They lay sprawled in the grass, Lester with a telescope pressed to one eye studying the ensuing horror being played out beside the white, clapboard church some one hundred paces or so away. What remained of a house, or more accurately, a shack burned relentlessly.
Lester had with him the Sharps rifle he so lovingly cleaned each morning. Cole had looked on, fascinated by the man"s fastidiousness. Now, he watched as Lester put the telescope aside and squinted down the barrel.
“As soon as I fire,” he said calmly, “you two ride down there, guns blazing. It doesn’t matter who you hit, if anyone. You’ll spook them enough to force them to break.”
“And, if we see Cairns?”
Lester turned and studied Cole, his frown deep. “What do you think, Private Cole?”
Cole shrugged, “Shoot him. Not kill him
