Ride the Moon Down Read Free

belt and clambered to his feet. Lunging closer, praying he would not miss, he aimed at the two darker forms as they swarmed over their prey.
    The moment the bullet struck, the wolf yelped and rolled off the dog, all four of its legs galloping sidelong for a moment before they stilled in death. The last wolf remained resolutely twisted atop Zeke. The dog had one of the attacker’s legs imprisoned in his jaws, but the wolf clamped down on Zeke’s throat, thrashing its head side to side in its brutal attempt to tear open its prey, assuring the kill.
    Rocking down onto his hands, Bass frantically searched the grass for the rifle knocked from his grip, tears of frustration stinging his eyes. By Jehoshaphat! That dog was a fighter to the end. He had known it from the start back there in St. Louis when Zeke hadn’t run out of fight, even when he was getting whipped—
    Scratch’s fingers found the rifle, dragged it into both hands as he leaped to his feet, swinging his arms overhead as he rushed forward, yelling a guttural, unintelligiblesound that welled up from the pit of him as he lunged toward the wolf and dog.
    The cool air of that summer night fairly hissed as it was sliced with such force—driving the butt of his long full-stock Derringer flintlock rifle against the wolf’s backbone. The creature grunted and yelped but did not relinquish its hold on Zeke. Yellow eyes glared primally at the man.
    “You goddamned sonuvabitch!” he roared as he flung the rifle overhead again.
    Driving it down into the attacker a second time, Bass forced the wolf to release its hold on Zeke. Now it staggered around to face the man on three legs, that fourth still imprisoned in the dog’s jaws. Then with a powerful snap the wolf seized Zeke’s nose in his teeth, clamping down for that moment it took to compel the dog to release the bloody leg.
    Whimpering, Zeke pulled free of this last attacker, freeing the wolf to whirl back around. It crouched, its head slung between its front shoulders, snarling at the man.
    Once more Scratch brought his rifle back behind his head, stretching that torn flesh in the left shoulder.
    He was already swinging the moment the wolf left the ground. The rifle collided with the predator less than an arm’s span away. With a high-pitched yelp the wolf tumbled to the ground. Scratch was on him, slamming the rifle’s iron butt-plate down into the predator’s head again, then again.
    Remembering other thieves of the forest, he flushed with his hatred of their kind.
    Over and over he brought the rifle up and hurtled it down savagely, finally stopping as he realized he had no idea how long he had been beating the beast’s head to pulp.
    “Zeke,” he whispered even before he turned.
    Staggering toward the dog, Bass knelt beside the big gray animal. Weakly the dog raised its head, whimpered a bit, then laid its bloody muzzle in Scratch’s hand. He quickly ran a hand over the animal’s throat, fingers findingwarm, sticky blood clotting in the thick hair. Then he dragged his hand over much of the rib cage, the soft underbelly, finding no other wounds to speak of.
    “Can you get up, boy?” he asked in a hopeful whisper. “Can you?”
    Patting the dog on the head, Titus stood shakily himself. “C’mon now, you can get up, cain’t you?”
    God, how his heart ached—not wanting to lose this dog the way he had lost Hannah, the way he lost so many other good friends—the way he almost lost Josiah.
    “C’mon, boy,” he urged as if it were a desperate prayer.
    With a struggle Zeke dragged his legs under him, thrashed a bit, then lurched upward onto all four. The dog staggered forward a few steps as Bass crouched, welcoming the animal into his arms. Zeke collapsed again, panting, his breath shallow and ragged.
    “Good ol’ boy!” he cried louder now, his face wet with tears. “We got ’em, didn’t we? Got ’em all!”
    He needed light to look over the dog’s wounds.
    Gazing east, he figured it was