Ezra squeezed his eyes shut as he concentrated on the distant cacophony of sound. He exhaled in frustration. There was no doubt. He distinctly heard the syncopated clop of a gallop. It was unmistakable. Someone was behind him, moving fast. Maybe they were chasing him, maybe not. But he sure as hellfire wasn’t going to wait around to find out. He wondered who in tarnation it could be, but he wasn’t certain if that was something he wanted to find out either.

His mind raced with the possibilities. Who in their right mind would be out here at night at a full gallop? Well, there was him, but Ezra was already well aware that he wasn’t in his right mind. Not even close. What he’d done was downright crazy. Completely mad. He couldn’t imagine for a second who might be unhinged enough to follow him. “It’s impossible. There’s no way they’d ride out after me. It’s plain foolish. And way too risky.” Maybe he’d underestimated just how much the foreman loved his horse. Or his hound. Or maybe he underestimated just how badly the man wanted revenge. If he had to bet money on it, he’d go with the last explanation.

Based solely on how little he cared for the lives of one of his own. A man who had charge of -- and was fiscally and morally responsible -- for the wellbeing and lives of others, couldn’t act as he’d seen the foreman act. Ezra could only surmise that he was purely cold-blooded. And a cold-blooded man had no qualms about revenge. It was more than likely one of his few driving passions. Along with money and power. It was then that Ezra realized he had scorned the wrong man. He had precious little time to consider the consequences of his actions as he’d raced to save Vincent. But now the severity of his crimes had finally sunk in. And it sunk in deep. The realization hit him like an unexpected gut punch, leaving him ill. Ezra did his best to brush it all away as he continued riding.

They had left him no choice. Given the same options, he concluded he would do it again. He could have taken the easy way out. He could have convinced himself that he had already done everything he could for Vincent. Then gone into camp and had himself a well-earned break. He could have eaten his first hot meal in days, enjoyed a delicious glass of fine whiskey and slept in the safety and comfort of a warm bed.

Instead, he had taken the hard road and sacrificed his own best interest to do the right thing. To save Vincent at his own expense. Though a part of him regretting taking on the burden, deep down, he knew that he had made the right choice. No one could take that away from him. But even if Ezra was at peace with his conscience for his decision, the more he thought about the consequences -- and the foreman’s reaction -- the more his mind began to race with all the terrible things that might happen to him as a result.

Then it hit him. The realization that had been in the back of his mind, but he desperately refused to consider. It hit him like a ton of bricks. If his instinct was correct, and it almost always was – the foreman had sicced the bounty hunters on him. They were ruthless, efficient, skilled and likely every bit as cold-blooded as the foreman himself. Maybe even worse. Ezra prayed he was wrong. “No.” He thought with a rising sense of dread. “Not Callais. Not Wexler. Anything but that.” As the sounds of the stranger grew closer, he became increasingly convinced that his instinct was correct. He was being hunted by at least one of the best bounty hunters in the West. Being hunted like a dog…

###

If Ezra thought he was pushing himself beyond his limits earlier, then he was really pushing it now. One mistake could be the end of him, but if he allowed the bounty hunter to track him down, he was a dead man. He cursed himself for being so casual. For taking so much time in trying to find Vincent’s scent. If he had known they’d send someone after him, he would have done everything he could to keep his precious lead.

But that was the problem. He never even considered that anyone would follow him. He was counting on a half days head start at least. Now that death incarnate was on his trail, he sorely wished he’d stayed ahead. A cold chill ran down his spine. Never in his life had Ezra’s instinct so loudly and clearly communicated that his end was near. It felt inevitable. As if his death were already etched in stone. He could feel death itself breathing down the back of his neck, and he prayed that by some miracle, he would be able to escape it.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

His only chance was to lose his tracker, but he was up against experts. What chance did he have of outsmarting them? Very little, by his estimation. Something extraordinary – no – impossible, would have to occur for him to survive. He tried to calm his nerves. At the moment it didn’t seem doable, but he knew that if he was going to have any chance of survival, he needed to think of something brilliant and he needed to think of it very quickly.

