I discovered that God created people to be upright, but they have each turned to follow their own downward path.” –Ecclesiastes 7:29 (NLT)
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There was a reflection of something, rifle barrel perhaps? Leaving Star in the arroyo knowing that he could not be seen I moved along the wash around to the back of the boulders where the mysterious man waited. There were forty yards between the wash and the boulders. If the man should look back over his shoulder he would surely see me. All that there was between me and the rocks was a few clumps of yucca. I moved slowly, for I knew rapid movement tends to draw attention, moving from plant to plant.
Reaching the boulders I now had another dilemma. The man was in front, half-way up in the rocks. From where I was I could not get to him. The rock where I was standing was too sheer to climb. I decided to move to my left hoping that there may be a way up.
I was just a little ways around the rocks when a small slide of gravel came down. Natural, or was the man moving or just shifting his position? I could possibly make it up into the rocks but not holding the rifle. Besides, it was too big for use in these rocks. Setting it beside the rock, I frowned. I would have to use both hands to climb, leaving me vulnerable. Did the man know I was there?
Quiet was the word. Taking off my boots, I climbed with sock feet, praying as I hoisted myself to a level where three of the large boulders came together. He had a rifle so I knew he would be in the same dilemma, not able to move it quickly among the rocks. Moving between two of the boulders, I looked up and saw a boot, worn from wear. It moved causing more gravel to fall, this time down on me. Realizing I couldn’t go that way I turned to move off to my right. Stopping I looked back with a smile. I had an urge to shoot him in the foot, but I let it pass.
My gun, still in the holster, as I moved trying to find handholds to pull me up. If I could get up, I would be slightly above him. That’s where I wanted to be. I gave a silent grunt, while pulling myself up. Keeping close to the rock I slid around where I could look down. The man was in a little culvert between two rocks. I didn’t recognize him.
Quietly I pulled my gun, “Mister, if you don’t want to meet your Maker real quick, I’d drop the rifle.”
He jerked, surprised by my voice. There was no movement, but I could almost feel the screws turning in his head. “I wouldn’t,” I warned him.
It was to no avail. He turned, firing, but his rifle barrel glanced against the boulder causing his shot to go way wide. I fired, hitting him in the side, turning him. He tried to bring up the rifle–I fired again this time hitting the receiver slamming the rifle from his hands.
He realized then, without the rifle, that it was no use. Putting his hand to his side, he removed it bloody. “You’ve played hob!” he exclaimed, slumping down to sit beside the rock that had been in front of him.
Holstering my gun, I slid down the rock to where he was sitting. He saw that I did not have a gun in my hand. I was helpless while he went for the one in his holster…