I dropped the binoculars, stood up and, standing in the combat position, aimed my pistol at him. He fired another shot. Before he could work the bolt action on his rifle, I yelled, “Freeze, Gleason! Drop the gun!”He stiffened, turned, and continued working the action on the rifle. I fired at him, aiming for the middle of his body. The rifle flew out of his hands and he went over backward.Moving carefully, I approached him, holding my gun on him. I was pretty sure I’d hit him. I seldom miss what I’m shooting at. He laid there on his back, very still, with his eyes closed. I peered at him, trying to see where the wound was. I couldn’t, so I stepped closer. Too close.Gleason suddenly came to life. His leg came up quickly, too quickly for me to avoid it, and he kicked the gun out of my hand. The next thing I knew, roaring like a wild man, he was on me, his weight carrying me back, taking me off my feet. When we hit the ground, the wind was knocked out of me and, before I could get to m
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