Page 20 of Storm in Montana (Montana Becketts, Wild Spirit Ranch #3)
The posse rode single file along the narrow trail, their horses’ hooves breaking through the thin crust of ice forming on the ground. Above them, the sky hung low and heavy, the color of old steel, while ahead, the mountains rose like teeth against the horizon.
Brodie led the way, his experienced eye reading the terrain as they pushed deeper into the wilderness.
Behind him, Nash kept his hand near his rifle, scanning the rocks above for any sign of movement.
The Beckett brothers followed, with Annalee and Tripp bringing up the rear, their mounts navigating the treacherous path with careful steps.
The wind cut through their heavy coats, carrying the promise of snow in its bitter edge. Scattered flakes began to fall, melting as they touched the ground, turning the dirt to treacherous mud. The horses’ breath came in visible puffs, steaming in the cold air.
Joshua pulled his collar higher against the wind. “Trail narrows ahead,” he called forward. “Gets steep past the old pine struck by lightning a few years back.”
They proceeded with increased caution, the path barely wide enough for their horses. To their right, the ground fell away in a sharp decline, while the left side pressed close with jagged rock faces. Ice had formed in patches, glossy and deadly in the weak light.
A rock clattered down the slope, the sound echoing through the canyon. Every rider tensed, hands moving to weapons, eyes scanning the heights. After a long moment, Brodie signaled them forward, though the tension remained, coiled like a spring in their shoulders.
“Weather’s turning faster than expected,” Grayson observed, his voice low enough to carry only to those nearest. The snow fell more steadily now, the flakes larger, beginning to stick to the ground in white patches.
They reached a wider section of trail, allowing them to gather closer together. Cody moved his horse alongside Brodie’s, his experienced gaze from his years as a bounty hunter reading the signs around them. “Fresh tracks heading north. Three, maybe four horses.”
“Scouts,” Tripp suggested, his mount shifting beneath him. “Probably watching the main trails.”
The wind moaned through the rocks, creating whistles and groans that set the horses’ ears twitching. Shadows lengthened as the sun sank lower, though it was still early afternoon. The snowfall increased, reducing visibility and muffling sounds.
Grayson pointed to a narrow gap between two towering rocks. “Side trail there. Leads up to a ridge overlooking Flatrock. Might give us a better view of what we’re riding into.”
Brodie considered the option, weighing the risk of exposure against the need for information. “You and Josh, take a look. Signal if you spot anything. The rest of us will continue on the main trail.”
The brothers split off, their horses picking their way carefully through the gap. The remaining riders pressed on, the snow now thick enough to cover their horses’ hooves. The sound of wolves echoed in the distance, a mournful chorus warning of hunger.
“I’m not able to read sign,” Cody muttered, leaning forward in his saddle to stare at the ground. The snow was covering any tracks, transforming the landscape into an alien terrain of white and gray.
Annalee guided her horse closer to Brodie’s. “There’s a cave system ahead,” she said, her voice clear despite the wind. “We use it during roundup when the weather turned. Might be worth checking.”
He nodded, acknowledging her suggestion. The cave would provide shelter from the growing storm.
The trail wound higher, each turn revealing new challenges. Rocks shrouded in ice gleamed as menacing as a demon’s teeth in the failing light. The horses’ pace had slowed. Another wolf call echoed, closer this time, followed by answering howls from different directions.
“Circle’s tightening,” Elijah observed, his hand gripping his rifle as he left his horse behind to observe the outlaw camp.
The posse passed beneath an overhanging rock formation.
Glancing up, icicles formed crystal daggers above their heads.
The snow swirled around them in elegant patterns, beautiful and deadly, reducing visibility to mere yards ahead.
The wind carried more wolf calls, the sound seeming to come from everywhere at once.
A whistle cut through the storm. Joshua’s signal. The group halted, watching as he and Elijah materialized from the swirling snow.
“Smoke,” Elijah reported, his voice tight with urgency as he rejoined them. “Coming from the direction of Flatrock. Multiple fires.”
“How many?” Brodie asked.
“Hard to tell through the storm. At least three.”
The implications hung in the air between them. Three fires meant multiple groups, organized and settled in. The rustlers weren’t just passing through. They’d made Flatrock their base of operations.
