway?”
    Tre knew what was going through the other man’s mind. Maybe Tre had been with the bandits and turned on them, or maybe he’d been planning an attack of his own. So Tre told him how he’d been overtaken on the highway, entered the woods, and happened across the clearing.
    Charlie listened intently as he stared into Tre’s eyes. “Sounds like both of us were lucky. It could have gone differently. I figure they followed the wagon tracks down from Jackson.