High Stakes by Andrew Salmon

THE BULLET TOOK JIM Brent in the shoulder, chipping his clavicle on the way through. Searing pain lanced through him, and he reeled back off his horse to plunge into powdery snow. Brent landed on the broken shoulder, and the impact stole his breath.

William McCammon was a demon with a six-gun to make that shot. Brent had suffered the Easterner’s ire since McCammon first rode into Morrow set on claim jumping.

The horse hadn’t run, frozen in place on the mountainside. Thrusting up his good hand, Brent snatched the long-barreled Winchester from the saddle as a second shot struck the horn, and the horse lit off down the slope into a stand of birch fifty yards behind Brent. The blood dripping from the wool sleeve of his black coat had him wondering if his horse might have an eternal wait for him in the trees.

Brent fumbled with the rifle. He couldn’t shoot straight with one hand, but he got one off just to give McCammon something to think about. As the sound echoed with a deep rumble around the cliffs bordering the snow-covered slope, McCammon threw himself down, scraping his left forearm on a hidden rock. He was a right-hand shot. He wouldn’t need the left. To finish Brent, he had to get closer, which was why he’d left his horse to continue on foot.

Brent lay flat out, the rifle across his chest. Teeth clenched against the throbbing agony in his shoulder, he plunged the wound into the snow to slow the bleeding. He welcomed the damp chill against the back of his head. Gulping air, he set his mind against the pain and considered his options.

Brent couldn’t hear McCammon, but knew he was coming. The trees down range were too far away to be of any use. The sun flashed blinding brightness off the snow. If he tried for the trees, his dark coat would provide a perfect target against the clear blue sky before he reached the rocks bordering the slope.

Shock weighted his eyelids, and they settled down over his eyes with the finality of the grave. The cold devoured him inch by inch.

He had to move.

If only the unexpected warm spell had held rather than the typical biting cold of January. Talking with Janet about the old Conway spread just outside town, planning a future now that his claim had shown real color before winter—McCammon had been in Baltimore, and Brent had breathed easy during that unusual taste of a spring ripe with possibilities before the heavy snows returned. It was a future he’d clawed at his whole life, and he wasn’t going to lose it now.

There had to be a way!

He glanced around at the almost uniform covering of snow undulating over jutting rocks he knew intimately. He was facing upslope, and the contours of the white blanket in front of him were as blank as his future presently, and this same white covering would be Brent’s shroud until the spring thaw.

His thoughts froze.

McCammon couldn’t know. Baltimore. The warm spell. He’d only rode in last night….

Gritting his teeth, Brent dug in his heels and, with his good arm, swung his body around. His boots churned the bloody snow and, face down, the rifle pushed ahead of him, he slithered up the slope. Broken bones grating, he burrowed toward his one last hope.

He knew he’d reached the spot when the top of his head pushed into the bulging snow drift in front of him. He crawled behind it. A herculean effort got him atop the mound, and he inched forward gingerly. He could not risk disturbing the snow. He rose as much as he dared, the snow so deep only the tops of his thighs showed. With one hand he fired the rifle.

“Let’s finish this!” he roared.

The shot revealed Brent’s position. McCanmmon brayed laughter. The fool had gotten himself stuck in a drift. Easy pickings.

McCammon stood, tall and rangy. The smooth downward slope was all that lay between him and Brent. He saw the man, bleeding, swaying, Brent could barely keep his feet. He paid special attention to that long rifle barrel swinging wildly. McCammon closed the gap, stepping boldly across the expanse.

“Going to make sure of you!” he called.

“Come on, then!”

McCammon could appreciate Brent’s guts. This would not stay his shot, however. “Janet’ll never know what happened! I’ll comfort her, mind.”

Brent loosely swung the rifle in one hand but did not fire.

He was a hundred feet away, a bit more than halfway across the slope. McCammon raised his pistol, contemplating a shot.

Although enraged by McCammon’s comments, Brent kept focused.

“Damn you to hell, McCammon!”

Brent fired the rifle. Braced against his thigh, he re-cocked it. Fired again. Repeating this method he fired twice more. The shots scattered futilely, and McCammon’s derisive laugh was lost in the deafening thunderclaps rolling up and down the slope.

Brent threw the empty rifle aside.

McCammon took a step forward. The smile on his face instantly faded. The primeval rumbling grew louder.

The snow beneath his boots started to slide, tugging at his balance.

That fool Brent, he’s killed us both was McCammon’s last thought as the snow slide swept him off his feet and cascaded down the slope.

As the avalanche roared down, the flat rock Brent knelt on was revealed. He had been careful not to disturb the surface, resting upon his knees concealed by the deep snow he appeared to be standing from afar. It had fooled McCammon. The warm spell had turned snow to ice, and heavy snow since—ripe to slide. His shots had set it off.

Ears ringing, Brent used the rifle as a crutch and struggled to stand. The lights of town were showing through the trees, warm with promise.

He whistled for his horse.

—ANDREW SALMON has won several awards for his Sherlock Holmes stories and has been nominated for the Ellis, Pulp Ark, Pulp Factory, and New Pulp Awards. He lives and writes in Vancouver, BC. His novels include: Fight Card Sherlock Holmes: Work Capitol, Blood to the Bone and A Congression of Pallbearers, The Dark Land, The Light Of Men, and Ghost Squad: Rise of the Black Legion (with Ron Fortier) and his first children’s book, Wandering Webber. The first novel in the Eby Stokes series featuring the female pugilist turned Special Branch agent, is out now and he’s working on the second book now. To learn more about his work check out: www.amazon.com/Andrew-Salmon/e/B002NS5KR0