The wolves called again, their voices forming a circle of sound around the posse. The horses shifted nervously, sensing the predators drawing closer. Above them, the storm continued to intensify, the snow now falling in thick curtains, transforming the world into a maze of white and shadow.
“We need to move,” Cody yelled. “We’ll lose the trail if we wait.”
Brodie surveyed his companions, reading determination in every face despite the biting cold and growing danger. Even the typically stoic Nash showed signs of tension as his eyes scanned the whiteness around them.
“Forward then,” Brodie decided. “Stay close.”
They pressed on into the storm, each rider alert for danger from above, below, and all around.
The wolves continued their ghostlike chorus, their calls growing closer with each passing minute.
Somewhere ahead, hidden by snow and stone, their quarry waited, unaware of the approaching storm—both natural and human.
The wolves emerged from the swirling snow. Living shadows, their eyes reflected what little light remained in the darkening afternoon. The pack moved with menacing grace, spreading out in a formation indicating their experience hunting larger prey.
Brodie’s mount stamped nervously, muscles tensing beneath the saddle.
One look and he recognized the pack leader.
A massive beast with a scarred face and one torn ear, the same wolf involved in the stagecoach attack near Gumption.
The animal’s yellow eyes fixed on the group with an intelligence surpassing normal predator instinct.
“Hold steady,” Brodie called, his voice cutting through the wind. The horses shifted, forming a rough circle without prompting, their riders’ hands moving to their weapons.
Joshua and Annalee exchanged silent glances, a lifetime of hunting together evident in their synchronized movements. They positioned their horses a little ahead of the others, rifles ready. The wolves responded by spreading wider, their gray forms weaving through the trees.
“Eleven of them,” Nash counted. “Positioning themselves to take down larger targets.”
Cody’s expression darkened. “They’re trained. Someone’s been working with them.”
The pack leader took a step forward, muscles rippling beneath a thick winter coat. Ice formed on its fur, creating an otherworldly appearance in the gathering gloom. A growl rose above the wind, carrying challenge and hunger in equal measure.
Annalee’s horse shifted beneath her, but she kept her seat with the ease of long practice. “I’ve never seen wolves act like this,” she murmured, her rifle tracking the leader’s movement. “Too coordinated. Too bold.”
The pack continued its advance, moving with military precision. Two younger wolves flanked left, while three more edged right, leaving the group surrounded by predators whose behavior defied natural instinct.
“Don’t waste ammunition,” Joshua advised, his voice barely carrying over the strengthening storm. “Wait until you’re sure the shot will stop them.”
The wolves drew closer, their growls building into a symphony of menace. Vapor rose from their open jaws, their breath visible in the frigid air. The horses remained remarkably steady, trusting their riders’ guidance despite their natural fear.
Brodie’s hand tightened on his reins as the pack leader took another step forward. The wolf’s scarred face told a story of survival and violence, each mark a testament to battles won. Its gaze met Brodie’s with an almost human calculation.
“Now!” Cody shouted.
Annalee and Joshua fired in perfect unison, their shots striking the ground just ahead of the advancing wolves. The animals leaped back, startled by the sudden violence but not fleeing. Their retreat seemed almost practiced, as if they’d faced gunfire before.
The pack leader snarled, a sound that carried challenge rather than fear. It paced to the side, testing the group’s defenses from a new angle. The other wolves moved in concert, maintaining their formation while seeking weakness in the circle of riders.
“Save your shots,” Grayson ordered as Nash raised his rifle. “They’re trying to draw our fire.”
The wind howled through the rocks, carrying stinging snow and the echoes of more wolf calls from deeper in the canyon. The pack responded to these distant voices, their own howls rising in answer.
“More coming,” Cody warned. “We need to move before they pin us here.”
The pack leader lunged forward, testing their resolve. Elijah’s rifle cracked, the shot striking a tree trunk near the wolf’s head. The animal barely flinched, showing none of the natural caution expected when facing gunfire.
“The trail narrows ahead,” Annalee said, her voice steady despite the tension. “We can use it to break their formation.”
Brodie nodded, recognizing the advantage. “Move out, tight formation.”
The group began their careful advance, horses moving in unison. The wolves paced them, maintaining their distance while keeping the riders surrounded. Their eyes gleamed with unnatural purpose, reflecting the last remnants of daylight filtering through the storm.