I waited.
The wind pushed.
Paused.
I squeezed.
The rifle cracked.
For half a second there was only the fading echo rolling off the dry hills.
Then steel rang for the fifth time.
Nobody moved.
I lifted my head from the stock and sat back on my heels.
Brock’s face had gone flat. One friend stared at the target. The other stared at my truck as if it had just vanished in front of him.
I set the rifle down, opened the action, and stood.
“Unchain him.”
Brock gave a short laugh that had no humor in it. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“That was exactly the deal.”
“I never signed anything.”
The words came too quickly.
His friends looked at him.
So did everyone within earshot.
I felt my pulse slow instead of rise. Men like Brock were easiest to understand when they thought volume could replace fact. He had made the wager loudly because he had been certain I would fail. Now he wanted the agreement to become invisible.
I nodded toward his two friends. “They heard you.”
“They’re with me.”
Neither man answered.
I pointed toward the bench area. “So did half the firing line.”
Brock’s jaw tightened.
The Shepherd stood shakily and pressed his shoulder against the post. The movement made the collar pull again. He flinched.
That ended whatever patience I had left.
“You said the paperwork transfers immediately if I hit all five. I hit all five. Get the paperwork.”
Brock stepped toward me.
He was bigger by at least sixty pounds and young enough to think that mattered. “You really want to make a problem over a dog?”
I looked at the Shepherd.