The problem was that fear, anxiety, and stress really had a way of messing with one’s ability to think clearly. The sheer strain of the mental battle was incredible, but Ezra managed to quiet his mind to a degree. All while remaining fully engaged in his task. He was moving at a breakneck pace and if he took one misstep it was over. As a small measure of his anxiety began to subside, he realized that he had a few distinct advantages.

First, he had Duke. If he could maintain his speed long enough, it was possible that he could outrun the other riders. Duke was a purebred Arabian which meant he was the perfect balance of speed and endurance. Unless he made a fatal mistake, it was only a matter of time before the horses in pursuit grew weary. In addition to that, he had Buster to navigate for him. That meant that he had a much greater chance of avoiding any potential pitfalls while also allowing him to push maximum speed. Anyone in pursuit would be forced to slow down simply due to the lack of light. Lest they end up injuring themselves and their horse. It would take incredible skill and luck, but he was beginning to think it was possible to stay ahead. His hunters could push harder in an attempt to catch him, but the more they did, the more they increased their risk of injury or death.

It was essentially a bet on who had more guts, and he was betting on himself. It may have been a poor bet to take against such hardened, grizzled, veterans as Wexler and Callais. But it wasn’t as if he had options. Well, he did have one other option. Surrender. He could turn around right now and give himself over to their custody. At which point he could only pray that they would show mercy. He didn’t hold out a lot of hope for that. Even so, it was probably his best chance. He weighed the options in his mind. A lowly digger against world class bounty hunters? He didn’t stand a chance… He rode on anyway.

As he continued his blistering pace, Ezra risked a glance at the sky and was pleasantly surprised to find that the clouds were still diligently blocking the moonlight. As long as natures curtain persisted during Ezra’s chase, the odds of his survival and eventual escape were greatly increased. He wasn’t sure how far behind his pursuer was, but Ezra was cautiously optimistic that he was gaining ground. A part of him wanted to push harder, but he was already at breakneck speed. Anymore, and he might end up inadvertently doing himself in. He couldn’t be sure just how good the man hunter was, but he just had to trust that his current pace would be enough. Ezra was locked into a deep state of focus, diligently scanning ahead for any obstacles, potholes, sudden drops, or anything that would impede his progress.

Then his heart sank with despair as the clouds parted and the clear sky stretched out before him. The moon shone brightly in the firmament. Illuminating the way. Ezra wanted to be angry. He should have been bursting with rage. But instead, he felt nothing. Just another thing that refused to go his way when he needed it most. Ezra was starting to feel that the worse his situation got, the more the rug was pulled out from under him. Now the sliver of hope he’d been holding onto evaporated in an instant. Despite his inclination to fall into despair, Ezra did his best to hold onto optimism. This could be a brief change. For all he knew, within a few minutes the moon would be obscured by the clouds again. He did the only thing he could do. He kept on riding.

He rode on for what felt like an eternity and to his great sorrow, the moon had remained unobstructed for the full duration. He knew whoever was on his tail was slowly gaining ground. If this continued, it was only a matter of time before they caught and killed him. Another concern weighed heavily on his mind. One that he hadn’t considered earlier. Buster wasn’t a pure-bred Arabian. He didn’t have the same endurance. He was getting tired, and it showed. Buster was a tough hound to be sure, but he couldn’t hold out forever. Watching him struggle so mightily just to keep going, was becoming excruciating for Ezra. He could feel the track running out. Pretty soon, their train was going to barrel right off a cliff.

Ezra watched the loyal hound running himself ragged, feeling sick at the sight of it. What could he do? He was turning it over in his mind when he realized his mistake. While he’d been distracted by Buster, he failed to recognize a formation in the terrain, a small hill that acted as a sort of natural ramp. Had he paid proper attention, he could have directed Duke over the top of it. It was a bit of a drop, but with sufficient preparation they could have jumped it and landed safely on the other side. Ezra felt his stomach lurch. He reacted as quickly as he could, attempting to course correct, but Duke panicked. Whinnying loudly and skidding to sudden stop.

It happened so abruptly, that Ezra was instantly thrown to the ground. He hit the dirt with incredible force. Knocking the wind clean out of him. “So, this is how I die,” he thought with a rising sense of trepidation, as his body convulsed, futilely gasping for air.