I used iron sights because that was what I had learned on and because I didn't like scopes. My feeling was if I wasn't close enough to hit you with out a scope then I had screwed up. Plus, and people seemed to think this was strange considering it was coming from me, but I thought drilling someone from 700 feet out was impressive but wrong on a level I could never get past.
I got up on one knee, ran my targets through my head one more time, and shot Pelt Boy in the sternum. I was aiming for the adams apple but he moved and I never really was as good with a rifle as I was my revolvers. I levered another round, and shot the horse that was waiting for the former Pelt Boy dead center in the side. It screamed, I said a silent "Sorry" to it, and swung to my right and nailed the guy who was leading up the rest of the horses.
My original plan was to spook the horses, kill the ground guys, and then deal with the mounted riders who would, hopefully, still trying to get their mounts under control. It was cold, efficient, and maximized mine and anyone with me odds of survival. It had been awhile, decades, since I had screamed her name, and charged a battle line, house, or band of warriors. I had replaced it with cunning and the cold steel desire to kill as many feds, or whoever, as I could, and live to do it again.
This time was different. In between shooting one of the guys who were staring at the blanket and registering the mounted ones were shooting back at me along with the Hoser, not accurately, but that would change, the wind of ice blew through me. It was good, it was more than good, it was like being touched by lightening, god, and the woman you loved at once. I stood up and screamed her name, that cold hearted bitch whose name hadn't passed my lips in years.
Then I started walking down the hill shooting horses. I wanted them on foot. I wanted them to come to me.