A few minutes later, four slicker clad riders emerged from the barn. The sky was beginning to brighten and puffs of fog clung toward the ground as the riders pushed their mounts toward the bridge. Trigger took the lead with Jack to his left and slightly behind him, his gun barrel inches from Murphy’s ribs.
At a steady pace, they approached the bridge. The bridge was made with planks and was about fifty feet in length. It was going to be a long hard ride if shooting started on this side of the bridge. Clayton grimaced, but kept the horse’s pace steady. A guard sat atop a large boulder to the right of the entrance to the bridge. There was another guard on the other side of the bridge standing squarely in the middle of the trail.
"Pull up here, Trigger. Make sure they know who you are." The gun barrel prodded Murphy.
The riders came to a stop. Murphy hesitated. "Go on. Sing out. They better believe it." Clayton ordered.
"It’s OK boys, it’s us. There’s been a change in plans. We’ll be right back. We’re coming through."
Jack nodded approval and they urged their mounts forward. The man on the rock slid to his feet and walked forward, rifle held chest high. A quizzing look was on his long narrow face. "Boss didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout this"
"Careful, Trigger, " Jack breathed as they moved forward slowly. "Keep your head up so he’s sure it’s you."
"He doesn’t tell everybody everything." Murphy was passing by him now. One by one they passed by, each keeping the head downward so hats and slickers would cover them. Slowly the seconds ticked by. So far so good. Almost there. It was working. Then suddenly recognition glowed in the man’s eyes, "What the…?" He started to bring his rifle to bear. Clayton fired and drilled the guard between the eyes.
Without hesitation, he fired two more times at the other guard before he could react. "Follow me! Fast!" he shouted to his companions as he leaped from his saddle onto Murphy’s mount behind him. With his arms around Murphy, so he could not bolt, and using him for a shield. Jack drummed the horse’s ribs with his heels and raced it forward across the bridge.
The clatter of hooves across the wooden planking was drowned out by the crash of Clayton’s pistol as he continued to fire. The guard, half recovering from the surprise loosed a shot. The bullet thudded into Trigger’s chest and he slumped forward in Jack’s arms. Jack fired again and the guard flew backward from the force of his slug.
Jack pushed Trigger from the saddle, sending him sprawling onto the muddy trail, just past the bridge. The three riders thundered on down the trail into the morning dawn.
*****
Chapter Four
Secret Headquarters