In Open Spaces by Russell Rowland Read Free Book Online Page B

yelled until my throat hurt, not really thinking about what I said, but hoping my shouts would give the sniper something to think about.
    Finally, I was able to pull Ahab back just enough that I could slip the rope from the saddlehorn. Without the rope holding him back, he lunged and jerked the reins free of my aching fingers. He took off, kicking his hind legs high into the air.
    I chased him for a few frantic strides, until I realized how useless that was. Then I stopped, staring after the dust, so caught up in wondering what to do next that I forgot that some bastard was out there shooting at me. Another shot rang out, echoing across the plain, and I fell to the ground. I scrambled back down into the creek bed, my heart pounding into the earth.
    The cow rested her muddy nose on the mud, looking near death. I crept to the top of the bank, scanning the prairie for signs of life. I saw nothing.
    “What are you doin’ on my land?”
    A voice boomed from behind, and I went stiff, expecting a shot in the back. But nothing happened, and I turned slowly, peering across the creek to see the lean, craggy figure of Art Walters.
    Now I’m always amazed at how a person can feel two things at once—two very opposite things at that. When I saw a familiar face, I was so relieved that a part of me could have hugged Art. But at the same time, it was hard to overlook the fact that he’d been shooting at me. But the second emotion was a lot stronger than the first, so I responded to that one.
    “Art, what the hell are you doing?” I walked toward him, right through the creek, arms outstretched.
    Art studied me carefully, eyes scrunched, still aiming the gun right at me. His thick handlebar mustache hung down over his mouth, tickling the barrel of his rifle.
    As I waded through the creek, arms still straight out from my side, I didn’t even consider that he would shoot again. I shook my head, the boil rising in my blood. “Goddamit, Art, you just ran my horse off and scared the hell out of me, and I’m not even on your land. This is our land. What’s gotten into you?”
    Art remained poised as he was, the gun on his shoulder, and to my complete shock, another shot rang out, and a puff of dust jumped from the ground three feet to my right.
    I was paralyzed for a second, but as soon as I recovered, I rushedhim. I lowered my head and ran straight at him, and I was just about to take him down when everything went black.
    I think I was only out for a half minute or so, because when I came to, it only took me a few seconds to remember where I was, and what had happened. I was lying facedown, and I rolled over, ready to defend myself, but Art was crouching down over me, a wet kerchief poised above my face.
    “You okay?” he asked.
    My arms were wrapped around Art’s slight torso, gripping the front of his overalls as we rode his horse in search of Ahab. I could feel Art’s ribs, about to push their way through the threadbare cotton. My wet clothes were cool against my skin. There was a knot on my forehead, and a dull ache in my skull.
    I was still angry, or maybe more exasperated, trying to decipher the contradictions of the man in front of me.
    “Art, why in hell’s name were you shooting at me?” I asked. “You trying to murder me?”
    Art didn’t answer right away, but after a deep breath, he turned to talk over his shoulder.
    “I ain’t no murderer, Blake.” He shook his head, and kept shaking it, as if he needed to assure me, and keep right on assuring me. “Don’t be starting rumors like that.” The head continued to shake. “There’s been too much of that going on already.”
    I frowned. “Too much of what?”
    The head shook. “Rumors. Murders and rumors.”
    Again I frowned. “Murders?” I asked. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t heard any rumors about any murders.”
    Art shook his head. “I ain’t saying no more.”
    I puzzled over this strange comment, reviewing the recent history of our