Duvall: A Fictional Narrative

From the cover of the juniper trees Duvall watched the wranglers move a steady string of cattle in and out of the corral. If he wanted to get closer he could, but for now, he’d bide his time. In front of him, twin boulders provided the perfect cover. They were tightly wedged, but there was enough room to still slip his rifle barrel between them, make his shot, and leave unnoticed. He would have to walk a ways. To avoid the chance of someone stumbling upon him, he’d left his horse far outside the canyon.
His eyes traveled to the woman. She’d ignored her husband when they rode into camp. Maybe she wouldn’t even miss him. No harm would come to her. He had his orders and those were to kill Masters. The side of his lips turned up. He’d take great

He needed one clear shot. His rifle barrel edged between the boulders and slid into the open. So close, he could almost touch Masters’ woman. The rancher wouldn’t live to see another day.
Shouts and whistles sent the cattle into the corral. She kneed her horse within a few yards of the commotion and dismounted. A frightened calf bolted and slid headfirst down the muddy sides of the creek.
Masters scrambled into action, letting his lasso fly around the startled animal’s neck. While the gelding kept the rope taut, he pushed and pulled the bawling calf up the damp bank.
Set free, the animal kicked its legs high in the air and ran through a patch of low-growing shrubs. Under the shrub, a snake with diamond-shaped markings, and a black and white tail, uncoiled its length, and slithered from side to

Blasts echoed, rumbling throughout the canyon. The head of the snake lurched as the violent force plunged it over the rocks and into the creek.
Masters swayed and crumpled to the ground.
The woman screamed.
With a grin, Duvall withdrew his rifle, a thin wisp of smoke following the barrel.
#
The wranglers stopped everything they were doing and rushed to the collapsed man.
“Jake, you’re hurt.” Kat sobbed, kneeling beside him.
Blood seeped from his shoulder, saturating his plaid shirt as he made a futile effort to stand. “Get the hell away from me.” She flinched. “I don’t understand, the rattlesnake—it coiled—I know I shot the snake. It must have ricocheted. I swear I didn’t mean to shoot you, please believe me.” Dallas dropped on one knee next to them. “We’ll hash it out later. He needs a doctor. Let’s get him to the chuck wagon.”
She shook her head in denial, her eyes pooling with tears.
Dallas shook her wrist. “Come on now, I need you.” He pulled off his bandana. Jake squinted and reached a hand to Dallas, grabbing his shirt. “Keep her away from me—or I swear—you’re finished.”
Dallas didn’t respond, instead he stuffed the bandana over the bullet wound and heaved Jake to his feet, keeping a tight arm under his good