Page 25 of Wagon Train Hope
“Get down or get thrown,” Walt ordered, his voice as hard and cold as the rocks at their feet.
The others dropped to the ground. Swarthy lined up beside them, their gazes darting from Gabe to their horses.
Ha. Wondering what was coming next, were they? No point in keeping them in suspense, and Irene hustled over to slap the two front horses on the rump. They raced away. Before she got to the other three, Walt stepped up and slapped them, sending them after the others—stirrups dangling free, effectively providing a constant kick in the ribs and signaling the horses to keep running.
Walt and Irene grinned at each other.
“You bought yourself a heap of trouble,” Swarthy growled.
Gabe, Joe, and Cecil stood shoulder to shoulder.
“We want no trouble, but we won’t back away from it either.” Gabe’s voice carried a hefty degree of warning.
The three underlings kept their attention on the ground. Whip and Swarthy scowled, showing no relenting.
One easy thing could change their attitude. She grinned at Walt. “Why not take their boots? That’ll slow them down.”
The two ringleaders glowered, though their expressions lacked the previous sourness.
Walt laughed. “I like that idea. Boys, take ’em off.”
“You can’t make me.” Whip crossed his arms.
Irene strode forward. “I don’t mind shooting them off.”She pointed her rifle at Whip’s foot and then looked at him. “You’ll have to excuse me if my aim is a little uncertain.”
Cursing, Swarthy dropped to the ground and tugged at his boots. The three underlings had theirs off in record time.
Whip hesitated, then worked his off.
“Now step back ten paces,” she ordered.
Walt gathered up the boots and tossed them into the back of the repaired wagon.
“Our boots,” one of the underlings protested.
Walt nodded toward them. “We’ll drop them off at the next town we stop at. Ain’t got no use for five pairs of smelly boots.”
“Now be on your way,” Gabe ordered.
Muttering, they hobbled over rocky ground on tender feet.
In a few minutes, the travelers finished hitching up and headed down the trail.
When Irene rode out front, Walt joined her. He turned in his saddle to regard her. A glimmer sparked in his dark eyes. Then he burst out laughing.
“You’re quite the shot.”
She shrugged. “Someone had to do it, and they least expected it from me.”
Their gazes held, reading each other’s meanings. Was he approving of her actions? Or considering her rash?
“I’m glad you’re a good shot.” His voice softened. “And I’m glad we’re all safe.”
A laugh, light and pleased, slipped free. He’d said something approving, and it warmed her insides. “I expect there are five men back there singing a much different tune.”
The wagons trundled along at a moderate pace. No sign of the would-be outlaws. A shiver raced across her shoulders at the thought of what might have happened.
“Thank God we’re all right.” Gratitude strengthened her voice.
