Free Long Road to Cheyenne by Charles G. West Page A

more angry she became, to the point where she ignored the risk and demanded, “What did you pay this man to do? Kill someone? Who did you have him kill?”
    Raymond recoiled as if having been struck with a club, his face contorted into a mask of anger. “Stay out of this, Mary. It ain’t got nothing to do with you.”
    Mary’s outburst seemed to amuse Rafer. “Yeah, Bishop, why don’t you tell her who you hired me to kill?”
    “All right, dammit!” Raymond blurted. “I’ll pay you what you want! Just take it and get the hell away from here.”
    “Now you’re startin’ to make sense,” Rafer said with a chuckle.
    “I’ll get the other sack out of the tent,” Raymond said.
    “You do that,” Rafer said, and as soon as Raymond disappeared into the tent, he drew the .44 from his holster, leveled it at the tent flap, and waited.
    Cam, aware of what was about to happen, knew there was only going to be one chance for him to act, and it was going to be desperate at best. While Rafer’s gaze was fixed upon the tent flap, Cam slowly lowered himself to one knee. With his eyes on Rafer, he felt around for a stone bigger than the ones he threw in the water to splash the girls. When his hand settled on one the size of a biscuit, he closed his fingers around it and waited. It was no more than a few seconds before he saw the tent flap move and the barrel of a shotgun emerge. Expecting such a move, Rafer did not hesitate. He pumped three shots into Raymond before the unfortunate man completely cleared the tent. He was about to cock his pistol for a fourth shot when he was startled by the solid thud of the stone on his back. Thinking he had been shot, he turned to find Cam charging him, his body already about to be launched. Rafer tried to bring his .44 to bear on the human missile, but he was knocked off his horse before he could get off another shot.
    Landing hard on the rocky stream bank, the two men fought desperately, each trying to gain the advantage. Rafer tried to force his gun hand down to aim at Cam’s chest, but he had not reckoned on the strength of the rugged young man. Gradually, Cam forced Rafer’s wrist back until he could no longer keep his grip on the pistol and it fell from his hand to land in the edge of the water. Straining mightily, the two men rolled into the stream, turning over and over in the water, each man struggling to land on top. The contest finally ended when Cam managed to get both hands on Rafer’s throat and forced his head under the icy water, and held him there until his hands ceased their frantic clawing and flailing, and his body went limp.
    Still holding the gunman under the water long after he knew he was dead, Cam looked up to see the shocked faces staring at him, the one most horrified that of little Emma. Exhausted, he released his death grip on Rafer’s body and crawled out of the water to drop onto the ground. At last able to gather her wits about her, Mary hurried over to him. “Are you all right?” she asked.
    He nodded, then gasped, “Just give me a minute and I will be.” In a few seconds, his breath began to come a little easier and he said, “I’m sorry the girls had to see that.”
    When she saw that he really was all right, she said, “I guess they’ll get over it. You’d better get out of those wet clothes and put them by the fire to dry. I’ll go see about Raymond.” When he appeared reluctant to do it, she told him, “You can wrap your blanket around you till your clothes are dry.”
    He was amazed that she was already calm so soon after what had to have been a frightening experience for her. “I’ll drag him outta the water first,” he told her, “so Grace and Emma won’t have to look at him no more.” He got to his feet and walked down the stream a dozen yards where Rafer’s corpse had lodged itself against a rock.
    It was the first time she had seen the inside of Raymond’s tent, and even though Cam had told her of the excavation, she was