Excerpt

FROM CHAPTER FIFTEEN
of
THE BUCKTAILS LAST CALL

By late afternoon a thin line of haggard Bucktails crouched in the Union trenches. We better pray that the Rebs dont attack again, murmured Jimmy, staring off across no-mans-land at the opposing fortifications.

They seem mighty quiet up there, said Boone. They must be plannin some devilment.

As if to confirm Crossmires suspicions, a Reb voice shouted from above, Hey, aint you them stinking Bucktails that bushwhacked our boys down by the Poe?

Yeah, an if you stand up, quipped Boone, well shows ya firsthand how we done it.

Which of yous done made them lucky shots on Jeb and Joe? growled another Rebel.

What do ya mean, lucky? yelled Zeke, flushing crimson.

If yous actually the killer, I want a crack at revenging my brothers.

Yeah, Im the marksman that drilled yer kin.

Then, I challenges you to a duel, here and now!

An I ac-cept!

Hold yer horses, bellowed Hosea. How do we know that you fellas will fight fair? Be-fore Zeke here stands up, we needs ya ta promise therell be no backup shooters snipin im when he wins.

We promise, agreed a Reb colonel, standing up to wave a white flag. But its our man wholl be victorious, sir. Back home in Carolina, Smith pleasured himself shooting flies off a barn wall.

Alright, then, grunted Curtis. We need each shooter ta stand up an turn their backs ta each other. On the count o three, theyll turn an fire.

I doubt if any of you Yankees can count that high, drawled an anonymous Reb, so you better let our colonel do that.

Okay, answered Sergeant Curtis. With his big mouth, neither fellas gonna have any trouble hearin im. Send yer boy out.

A chunky Confederate dressed in butternut crawled boldly from his trench and strode ten paces closer to the Union lines. Before Zeke could do likewise, Boone grabbed his friends arm and said, Wouldnt it be best if I ac-cept their challenge?

Whys that? Didnt I prove I was the best dang sharpshooter in this here outfit?

But think o them little gals o yers.

Git yer hands off me, Boone. Aint no way Im gonna lose.

Zeke pushed Crossmire away and clambered from his rifle pit to face the big Reb. When Zeke stood up, a mouthy corporal taunted, Hey, this here fight aint fair.

What do ya mean? shouted Curtis.

Cause I seen circus midgets bigger than your boy. Hows Smith gonna hit him?

Yer colonel musta fibbed then when he said yer fella kin pick flies off a wall.

Alright, thats enough! barked the Confederate officer. Turn around, Bucktail. Smith, you too. On the count of three you will spin and fire. One. Two. Three!

Incensed by the memory of his brothers death, the Reb spun on his heels, leveled his rifle, and fired before Zeke could get halfway around. His bullet sang unheeded past Powers nose, and the Bucktail squeezed off a shot that struck his opponent between the eyes. Before the dead Rebel even hit the ground, four more Southern voices screamed out to challenge Zeke.

Ill take on all comers, answered Powers coolly, one at a time.

The next challenger was even thinner than Zeke. The Rebs eyes burned as if with the fever, and he snapped his gun to his shoulder a half dozen times to warm up for the fight. Youre mine, he yelled to the Bucktail marksman. You knows it as much as me.

Thats what your buddy thought, too. He was dead wrong!

Youre mine! squeaked the Reb, his voice several octaves higher. Youre mine!

Shut up, Henry, ordered the Confederate officer. Time to get ready.

Again, the colonel methodically barked out his instructions, and the two duelists spun around and fired at exactly the same instant. The Rebs bullet ripped through Zekes left sleeve, while Zekes burrowed deep into his surprised enemys chest.

A murmur passed through both lines as the second Rebel collapsed into a lifeless heap. It took a good two minutes before another opponent worked up the courage to face the steely Union sharpshooter.

Come back into the trench, Zeke, pleaded Jimmy, before the colonel could again start his deadly countdown. Theres no one would question your bravery.

Powers shook his head defiantly and turned his back when the Rebel officer gave the command. The third Reb shooter was an athletic looking youngster half Zekes age. With the reflexes of a cat, he spun and fired in the same motion just a half second before the count to three had sounded. His bullet splintered Zekes gunstock, but still the Bucktail shot him dead. A gasp escaped from the Confederate ranks, punctuated by a single rifle blast. Struck through the temple, Powers crashed to the ground, a betrayed scowl frozen on his face.

With a howl of rage, Sergeant Curtis leaped from the Union trench and scooped up Zeke in his big arms. The other Bucktails leveled their Spencers at the Rebs across the way. Before the First Rifles could unleash a retaliatory volley, a single pistol shot echoed from the Rebel ranks. Then, the Confederate colonel shouted, Hold your fire, Yankees. I just killed the coward that brought disgrace to our regiment. Im truly sorry for the death of your brave comrade. . .