Page 10 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
She grimaced and shot a glare at Vaquero, who was waiting with an expression of saintly patience for her to give up and accept his help.
It was awful tempting to shoot him—at least in the foot.
“Just stay out of my way!” she snarled.
She crawled out from under the building and leapt to her feet, shooting like all get-out down the street.
Kane whirled to face her, hitting the ground hard and returning fire, forcing Molly to take cover in an alley, bent double to avoid a hail of bullets.
“Is that you, girl?” Kane shouted furiously.
“It’s me!” Molly yelled. Her cheek was burning and there was red splattered across her jacket sleeve. She had been grazed.But the realization didn’t frighten her in the least: it only made her all the more furious. She fumbled in her pocket for more ammunition, heart pounding with fury.
Kane cursed. “I’m getting mighty tired of you following me around! This is the end of the line for you.”
“We’ll see about that!” Molly muttered, bending down to reload.
A gun cracked right behind her.
She whirled, and gaped as a man fell on his face a few feet away from her, his gun slipping from his limp hand. His hat rolled towards her, brushing against her boots.
Stunned, Molly stared at the corpse, shotgun loose in her hands. She hadn’t once looked over her shoulder; she had forgotten to. All she could focus on was Kane.
Blood dripped down her neck as she stared at the bandit, and a tremor shot through her body. She could have died. She had come so close to failing her sole purpose: catching Kane.Stupid, Molly! Really stupid!
She raised her blurred gaze to where Vaquero was standing at the end of the alley, his gun smoking. He smiled at her. “A word of advice,niña. Always look over your shoulder.”
The bounty hunter’s suggestion was all it took to sting Molly out of her shock. She bite her lip, not quite able to bring herself to glare at him, and bent her head to finish reloading her shotgun. “I told you already, I don’t need your help!” But her hands were shaking, calling her a liar.
Vaquero rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes you do. You should see your cheek. Listen, I’ll take care of Kane’s friends, you take care of Kane. Deal?”
Molly hesitated, then glanced at the dead man again—felt the blood still dripping down her jaw, its slick sensation reminding her of what was at stake—as Vaquero stepped over the body and stood before her.
She met his eyes, and decided to trust him. “All right, Vaquero. It’s a deal.”
Vaquero tilted his head in acknowledgement, and they both turned in unison and dove into the street.
Molly crawled for the opposite building as gunfire exploded from a rooftop. But she didn’t look behind her; not when she knew that, this time, Vaquero was watching her back.
It felt good.
Vaquero fired off a round and the gunfire on the rooftop fell silent as Molly took cover behind the tall shadow of the saloon and peered down another street.
As she suspected, Kane was running towards a hitching post and his waiting horse. Kane thought Molly was pinned down by his friends. He didn’t know Vaquero was there.
It was the advantage that Molly had needed all along.
Molly slid the butt of her shotgun up and pulled it snug against her shoulder. Her grandpa used to be so proud of her shooting: he would tell anyone that would listen that she could hit the eye out of a rabbit. Now was the time to prove that she had been worthy of his pride.
“Watch this, Grandpa,” Molly whispered as she brought her gun up and sighted down the barrel. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
The shot struck the rope that held the sign for the saloon.
The falling sign struck Kane square on the head and he dropped to the ground, unmoving.
Molly slumped forward. She had done it. She had finally caught her grandpa’s killer.
With some help.
