In the Shadow of Death by Gwendolyn Southin Page B

reached beyond the edge of the seat, and her fingers closed over a small soft object caught in the coil springs. She tried to pull it free, but it took several minutes before she was able to get it untangled and she could hold it in her hands. Then, sliding out from under the vehicle, she examined her find—it was a small leather pouch. As her fingers went instinctively to undo the metal press studs, she heard the rattle of falling stones and looked up toward the road high above the ravine. A deer? Then there was a sudden glint, as if the sun had shone on a piece of glass.
    Thwack! The sound made her jump. Thwack! My God! Someone’s shooting at me! Pushing the pouch into her jeans pocket, she dived down in front of the Jeep. But who would be shooting at me? She crawled to the far side of the Jeep. Thwack! This time the bullet was nearer to its target. She scuttled back to the front of the vehicle. Whoever was doing the shooting knew they had her pinned down. Okay, Nat, what do I do now? This guy must have a telescopic sight to be so accurate. She leaned back against the radiator to assess the situation. There was nothing for it: she had to get over to the base of the cliff and out of the line of fire. She peered around the vehicle again to see what cover there was. Whang! This shot hit the metal rim of the right back wheel, leaving it slowly rotating from the force of the bullet. If I can crawl down the left side and over to that large boulder . . . She risked taking another quick peek and again saw the glint as the sun hit a telescopic lens. Ah, yes. Got you. You must be hiding up there in those bushes, you son of a bitch. She started to crawl along the left side of the Jeep toward the flat rock where the body had lain. If I can make it to the other side of that . . . Heart racing, limbs trembling, she counted . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . and lunged. The next bullet sent slivers of razor-edged rock flying into the air, making her cry out in pain as a splinter buried itself in her arm, but her lunge had taken her to the sheltered side of the rock. Again bending into a crouching position and keeping her head down, she sprinted for the thicket. Landing face first in the tangled brush, she hid there only a moment before scuttling along the base of the cliff, expecting to feel a bullet in her back at any minute. The rifle did crack again, its sound reverberating around the walls of the ravine, but the sniper had lost sight of his target. Stooping low, she raced over to where Angel was pawing and snorting at this new terror.
    â€œEasy, easy.” Grabbing the horse’s reins, she ran back to the track, through the woods, the horse trotting skittishly behind. Once they were safely hidden, she found a rock to stand on, put her foot in the stirrup and painfully hauled herself up. “Home, girl. And this time, carefully.”
    She held the reins tightly as Angel picked her way back over the track, and after half an hour saw sunlight ahead where the forest petered out. “Whoa, girl.” Whoever had been sniping at her would have had time to come around the mountain and be waiting here for her. Cautiously slipping off the horse’s back, she risked taking a peek. But to her relief, the person waiting for her was Al, sitting astride his mare at the junction of the two tracks and peering through binoculars in the opposite direction.
    Leading Angel, Maggie urged her out into the open and started up the incline toward him. “Al!” She had to scream his name a second time before he finally saw her.
    â€œI’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Al yelled as he rode closer to the bedraggled pair. “My God, what the hell happened to you?”
    â€œAngel was spooked . . . by three dogs . . . she bolted,” she gasped.
    â€œDogs?”
    â€œAngel ran into the forest . . . and a tree branch hit me . . . it wasn’t her fault.”
    â€œWhat kinda dogs?”
    â€œGerman