Chapter 69
I NEEDED TO take the shot soon. As the men walked closer to the dark house, I could just make out their outlines.
I took another deep breath. Do I need to account for the slight tremor in my hand?
I kept hoping the local deputies would come riding in to rescue us. It was such a strong desire that my eyes flicked down the road, ready to see flashing lights headed our way. No such luck. Only the vast blackness of a Montana night.
Now the men were more than halfway up the driveway.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I carefully pulled back the hammer on the single-action revolver.
I was so used to either double-action revolvers or automatic pistols that this was a challenge.
I knew that if I had to fire more than one shot, I’d probably forget to pull back the hammer again.
Just then, a rifle shot rang out like a thunderclap.
The echoes in the small valley where the two houses sat made it sound like artillery.
The redneck with the pistol twisted awkwardly.
He fell to the ground, then he struggled to get back up to his knees.
Arnold Marks essentially ignored him and kept marching toward the house.
That’s when I squeezed the trigger. I didn’t hit my target; I couldn’t tell if my shot came close or not, but the noise and the flash from my revolver got his attention.
He pivoted and started heading in my direction, while letting loose a stream of bullets from the automatic rifle.
They impacted in the snow and ice on the mound right in front of me.
The sound of the bullets hitting the frozen ground made me flinch.
If I stayed in place, Arnold Marks would be standing over me in a few seconds.
But if I tried to run, he’d have a clear shot at me.
Behind him, I saw someone get out of the truck’s passenger side to help the wounded Cauliflower Ear. Then another shot echoed through the hills.
It sounded like Rob had moved positions. One of the heavy .30-30 rounds struck the frozen ground next to Marks. It made him pause. He crouched down, and I fired two shots into the area. Then Rob fired another two shots.
Arnold Marks backed up. First in a crawling position, then he stood and ran toward the truck.
That’s when I heard a shotgun blast. It struck him in the upper body, maybe the neck or head too.
He let the AK-47 dangle from his right hand as he reached up to his face and the lights from the truck illuminated him from behind.
It looked like he was bleeding, but he managed to get to the truck’s passenger-side door and fumbled the door open.
Another shotgun blast struck the rear quarter panel of the truck. Arnold Marks scrambled to jump into the speeding vehicle as the driver stomped on the gas.
I stood up from behind the berm and started jogging back toward Mona’s house. When the outside lights came on, it was like the sun had risen.
To my surprise, I saw a lone figure in the front yard holding a shotgun.
It was Chet Trilling.