Stolter’s back had been one big, hot ache since the Valdez Ranch but it had lessened over these last miles. He was injured and knew that he was not up to full strength. He just wanted to get home to his family and the safety of the land. Stolter could feel the dreadful, depressing loneliness that kept trying to slide into his mind. He should be relieved and happy because this long drawn out suffering was about to come to an end. But try as he might, he could not find the joy in it and would not until he had cross the Flint Hills property line.
The outlaws had to be behind him now. He was too good of a wounded target trying to make a run for safety. The only choice he would have would be to stand and fight against three guns or make a run for it and lead them into his own ambush. It was with sour humor that he looked at his situation. As he hand fed the last of the apples to the tired animals, he could feel that he was so close to home, yet so far.
###
All the horses follow him back onto the road. It was odd that he didn’t recognize any of the road landmarks this close to Flint Hills. He wild guessed that it should be about nine more miles.
A bullet whizzed by his head and he ducked down over the neck of the roan. The dust from the herd running behind him was thick. Several of the horses whinnied and raced up alongside him rolling the whites of their eyes in panic. He spurred the roan, giving it freedom to run all out.
It was a sheer panic run up to a gentle left curve to the south and then a wide swing back to the north. Three more bullets flew past his head. A glance back showed three men on horses galloping after him. He grimaced as an ache from the stitches started to build.
A cluster of reddish boulders to the side of the road looked familiar. The horse’s hooves thundered over wood. Stolter looked around and realized that he had made it into the county and had crossed Three Wagon Bridge. That meant that the ranch was three miles ahead. In the dim light he could just make out the trees on the embankment on the right.
He said a silent prayer that the children had received his telegram. Flint Hills was thirteen miles east of Bradford and they might not have gotten it. He wasn’t expecting celebratory torches and bonfires as if a conquering hero was arriving back home. Stolter grimaced as he gripped the reins.
As he rode along the East Bradford Road, he remembered the country. There was an old oak opposite the road leading to the ranch. It had grown even bigger in the years since he’d been gone. A few more strides, up over a slight rise and then around just a little to the right.
The tall double posts at the gate had been whitewashed and the big wooden sign still stood along the fence. A left turn onto the broad, driveway flanked by three heavy posts sank deep into the earth. He just had to hang on for a few more yards. He had swung the roan in and off to his right he heard the crack of the rifle half waiting for the stinging slash in his body.
Stolter swung to the left and half jumped half fell to the ground near the water trough. A rifle sounded and he looked toward the barn. It had to have been Colton. He was the only long shooter in the family. Another rifle fired and the impact of the bullet rocked the body that laid near the fence.
A man’s voice called out, “Moss, I’m shot! Moss?”
Moss took cover near the fence, pulled his revolver and shouted, “Harry! Can you make it out? Harry!?”
Stolter saw the bigger man with a bloody chest squeeze through the fence rails and run for his horse. A few seconds later hooves raced back down the road.
Colton was the first to run to his father. “Pa!” Stolter wrapped his arms arounds his son.
Lola came running and hugged her father. He blinked his eyes to clear his blurred vision. From the corner of his house, walked his eldest daughter, carrying a revolver in each hand. She was taller than he remembered, carried herself with a dancer’s grace and showed a purpose in her stride. He was surprised to see her walk to the mangled body lying in the yard, look up at Stolter and then fire the heavy Colt into the body. That was when she broke into a run to him and came sliding to a halt in front of her father.
“Harry is going to be late for dinner!” Stolter looked at his three children and sighed with relief. He kissed their foreheads again.
Stolter grimaced as he said, “I’ve got a gunshot in my hip. I need a doc to get the bullet out.”
Kelly nodded. “The doc is due here at noon, Pa. I told him you were coming home with stitches and he said he’d be here.”
His eyes blurred up and he blinked several times. “I don’t know how you did it, but I’m glad you’re here.” He hugged them all again.
###The End###
###
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Nick Stolter Page 28
