Previously: “Can’t tell from here, but if he is—he’s only one.”
“Boys, get ready,” Caleb called-out, “We might have a target—ripe for the picking.”
Meanwhile—the stagecoach was moving at a rapid pace—the driver was too nervous to go slower—one marshal, to his way of thinking was simply not enough protection and he wasn’t paid enough to get killed.
He’d heard the reputation this Marshal Boomer had—lightning fast with that Remington .44 and a dead-shot at close-range—but even that wasn’t enough to calm his nerves.
Boomer had his eye on the hill off to their right—a perfect spot for an ambush.
On the hill—Caleb gave the order…
Chapter 8—Fort Justice—Episode 10… “Okay fellas,” he began—and paused.
And that was good as just then Boomer drew his scoped Farkleberry-Henry 44-40 and was giving the hill a good look-see.
“Okay, we’re not taking this one on,” Caleb had seen enough, “That marshal has a long-range rifle and it looks like it has a scope.”
“We’re heading back to the mine, fellas,” Carson said, “We’ll suspend operations for a couple of weeks and lay-low. They always give-up watching if there’s no trouble for a time—and we can afford to be patient.”
“Good job Daisy! You may not have Flutters’ eyes, but there’s nothing wrong with your ears.”
“It was my nose—those guys really need to bathe once in a while.”
“Let’s get a move on Rufus.”
A short time later, Boomer & company came upon Chris and the marshals, “We had a near run-in with some folks on the high ground five miles ahead of you. Chances are good they’ve left—but.”
“We’ll scout the hill, just to be safe,” Chris replied, “Why didn’t they attack doya reckon?”
“This, perhaps?” Boomer pulled out his new Farkleberry.
“Oh. I am SO jealous,” Susie’s eyes widened—just a bit.
“There’s one each apiece waiting for you in basement of my place.”
“I asked for them and they came by next-day-mail.”
“In the 19th Century?”
“This is a blog—not reality.”
To be continued…