Chapter 5 - Blood on the Snow
The sound of splintering oak echoed through the cabin like a gunshot.
Before the intruders could fully cross the threshold, a single, thunderous crack ripped through the freezing air. The Spencer rifle barked once.
Outside on the porch, a man screamed—a short, sharp sound cut off instantly as a heavy body hit the frozen ground with a dull thud.
"Fall back! He’s got a repeater!" one of the raiders panicked, scrambling backward off the porch.
"Flush him out! Burn the cabin down with the woman inside!" the leader roared from behind a stack of cordwood.
Inside the cabin, Caleb moved with terrifying efficiency. He didn't panic. He didn't shout. He ejected the smoking brass casing, slammed a fresh round into the chamber, and dropped low beneath the window line just as a volley of bullets punched through the pine logs, sending splinters flying across the room.
He knew he was outnumbered three to one. He knew if they managed to toss a torch onto the dry cedar shingle roof, the cabin would go up like tinder, trapping him—and the family hidden beneath the floorboards.
Caleb didn't hesitate. He kicked open the back door of the cabin, exposing himself deliberately to the blinding glare of the snowfield.
"Over here, you cowards!" Caleb bellowed into the winter wind, stepping out onto the back porch.
Two shots whined past his ear, chipping the log siding inches from his face. Caleb raised his rifle, tracked the movement of the rider ducking behind the barn corner, and squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession.
Crack. Crack.
The second raider dropped his revolver, clutching his shoulder as he fell sideways into a snowbank, groaning in agony.
The third man—the leader, mounted on a nervous black stallion—panicked, spinning his horse around in a frantic circle, realizing too late that the solitary mountain man was an apex predator who had just baited them into an ambush.
"You're a dead man, Roar!" the leader screamed, whipping his horse toward the tree line.
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"Tell them I'm still waiting," Caleb muttered coldly, firing one last shot that clipped the rider's saddlebag, sending him flying desperately into the dark timber.
Silence rushed back over Whiskey Creek, broken only by the whistling wind and the groaning of the cabin logs.
