Page 21 of Storm in Montana (Montana Becketts, Wild Spirit Ranch #3)
Another wolf call echoed through the canyon, closer now. The pack leader’s answering howl carried a note of triumph, as if everything was proceeding according to some predetermined plan.
“They’re herding us,” Cody cautioned, his voice sharp with sudden understanding. “Like cattle.”
The revelation sent dread through the group, unrelated to the storm’s bitter cold.
This pack wasn’t acting the same as other wolves.
They were weapons, trained and directed by human intelligence.
The question of who controlled them, and to what purpose, added another layer of danger to their already perilous mission.
The pack continued its escort, neither attacking nor retreating, maintaining a distance just beyond effective rifle range. Their discipline spoke of long training and careful handling, transforming natural predators into something far more dangerous.
Snow continued to fall, reducing visibility to a white curtain occasionally broken by the dark forms of wolves moving through the trees. The storm’s intensity grew with each passing minute, as if nature itself conspired with their four-legged shadows to guide them deeper into the canyon’s interior.
The rustlers’ stronghold materialized through the curtain of snow like a fortress carved from the mountain itself.
Natural rock formations and fallen trees had been transformed into a defensive position against an approach from all directions.
The first shot came without warning, the crack of a rifle splitting the storm’s howling silence.
Snow exploded from a rock near Brodie’s head as he reined his horse hard to the left. The posse scattered, each rider finding cover behind the terrain’s natural shields. More shots followed, bullets ricocheting off ice-covered rocks and splintering frozen wood.
“Eight, maybe ten rifles,” Nash called out, his voice barely carrying over the gunfire. He crouched behind a massive boulder, snow gathering on his shoulders.
The wolves withdrew into the shadows, their eyes still visible in the gathering darkness, watching the human violence unfold with eerie patience. Their pack leader’s scarred face appeared and disappeared in the swirling snow, a ghost at the edge of vision.
Cody moved between two rock formations, his experience evident in every fluid motion. His rifle boomed twice, drawing curses from the hidden rustlers. “They’ve got the high ground,” he reported. “Dug in deep.”
Annalee pressed her horse against a thick-trunked tree, her breath forming clouds in the frigid air.
She caught Joshua’s attention across the space between them, receiving a silent nod of understanding.
Both slid to the ground, watchful for the wolves.
They began working their way along the edges of the battleground, using the storm’s cover to their advantage.
Brodie surveyed the open area through the curtain of white, noting positions and movements with a lawman’s trained eye.
The rustlers had chosen their ground well, using the natural canyon walls to protect their flanks while commanding the approach.
But Brodie realized their very preparations worked against them, revealing the location of their defenses.
“Keep them busy,” he ordered, his voice carrying to Nash and Cody. “Tripp, circle wide right when you see an opening.”
More gunfire erupted, the sound echoing off the canyon walls in a deafening cascade. Ice shattered from rocks, mixing with the falling snow to create a treacherous battlefield.
Elijah’s rifle cracked from an unexpected position, drawing fire from the rustlers’ left flank. The distraction allowed Tripp to move, his powerful frame flowing from cover to cover with surprising grace for a man of his size. The rustlers adjusted their fire, forced to divide their attention.
A bullet struck uncomfortably close to Annalee’s position, sending splinters of frozen wood into the air. She responded with a well-aimed shot that sent a rustler ducking back behind his barricade, his hat flying off into the storm.
“They’re trying to pin us down,” Joshua observed, his voice carrying an edge of appreciation. “Wait for the wolves to move in.”
The realization spread through the posse. They faced a coordinated attack from both human and animal adversaries. The wolves’ earlier behavior suddenly made terrible sense. Their movements were part of a larger plan.
Nash fired three rapid shots, forcing a group of rustlers to keep their heads down. “We need to break their formation before dark,” he called. “Storm’s getting worse.”
He was right. The snowfall had intensified, reducing visibility to mere yards. The temperature continued to drop, making every surface treacherous with ice. In the growing darkness, the wolves’ eyes gleamed with increasing frequency, their circle drawing tighter.
Brodie caught movement high on the canyon wall. A rustler attempted to work his way to a better firing position. Before he could call out a warning, Annalee’s rifle spoke. The man fell back, his gun clattering down the rocky slope.
“Six more, spread across the high ground,” Cody reported, his voice carrying the precise tone of a man counting targets. “Two behind the fallen pine, three in the rock formation, one trying to work around our right.”
The wolves howled again, their voices echoing from multiple directions. The sound carried triumph, a reminder of how time worked against the posse. Every minute brought deeper snow, darker skies, and more predators moving through the shadows.
Tripp’s gun barked twice from his new position, catching the rustlers in a crossfire.
They responded with a volley sending chips of stone flying, forcing him deeper into cover.
The battle had become a deadly game, each side maneuvering for advantage while nature itself conspired to make every movement more dangerous.
“Hold your ground,” Brodie commanded as several of the wolves edged closer, taking advantage of the gunfire’s chaos. “Don’t let them split our line.”
The storm continued its relentless assault, transforming the canyon into a world of white and shadow where friend and foe became increasingly difficult to distinguish.
Only the muzzle flashes provided moments of clarity, brief illuminations that turned snowflakes into sparks and revealed the deadly dance of predators, both human and wolf, moving through the gathering darkness.