The Wages of Fear
By
Viking Maddie
From his vantage point above the relay station he watched as the woman slapped the reins, setting the buckboard in motion. He adjusted the spy glass a bit and saw the towheaded youngster turn to her, a big smile on his face.
Good! He had been waiting on them to leave – his contract didn't include a woman and a boy.
He lay on his stomach, the rifle resting easy in his hands. He had been here for nigh on six hours...didn't matter none, he was used to waitin'...waitin' to find just the right time.
The woman had hung out washing to dry early in the morning, and he carefully watched the clothes flapping in the breeze for an indication where the wind was coming from.
Might have to adjust the angle some to allow for it, if it didn't slacken off soon.
He was damn' good at what he did. Always went for the head shot...only way to make sure the target was dead.
Sweat trickled down the side of his nose and he swiped a sleeve across his face. Wind was dying down and the dry air crackled with tension. He heard a door slam from down below, and saw the tall, long-legged rancher come out of the main house closely followed by a dark-haired man about half a head shorter. They headed towards the pole corral backing up to the barn.
Quietly he removed his hat and placed it in the grass. He flipped the rear sight on the rifle and squeezed one eye shut. The scene in the yard faded into focus. He checked the clothes line again…it wasn't moving, the air was at a stand still.
Perfect.