Chapter 27

First things first. He worked the bolt lever again until the gun could fire once more and took another shot. And missed. The fourth and final attempt also proved unsuccessful, and he silently cursed himself for not paying more attention about how to reload it. The .22-millimeter pistol hanging off of his belt provided the next best option, but with his track record, at this distance, Dakota thought it might just be a waste of bullets. The shorter the gun, the more difficult the shot, he remembered Eddie saying. And he hadn’t done very well at all with the rifle’s two-foot long barrel.

Plan B. He took a few steps closer to the gate but left about a yard between it and himself. Glancing down at the borrowed talisman, he carefully recited its name and commands. “A’lund eta.” When it began glowing an orangish brown, Dakota looked up at the wounded interloper and extended his hand. “Ma!”