Echoes of Glory

Chapter 2

23 CHAPTER TWO s Wynn turned, quick as a snake. Larry fired, as fast as he could pull the trigger. When he stopped Wynn was on the ground in a cloud of dust. Larry sagged, gagging at the sharp stench of gunpowder. He reeled from the screaming, wailing, and above it all, his own voice, thin, high-pitched, “Are you all right, Timp?” And Timp’s voice. “What happened?” Larry leaned against the stone wall, gasping for breath, holding the pistol on Wynn who was covered by his wife, sons and the sheriff kneeling over him. The sheriff got up, walked down the barrel of Larry’s pistol, took it from his hand, and put it in his holster. “Go to the car and call for an ambulance.” Larry started for the sheriff’s car. The sheriff caught him by the arm. “Go to your car. Call a 10–79.” Larry started for his car. “Wait.” The sheriff picked up the pistol and shotgun and put them in his arms. “Take these with you. Get back to the office and make a report.” Larry stumbled past the house. Someone grabbed at him and he jerked away almost dropping the guns reaching for his pistol. It was a tree branch. Larry put the guns in the back seat, got in the car and spun around in a shower of grass and debris, oblivious to Kruger who tried to wave him down. He was on his way to town before he remembered to call. “Code eight,” he said. “Mills place. Wynn has been shot.” He slammed on the brakes, barely making a curve. Jesus, if he didn’t slow down he was going to kill himself. Wynn had almost killed him and here he was trying to kill himself. He took his foot off the accelerator again, unable to control his speed. Jesus, he had killed Wynn Mills in a face-to-face showdown. Scared as he was. Man, was he scared. Larry chuckled to himself. All his life he feared being a coward. For the first time he could confess that he was scared because he had 24 Echoes of Glory proved his courage. Brave as Timpson Smith; that was his ticket to the office. “State his condition. What is Wynn’s condition?” “Unknown.” He was so befuddled he ran off the road and had to jerk the cruiser back on the blacktop. “I shot him,” he said, and forced his foot off the accelerator. “Call the coroner.” He had killed a man. He wondered how it felt. His legs trembled. “Is the chief okay?” What if there was someone else in the house? What if after he left something happened to the sheriff? The sheriff told him to leave. He put his foot on the brake, slowed the car, and pulled off the road. He took a deep breath and put his head between his arms on the steering wheel. Timp told him to call an ambulance. He had called an ambulance . Notify the coroner. Get back to the office. Make a report. *** The sheriff was stunned, his senses recoiling from the gunshots, gasps, groans, wails, Wynn’s body shuddering, a boot-heel scarring the ground. No movement, no sound. Wynn Mills, a hero in a war where no one wanted heroes, dead on his own land. He had done nothing to prevent it. “What happened?” Timp asked, his voice lost in the ringing in his ears. “I got him Timp I got him Timp I got him.” The sheriff kneeled beside Wynn, feeling for a pulse, having to reach past the woman to do it. Timp already knew, knew beyond faith that Wynn was dead. He looked at the woman wondering what he could do. Get Larry off the scene. He didn’t want the woman to have to look at Larry. He didn’t want to have to look at him either. Larry held the pistol in both hands pointing at them. “Go back to the car,” Timp choked. Larry’s eyes were wide but unseeing, his mouth open, his hands trembling. Timp tried to swallow bile. “Call a 10–79.” He couldn’t bring himself to say body wagon or coroner although Hao knew as well as he. Keeping himself between Larry and the woman and children, the sheriff took the pistol, put it in Larry’s holster, and took him by both shoulders. “Go to your car. Make the calls. Go to the office and write...