Rifleman in Hiding

Scarlet strands danced in the wind while wine-red blood soaked the stone.

Leslie blew smoke from the barrel, looking upon the pair of red-bearded men positioned face down, limbs spread and twisted.

"Like I told you ... I'm not a Huskwoman. Bastards." She spat, spun her revolver, and slipped it into her holster.

Where she stood, reddish-orange boulders were stacked like balls. Each one on top of the other, creating mounds and tunnels between them. Leslie had done her best to shimmy to the top, giving her the advantage over other competitors.

Leslie squinted, looking beyond her brim, examing her surroundings. "Damn ... I'm turned around."

Just beyond the boulders were mounds of sand, riddled with dancing horses. "There ... I need to get there." With a mount she could travel much faster, locating the others quickly. "But I'll become a much bigger target." There was no time to wait.

Leslie's boots clicked against stone, running across boulders and somersaulting over gaps; a fifteen footfall. She landed and crouched, a palm down, revolver lifted to her shoulder. Her hair waving circles at her back.

An orchestra of guns and screams came from between the cracks. Leslie gazed down. Barrels flashed like lightning as gunslingers fell, misty blood in the air. Shadows crept back between stone along with silence.

Leslie grimaced and carried on. There was no use mourning the dead — and no time to — not when their lives were at stake. First, they needed to find each other. Once together, they could seek out the trinket, wherever and whatever that maybe, but they had to be quick. Other groups were already merging.

Leslie looked ahead, tightening her thighs; She sprang forward. Her legs carrying her like a horse, launching across three more boulders. She stopped and pinned herself against a halved boulder. The second piece lying flat somewhere in the sand.

"Halfway there," Leslie said, peeking around the stone. She drew out her hand, waving a finger, lips mumbling. "One, three, six, nine more gaps."

Once she'd caught her breath and made certain nobody was in her midst, Leslie bolted, clearing another two gaps. She stopped and crouched at a pile of rubble. The sun was closer to setting on the western horizon.

Climbing and leaping were expelling too much energy. If Leslie continued this way the afternoon heat would make her weary, leaving her sluggish, and easy pickings for a clean shot. "The mount. I need to get to the mount." There was water somewhere within the canyon. She could smell it in the wind, and she heard the streams that trickled deep beneath the boulders.

Leslie rose back to her feet, crouched. Another three gaps in front of her. After a breath, a surge of energy pushed through her body and she was off. "One!" She shouted, gliding over the first gap. She now had momentum. "Two!" She sprung like a mountain lion; though her boots were slick, and not ideal, they seemed to carry her just fine. "Three!" The last gap was the largest and she flew. Leslie outstretched her legs and caught the surface wrong. She slammed against the boulder. A whistle

and crack followed, a bullet ricocheted off the stone.

Leslie's ribs ached and she groaned. There was no time to nurture the wound. From her stomach, she pushed left, rolling as two bullets sparked off the stone. Her body slipped between the boulders, a cubby for one. 

"Shit ... a rifleman."

At the booth, they had been giving out W.W. revolvers, but no rifles. The person had likely carried it inside or found it somewhere in the arena. A hunter with both a good eye and clean aim. Would've killed her had she not slipped.

Leslie brought her hand to her face, counting digits. "Five. I've cleared five gaps ... only four more." The task seemed much bigger than the gaps she'd cleared prior. She sat in her cubby, considering dropping into the maze beneath the boulders. A path much darker and more uncertain; easier to get lost and become a victim.

Leslie poked her head from the hole, scanning the large, reddish-orange stones, trying to locate the flicker of silver from the rifle barrel. Nothing. In her haste, it was impossible to know which direction the bullets had come from. Leslie turned her eyes towards the orange streaks caused by the projectiles.

"From that direction," Leslie pointed, thinking it maybe north. "That's where the fired from."

Leslie lifted her coat and peered down at the bullet belt wrapped around her waist. She wasn't an experienced alchemist, only knowing how to create a single spell. The three bullets glowed red as her hair in the morning sun; the only useful thing her father taught her; the way to get rid of hungry coyotes.

The bullets clicked, sliding into the revolver's cylinder. Leslie snapped it shut.

From the cubby she sprung upward, yanking the trigger, the gun fired, and she dipped back inside. Once her ears caught the burst, Leslie leaped from her hiding place, now exposed.

To the north, a ball of fire ate at the stone.

Leslie sprinted, heart pounding with her boots. She was graceful on the move even when her life depended on it. Stepping as light-footed as a fawn. She jumped, glided, and landed. Her momentum gathering over to the second gap. After several more steps, she sprang forward—

A bang came through the wind and a blur whipped past her head.

Leslie hit the next boulder and rolled; momentum threw her back on her feet. By the third gap, she felt she could fly the rest of the way. Legs churning quickly. Hair waving like a cape. Leslie leaped beautifully across the last gap—

Two more blurs whistled past each hip.

Leslie hit the other side, spun, and planted herself against an arched-shape stone pillar. Pebbles and sand fell, disappearing between boulders, and echoing down into the abyss below.

"Shit ..." Leslie stood sideways, hardly able to keep her frame from being exposed. If the rifleman repositioned she'd be dropped with certainty. Leslie closed her eyes, "I'm going to have to draw their fire."