time to run for cover, and she was his primary target. It was
imperative that she die. There was a deputy walking by her side who
was fully armed, watchful, and who just might get off a lucky shot of
his own if he was given the chance.
Mr. Johnson shifted his position on his belly, determined to wait
until all three of them were crossing the street. From his perch on
the roof above the general store, he had a nice clear view of the road
below, and with his Winchester, he wouldn't miss. Patience, he told
himself as he felt the surge of excitement rush through him. The guard
first, then the woman, then the boy. One, two, three, as easy as can
be.
Anticipation made him giddy. The thrill he felt before a kill was as
good as being with a woman. No, it was better than that, he thought.
Much better.
They were taking their time, strolling along the boardwalk, stupidly
ignorant and blissfully unaware that they had only seconds left to
live. Their executioner giggled like a young boy while he waited to
seize the opportunity.
Jessica argued with the guard about their destination. She wanted to
walk over to the jail, but York was determined to take her back to the
hotel. The dour-faced deputy Sloan had hired was a rather plain man
with only one vanity, his handlebar mustache. The long black hairs on
his upper lip curled out and up over the sides of his nose. The pomade
he'd used stiffened and starched each hair, so that when he talked, his
mustache didn't move at all.
Jessica took hold of Caleb's hand as she stepped off the boardwalk.
York had hold of her elbow and was trying to guide her across. There
wasn't any traffic on the road behind the physician's house, for it
dead-ended at the stable around the curve. When Caleb wanted to run
ahead, she made certain it was safe for him to do so and then let go of
him.
Cole had just turned the corner and was striding down the center of the
street toward them when Caleb spotted him. The baby started running.
He stumbled twice as he tripped along but quickly regained his feet and
continued on. Jessica and York increased their pace to catch up with
him. Caleb was chattering away, and Jessica was smiling like a proud
mother while she watched her baby's antics. When Caleb was about
thirty feet away from Cole, he raised his arms and demanded, "Up, " in
a roar that echoed down the street.
Mr. Johnson edged up to his knees, swung his Winchester into position,
and fired. The guard dropped. Like a pigeon in a shooting gallery,
York was moving forward one second and dead on the ground the next.
Jessica screamed. York was facedown in the dirt. The bullet had
sliced through his heart, just as Mr. Johnson intended. He never ever
missed.
Jessica fell to her knees and struggled to turn the guard over so that
she could help him. There was blood everywhere. "Mr. York, " she
whimpered. "No . . . no . . . Mr. York . . . " She reached for the
gun in his holster and had just pulled it out when a shot spit the dirt