Excerpt: Gun Man

The noise of the gunshot cracked the still desert air, sending crows in the juniper bushes near Rutger screaming for the sky. Even while he struggled to control his rearing mount, Rutger filtered the direction of the original shot out of the echoes ricocheted from the remote hills. The dusty wagon track curved over a rise ahead—that was where he would find the shooter.
Rutger slid from the saddle and looped the reins of the snorting bay over some deadwood. Hunching low, he wound through the sage in silence. Raised voices floated over the rise, indistinguishable at this distance. A copse of pine trees shrouding the far side of the hill allowed Rutger to creep forward undetected until the voices resolved into words.
“…can’t do nuthin’ about it, old man,” a harsh voice said. “Jimmie, get the girl, too. She’ll keep us entertained back at camp.”
A woman’s cry made Rutger’s lip curl.
“Leave my granddaughter alone, schmutzige Diebe.” The voice that answered was broken and quavering, with fear or age Rutger couldn’t tell.
“What’d you call us?” the harsh voice demanded.
Silence. Rutger paused, careful not to let the rustle of pine boughs betray his presence.
“What did you call us?” The voice was angry and raised this time. A solid thump broke the second silence.
“No!” The woman’s voice. “Stop it! Don’t hit him. It was German for thieves, that’s all!”
“Dirty bandits,” the old man corrected, his voice breathless and muffled.
The bandit guffawed without humor. “Dirty, are we? I’ll show ya dirty. Jimmie, how’d you feel about tryin’ out that girl right now? I think gramps needs to learn some respect.”
Another voice spoke for the first time, deep and gravelly. “Sure thing, Pony. C’mere, little heifer, it’s time you had a taste of a real man.”
Rutger reached the edge of the trees in time to see Jimmie throw the woman to the ground and begin fumbling with his trousers. The old man lay on the ground next to a clapboard wagon, blood from his scalp staining his white beard. He fought to get up, but the man called Pony planted a boot on his back with a laugh.
Tucking his duster behind his holsters, Rutger stepped from the pines into direct view of Jimmie as he stood over the woman. The bandit looked up at the movement and froze, hands on his belt.
“Pony,” he said in a low voice. “We got company.”
The other man turned, eyes narrowing. “Rutger Van Straten.”