Stryker's Revenge

HER AIM IS TRUE

The cabin was closer now.

Bullets from all sides of the basin stung the air around Stryker. He thumbed off a fast shot at the Apache by the corral post. Another miss. Behind him Hogg was firing steadily but didn’t seem to be scoring hits either.

The Apache stepped away from the corral and drew his Winchester to his shoulder. He and Stryker fired at the same time. The Indian’s bullet crashed into the bay, and Stryker cartwheeled from the saddle, landing hard on his back in a cloud of dust.

A man who is thrown by a galloping horse doesn’t get up in a hurry. Stryker lay stunned as bullets kicked up startled exclamation points of sand around him. Finally he raised himself into a sitting position. Feet pounded to his right, coming fast. The Apache, grimacing in rage, had grabbed his rifle and was readying himself to swing a killing blow at the white officer’s head.

A shot.

The Apache went down, screaming, half of his skull blown away. Stryker turned his reeling head and saw a woman standing at the cabin door, a smoking Sharps still to her shoulder. . . .