The Target

"You ever fly a kite before?"

Even without her squealing with pleasure, he knew he'd scored big. She was so excited she could barely keep still. He handed her the rod, waited until she picked up the red diamond body, and arranged the long glittery dragon tail out behind. She let out some of the string.

"You're good at this."

She smiled and let out some more string.

She knew what she was doing. Who had taught her? Her mother? He yelled, "Okay, let her rip!"

She began running across the flat meadow, feeding out the line. He released the kite when he felt it catch the wind. He shouted, "You've got liftoff!" She stopped running, drew back a bit, and turned the rod a bit to the left. The long multicolored tail whirled about in a big circle.

"Great, let's see you do some more."

She was a lot better at flying it than he would have been. The kid was really good. He watched her move her hand first this way, then that, then flip her wrist, and the dragon's tail whipped about and whirled around and around, turning back in on itself, then streaming out again, long and shining in the wind. He didn't know how she did it, but she turned her wrist back, wiggled it a bit, and that shimmery tail rippled just like a real dragon's tail.

Whoever had taught her was an expert.

She made no sound at all, but she seemed to be having the time of her life. He stood back and watched her. It was the best twelve-dollar investment he'd ever made.

He ended up sitting on the steps of the cabin, not letting her out of his sight.

Time and his thoughts slowed, leaving only the child who was flying the dragon kite amid the meadow of bright columbine.

Then, suddenly, there was a shot, startling and clear in the silence. The kite dipped and plowed earthward, landing in a bush. She didn't hesitate for an instant, not even to look around. She started to run back toward him as fast as she could.

He was to her in a moment, grabbed her up on the run, and turned back, carrying her into the cabin. Another shot rang out from behind him just as he slammed the door with his foot. He set her down behind the couch. "Stay here. Don't move."

He shoved his pistol into his belt and picked up his rifle.

He crouched next to the window, scanning the far forest, searching for something that was different, something that didn't belong in his world. There came another shot, then another, but he couldn't hear any bullet impacts.

He heard a man shout and another man answer. They were some distance away, maybe fifty yards from the front of the cabin, just at the edge of the forest. There were no other voices. There were two men, then. He said quietly to her, "Stay behind the sofa, sweetheart. It will be all right. Just stay there. Remember what I told you. I'm big and strong. I'm also mean when I have to be. Nobody will get to hurt you."

He looked back out the window. To his surprise, two men stumbled out of the thick fir trees, each carrying a rifle. He had the closer one in his sights when he saw they were laughing, leaning into each other, one of the men dragging his rifle. He cursed viciously. The idiots were drunk. Jesus, there was no hunting allowed anywhere near here and here they were shooting and drinking.

The closer man was very tall and thin, he could tell that even though he was wearing thick dark corduroy pants and a heavy dark brown down jacket. He had a plaid hunter's hat on his head. He was waving toward the cabin, yelling, "Hey! Anybody there? We're sorry, we didn't mean anything." Then he giggled as the other man, short, bowlegged, wearing cowboy boots, said, "Yeah, we thought you was a couple of deer. I told Tommy here that deer didn't fly kites."

Ramsey put down his rifle, but held the pistol at his side as he came through the front door out onto the porch.

He was so angry he was shaking. He wanted to bang their heads together, the morons. He yelled at them, "What do you think you're doing firing guns up here? Didn't you see my little girl?"

They waved at him. The drunken idiots actually waved, as if he'd invited them up for a beer. The tall guy called out, "Hey, buddy, it was an accident. Who are you? We didn't think anybody lived up here. We're sorry, real sorry."

The bowlegged guy didn't say a word, just walked along toward him, looking at his rifle or his snakeskin boots, or both.

"You up here a long time?"

When the tall guy asked him the question, Ramsey looked away from the shorter man for just an instant, just long enough for the man to raise the rifle and aim it at him.

Ramsey didn't think, he fired. He caught the bowlegged guy in his shooting arm just as he felt a numbing cold slam against his left thigh. The tall man had his rifle up in an instant, but Ramsey was faster this time. He got him in the shoulder, a clean hit that knocked him backward, off his feet, to the ground.