TOLD BY THE RAVENS

I carried a rifle and pointed it forward as I opened the saloon’s door and stepped inside.  Men and women sat beside tables located in front of a bar.  Behind the bar, Al Keen was talking to a bartender who was the same bearded guy I had trouble with previously.  Although the bartender’s hair was tied back away from his face, his eyes were difficult to see because they were small and partially hidden by bushy eyebrows.  Al looked sneakier than I remembered.  He reminded me of a rat caught in the light when he saw me.

A grating sound of a chair’s leg being scraped against the floor beside me brought my attention to Oscar Free standing up.  He kept watching me and was obviously worried about my rifle.  Pointing its barrel at him, I said, “Don’t get up on my account.”

Oscar sat down again, scraping the chair along the floor.  Silence stalked the room.  A pulse of tension seemed to have a physical presence.

“I was tellin’ Carl here,” said Al loudly, “prospectors and trappers are stupid.  They work for money and all I have to do is take it.  In your case, Wolf, getting your gold is goin’ to be easier than I thought.”

The bartender reached for something under the counter.  “You won’t need that,” I stated while pointing my rifle toward the bar.

The man was bringing a gun over the counter when I shot at his arm.  The blast ripped through the small space of the room.

The sound of a rifle clanking against the floor was joined by a gasp form the bartender.  He grasped his arm, trying to stop a stream of blood flowing across the torn sleeve of his shirt.  “You crazy son of a bitch!” yelled the man.

Al moved out of view behind the counter just as I heard the chair’s leg scrape across the floor.  Turning, I shot over Oscar’s head.  He lurched backwards then tumbled over a table.  I saw a gun fall from his hand amid a din of people scrambling for cover.  They knocked over tables and chairs in a rush to leave the building.  None of their fumbling actions would have helped them if I had really been trying to shoot someone.

I turned to see what Al was doing but I was too late.  Seeing he had just pointed a gun at me, I dove to the floor, missing a bullet passing over me.  Hitting the floor, I rolled once before firing at the top of the bar.  Although I couldn’t see Al, his scream was piercing.  I continued rolling to the doorway.  Another shot blasted from the building just before I tumbled down some steps and hit icy ground.  The steps offered the only available cover so I crawled under them.