PETERS watched their approach and felt the knot tightening in his gut.
Cole’s orders had been precise – shoot to spook the horses. Cole knew, as indeed did he, that once the shooting started, Monroe and his gang would fight. To the death if need be. Spooking the horses might work, but only if Cole acted fast.
From where he sat, crouched behind a cluster of rocks and dried up scrub, there was no sign of the old scout.
Peters’ pulse raced, filling up a throat already dry with anxiety. Unable to swallow, he reached for his canteen and took a long drink. The water hit the back of this throat as if it were scalding hot, and he coughed and spluttered, panicked in case any of Monroe’s men heard him, and ducked down behind the boulder.
He waited, senses straining.
There appeared to be no reac
