The Saga of Miles Forrest

  I fired both barrels, heard a shot, curse and moan all about the same time.  At the same time I dropped the shotgun, threw myself to the ground and scurried in the snow to the bushes.  Glancing back at Molly I grinned.  Smart gal, when I rushed she flung herself forward changing the place of the man’s target.  She looked at me and nodded her head to signify she was okay.  I pulled my pistol and slowly began to move in the darkness.
    It was cold, I had gotten cozy sitting with Molly back at the fire.  I needed to finish this business up, but not too quickly.  A person can make rash actions by moving too fast.  Take it slow, like an Indian would do.  If I hit him, he was in worse shape than me.
    Easing my way, I didn’t want to move against any bush so I could be heard.  The snow didn’t really as it was crusted over because of the cold.  I found that it didn’t make much sound if I moved on my hands and knees.  My fingers, gripping my gun, were getting very cold.  I needed to find him soon.
    “Miles!” came a frenzied shout.  “Miles!”
    I didn’t take the time to be quiet coming back to the camp, but I did stop before moving into the firelight.  I stayed in the shadows.  Molly was on her knees holding the rifle, but it was pointed at the ground.  At the edge of the rock stood man, his rifle aimed at Molly.  He wouldn’t miss this time.  
    “Forrest!” he hollered.  “Forrest, I know you’re out there.  Better get back here or I’ll kill the woman.”
    “Ring,” came a moan from the man Molly shot.  “Is that you?  I hurt bad.”
    I could see some blood on the man.  Some of the buckshot must have hit him, I just didn’t know how bad he was hurt.  Firing through that brush would have stopped some of the shot, but I could see his face was bleeding and one hand that held the rifle had blood on it.  His coat prevented me from seeing if he was bleeding anywhere else.
    “Forrest!  I ain’t going to call you again!”
    My fingers were freezing.  If I didn’t get them warmed up I wouldn’t be able to do much good with the pistol.  But then I reckoned his hands were mighty cold as well.  I moved my pistol to my left hand and began to move my fingers as I slowly stepped into the campsite.  
    “Throw down the gun!” he ordered.
    “Reckon not,” I replied, still moving the fingers on my right hand and moving closer to the fire.
    “Throw down the gun or I’ll kill her,” he continued to threaten.
    “You shoot her and you know what’ll happen to you,” I said.  I could feel my fingers and hand begin to warm.  “You’ll never collect any money.  Your friends are dead, the Ebert brothers are dead.”
    That seemed to catch his attention and then the man on the ground moaned again, “Ring, please, help me or I’m a goner.”
    “Shut up” he hissed and that’s when I took my chance.
    I’m not a real good shot with my left hand.  I hit where I point but not real accurate.  I fired once, then did a border shuffle tossing the gun from my left hand to my now warm right hand.  I fired again and again.  My last one hit him in the head.  He was able to get one shot off, but it hit the rocks at the fire and ricocheted into the night.  
    Quickly I looked around.  Molly was still on her knees the rifle now lifted and pointing at the man lying dead on the ground.  Were there any others?  I had one bullet left in my pistol as fearing a confrontation was near I loaded the cylinder with six. 
    “Miles,” Molly began.
    “Shhh, listen,” I whispered as I began to reload my gun.  In a few minutes I went over picking the Greener up out of the snow.
    “Let’s see if we can get any information from him,” I said pointing at the man who had been groaning.  Upon inspection I saw a jagged wound on the side of his head the blood pouring out, the ricochet must have caught him.
    I looked at Molly and reached down to help her stand.  “One just never knows when his time is up,” I muttered.
    As she looked back up at me her eyes suddenly widened, “Miles, you’re bleeding.”
This day in the Texas Revolution:  Mexican artillery stops shelling the Alamo.  The plan to assault the Alamo is formulated.