Killer Summer

“But bird shot-”

“Would sting a bit but wasn’t going to kill me.”

“But if it didn’t turn out to be your shotgun?”

“But it was. That’s where gambling comes in, son. Chance is nothing but a balance of risk to reward.”

In the silence that followed, they both heard voices filtering faintly through the trees.

“That’s coming from down below,” John whispered.

“The jet.”

“They wouldn’t be shouting at each other, not unless they’re short a few cells.”

“Summer.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going-”

But John had him by the arm. His grip was like a vise.

“Number one: this is my ranch, in a ma

“They busted up more than that,” Kevin said. “They took most of a wing off that little Cessna down there.”

Hearing that, John seemed all the more mad.

“They’re guarding the jet, which is smart,” he said. “But I’ll bet good money that they haven’t thought much about the Cessna’s radios. Mind you, they will before long, but so far they haven’t had the luxury of time, something we owe your girlfriend a debt of gratitude for.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Kevin blurted it out, his patience ru

The cowboy surprised him with a grin. “I go long stretches out here all by my lonesome, kid.”

“How ’bout we do something like find Summer.”

“You gotta learn to strike a balance between your pecker and your brain, boy. Number one: we don’t know they’ve got the girl. Number two: I know this ranch well. Come daylight, I’m going to find her. At the moment, we got one of ’em tied up and two of ’em on the loose. They took two of the rifles, but they’re not loaded. They heard that shotgun go off, you can count on that. They know their boy up here has got problems. I’ve got a loaded thirty-aught with a night scope and you’ve got a twelve-gauge pump with seven shells holding twelve thirty caliber balls each and another seven in your pockets. That’s enough round ball to stop a bear in its tracks. Those boys are outgu

“We can’t just sit here.”

“Not exactly. But nobody’s ever going to find you up here. You’ve got a rock cliff behind you and a rock chimney in front of you and fourteen shells to stop anyone from trying to pay you a visit.”

“What do you mean by ‘find me’? You going somewhere?”

“You catch on real quick.”

“No way!” Kevin said. “I got you out of there. You need me.”

“Exactly. In case something goes wrong, you’re my backup. I’m going down to the Cessna and make a call out before they figure out that the radios still work.”

“And I’m supposed to just sit here?”

He set the volume control on both radios, slipped Kevin’s radio into the neck of his T-shirt, and explained how to keep from a

“There’s no way they’re going to find you up here,” John said. “But if they should, you’re going to have to shoot them, and you’re going to find out that it’s just about impossible to pull that trigger. So what I want you to do is aim low, for their feet. The gun will kick when you shoot, and likely you’ll hit them closer to the knees. But you won’t kill them, you understand me? You will not kill them. Don’t think that way… Don’t think at all. Just hold the gun tight to your shoulder, aim at their feet, and squeeze.”

“I’m a wicked shot,” Kevin boasted. “My uncle, he’s like the best there is, and he taught me.”

“There’s a big difference between a rifle and a shotgun, son.”

“Yeah, okay.”

John asked Kevin to repeat the instructions for the radio, which he did flawlessly.

“I could give you a pep talk,” the cowboy said, “but the fact is, we’re looking up the wrong end of the horse here. As long as we don’t do anything stupid, maybe we’ll get through this. You want to do right by this girl, then do as I’ve told you.”

“I got it,” Kevin said testily.

John gave him a look in the dim yellow from the slowly dwindling fire. Kevin nodded. John laid his hand on Kevin’s shoulder, then worked his way down the rocks. A moment later, he disappeared.

73

John Cumberland had his pride. Three men had taken over the ranch where he was caretaker, wrecked his Cessna, lied to him, smashed his skull, tied him up, threatened the lives of others. His own life had been defined by a failed war, a failed marriage, a brush with the law, then the successful stewardship of the ranch. Now he had failed in that as well.

A man’s handshake means more than his signature and his word more than that. John had offered these people a helping hand and look how they had answered.

He would put an end to it. Had the boy and girl not been in the picture, he would have gone on a shooting spree. Instead, he would approach things in a slightly more civil ma

He silently worked his way down the wooded slope, his body pumping with adrenaline, breaking a keen sweat despite the chill in the air. He followed a familiar game trail that switched back repeatedly until reaching the airstrip. He moved slowly and carefully among the trees as he approached two hulking shapes-his Cessna and the Learjet.

There were lights on inside the Lear, the aft door open. He couldn’t see the other side, but light on the ground suggested that the main door was open as well.

Drawing closer, John saw two shapes in a window. He wondered if one was the girl. If he could account for her and confirm she was safe, he would be free to deal with the others as he saw fit.

He considered a surprise attack. He could catch them unawares, wound them, and greatly improve his odds. But if they had the girl, his advantage was compromised. Smarter to make the radio call first to get help on the way. Timing the call was important. Given the narrowness of the valley, the Cessna’s radio would likely reach only planes flying directly overhead. Plus, it was late, approaching eleven P.M. No small aircraft would be flying now. His only chance was a commercial flight, and few flew over at this hour.

He made his way to the Cessna, keeping his eyes on the Lear.

Always account for the enemy.

Reaching the Cessna, he quietly popped open the passenger door and leaned across the pilot’s seat. He activated the battery, set the radio to 121.50, an emergency frequency monitored by all commercial aircraft, and put the headphones to one ear.

While it was possible that the hijackers were monitoring the jet’s radio, John felt making the call was worth the risk. Nonetheless, he stealthily aimed the barrel of his rifle through the Cessna’s partially open door at the jet.

He pushed the TALK button.

“Mayday! Mayday!” he said in a husky whisper. “Aircraft down. Hostage situation. Request immediate law enforcement at Mitchum’s Ranch on the Middle Fork of the Snake River. Repeat: Mayday! Mitchum’s Ranch on the Snake.”

He released the TALK button and listened.

If anybody was out there, the response would be immediate. The crackling static in his ear suggested he’d not been heard.

He repeated the call, listened anxiously for a response. Again, nothing.