NineDixon ran, head down, arms pumping, forcing his legs to move through sheer willpower, ignoring the pain until even his determination to survive gave way and he fell, exhausted, to the ground.
Sucking in his breath, he rolled over onto his belly. Two bucks were closing fast, whooping, sensing victory. Flattening himself, Dixon eased the musket around and took careful aim, settling his breathing, the pounding of his heart, fear rippling through every fibre.
He waited, knowing his single shot had to count. There would be no time to reload. They came on, beating the rumps of their mounts, gathering speed.
So close now, the taste of their sweat hitting the back of his throat. Young warriors, burnished bodies shiny with sweat, muscles rippling, desperate to make their kill.
The lead buck
