Chapter 6
Deadshot peeked around the corner. The bandits were all on the porch.
Two were sitting in rocking chairs. One stood against the wooden pillar next to the stairs, and another was seated on the stairs.
From his position, Deadshot could clearly make out all four of them.
They had two lanterns lit. One stood on a side table between the rocking chairs. The other hung from the porch roof.
Taking his time, Deadshot formulated a plan.
His first target would be the standing man.
He was already on his feet and was the most likely to get away or be the first to draw his weapon.
His second target would be the man on the stairs, simply because he was closest to the standing man.
And then he would take out the two in the rocking chairs.
The order didn’t matter; whoever came into view first would be his third target.
Of course, Deadshot knew that it might not work out that way, but he preferred going into a fight with a plan. It wasn’t always possible, but when it was, it was the safest option and had the best results.
The remaining three bandits all reacted simultaneously, jumping to their feet and drawing their weapons.
Before the man who was sitting on the stairs could even get his pistol out of its holster, Deadshot had already fired his next round.
The slug hit him in the shoulder, and he toppled backward, his feet scrambling to find their balance on the stairs.
He fell over, his legs slipping out from beneath him, and hit the ground with a crushing thud.
Low moans escaped the man’s throat as Deadshot turned his attention to the remaining two men.
They had both drawn their pistols. One was advancing on him while the other already had his pistol aimed at Deadshot.
Although the one was closer, the other was a bigger threat at that moment.
Deadshot lunged to his left and crouched down low, causing his knee to erupt with pain.
He ignored it and aimed his gun between the balustrade that surrounded the porch.
He sent off a shot, hitting the man in the thigh and bringing him to his knees, just as Deadshot had hoped it would.
With his body lower, Deadshot had a clear shot at the man’s head, and he didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
The last bandit had reached the rail and was actively lunging over it when Deadshot focused his attention on him.
He was close, and Deadshot had to act fast. Spinning his body slightly to the right, he allowed himself to fall back while simultaneously aiming his gun at the man and pulling the trigger.
The slug hit him in the chest. Shock washed over the man’s face, and for a moment, it looked like he was suspended in the air before he crashed to the ground.
Deadshot groaned as he pushed himself to his feet.
His knee was never going to forgive him, and to make things worse, his lower back was aching now, too.
It wasn’t a new ailment, but he hadn’t felt it in a really long time.
“Just great,” he mumbled to himself as he walked over to the bandit he had just shot and rolled him over with his boot.
The bastard was still breathing, and Deadshot couldn’t allow that.
Lifting his Colt, he heard a voice speak. It wasn’t the kid. “Drop your gun.”
Deadshot looked up toward where he had left the kid.
Behind him stood a bandit with one arm gripping the kid’s shoulder and the other pointing a pistol at his head.
It would have been a much more effective move if the kid were tall enough to block the man’s entire frame.
As they stood, the kid was at least two feet shorter than him.
Using the speed he was known for, Deadshot raised his arm and pulled the trigger.
It was his last slug, but he only needed one.
His aim was true. The man staggered back and collapsed to the ground as a small gasp escaped the kid’s mouth. Deadshot immediately grabbed a couple of slugs from his gun belt and started loading his pistol as he scanned the area. “Get over here,” he told the kid. “And stay by my side.”
The kid rushed over to him. “Do you think there are more?”
“I don’t know.”
Deadshot walked to the outlaw who had fallen down the stairs, wanting to make sure he was dead.
The man had hit his head on a rock and was bleeding out, but he was still breathing, so Deadshot quickly put a stop to that with a slug to the head.
He had learned early on that you never left a man breathing.
It might just come back to bite you in the ass.
Walking up the steps, he spared the other two men a quick glance. They were dead.
“Do you know how to shoot?” Deadshot asked without looking at the kid. His eyes were still scanning their surroundings. He couldn’t afford for another bandit to sneak up on them.
“A little,” the kid replied.
“What kind of answer is that?” Deadshot complained. “You can or you can’t.”
The kid hesitated. Deadshot didn’t have time for that.
“Grab one of their pistols and the lantern.”
Luckily, the kid didn’t put up a fight and did as he was told.
Instead of stepping over the bodies, he walked around them.
He grabbed one of the pistols first and the lantern that was on the side table before joining Deadshot again.
Deadshot took the pistol from him and checked the chamber.
It was fully loaded. Good. He handed it back to the kid. “Don’t shoot me by accident.”
“I won’t.”
Deadshot didn’t quite believe him, but he couldn’t exactly leave the kid defenseless. “All right, we’re going in. Just be prepared that you might not like what you see.”
The kid sucked in his breath as if to ready himself.
There was no easy way to do it, so Deadshot pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The house was a mess. Furniture was overturned and scattered around.
Some of the windows had been broken, and glass littered the floor.
Those things could be fixed or replaced, but there was nothing that could be done about the dead bodies.
“I’m gonna need you to tell me who they are,” Deadshot said. “We have to make sure that everybody is accounted for.”
“Okay,” the kid agreed, his voice trembling as they walked over to the first body.
The kid held the light out, revealing a man with a blood-soaked shirt. “He was one of our ranch hands.”
Deadshot nodded and started making his way over to the next man. This one was lying face down, so he lowered himself and rolled the man over. A small cry escaped the kid’s lips, letting Deadshot know who it was before the kid even spoke.
“My p-pa,” he stuttered.
A shiver ran down Deadshot’s spine as he leaned forward and gently closed the man’s eyes.
He knew how it felt to see your father’s lifeless body.
It happened to most people eventually, but there was a huge difference between somebody dying from old age or sickness and somebody being brutally murdered.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Deadshot said as he stood up. “Do you need a moment?”
The kid wiped his eyes and took a step back. “Later,” he replied. “I need to find my mother and sister.”
It wasn’t going to get any easier, but Deadshot understood why the kid needed to find them, so they continued looking.
They found another man, this one much younger, who also worked on the ranch, and a middle-aged woman.
Her dress was torn off her blood-stained body, making it obvious how she had died.
Together, they searched the entire house, but the kid’s mother and sister were nowhere to be found. It was strange but not unheard of for bandits to abduct women.
“Do you think they got away?” the kid asked.
Deadshot doubted it, but he couldn’t say no. “I don’t know, but I don’t think so,” he answered honestly.
The kid’s face fell. The little hope he had left was disappearing. Deadshot felt horrible, but there was no point in lying to him.