Pursuit. Caught.: Pursuit, #3

By Vern Harrison

50,000+ words. This is the third book of the trilogy, where Maim and Maude finally meet. But there is a bullet between them.

They hunt each other. Maim hunts Maude. Maude hunts Maim. Only one will survive.

Before the bullet, Maim finally finds the love he feels is forever.

Maude's bullet misses Maim. A few days later, a different bullet kills his love.

Maim is alone again. And he's on the prowl. Maude must be stopped. Maim will never be safe with Maude on the loose.

Maude creates an trap to catch Maim, something to maim him yet should let him live for a day or more before he dies.

But the trap didn't quite work as she thought.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Bontrager Software LLC
• Release date: Mar 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224208616

Book preview

Excerpts

From the Maude Trapped chapter:

The voice continued. I don’t trust you. So I will keep my pistol, loaded and ready.

Maude smiled. He had taken the bait so completely!

Agreed, she responded.

"Stay where you are, Maim. I will come out and you will see what will be yours. It is warm this morning. I will wear only boots.

And a bandage around my arm. You shot me, you bastard.

She listened. Then heard, Okay, come on down.

Maude giggled to herself. Men! They are so predictable.

From the Lawrence Is Overdue chapter:

With anybody else you might wiggle out of what that means.

"Maim saw the manhood of James before anybody else did, or before we would acknowledge it.

"There is something about Maim. He is so different from Jack.

Maim is steady, not impulsive. He is careful and considerate, not selfish. He bends over backward to help someone if he can, something that would never have occurred to Jack.

It’s worse than I thought, declared Samantha. "You are already comparing Maim with who Jack was.

I think you had better step outside to wish him luck or something that gives you an excuse to exchange a word with him. Now that you have admitted the feeling to yourself. I see he has his M-name horse ready to travel.

Yes, you are right. Why should I hide what is the truth!

From the Professional Ambush chapter:

That shooter is dangerous, Maime. I must get over there and see what I can see.

May I come with you, Maim?

Maim thought for half a minute.

Yes. You will be safer with me, I think, than out here alone and afoot. And, being with me, you will see how I work and can tell our child about it if I’m not here to do so myself.

Don’t talk like that, please, Maim.

"We have to, Maime. That was not a random shooter. It was hired. Skill like that is expensive. And we don’t know how many more there will be now that I’m not moving from place to place anymore. The likelihood of me seeing our child is much less than most fathers whose wives are expecting.

We must face that, Maime. It is reality.

From the A Kidnapper Maimed chapter:

I will find a way to destroy you! I can walk and I will find a way!

Amazingly, the shooter was able to get to his feet.

You will see! he shouted.

I think not, you ambusher of women!

Maim put a bullet through both of the kidnapper’s knees so fast that they shattered before the shooter realized he had no support and fell.

Overview

In this third book of the trilogy, Maim and Maude finally meet. But there is a bullet between them.

Before the bullet, Maim finally finds the love he feels is forever.

The bullet misses Maim. A few days later, a different bullet kills his love.

Maim is alone again. And he's on the prowl. Maude must be stopped. Maim will never be safe with Maude on the loose.

They hunt each other. Maim hunts Maude. Maude hunts Maim. Only one will survive.

(The first book of the trilogy talks about Maim's adventures after his escape from the person he did not know had purchased him. The second about Maude and the events she gets involved in during her hunt for Maim, who she understands is her property.)

Maim, Huh?

Mane, huh? What kind a name is that! Who wants to be the mane of a horse!

The crowd of spectators tittered, enjoying the deliberate word mangling.

Or maybe it’s Maime, like the Diamond-X daughter.

The giggling was prolonged this time.

The joker was getting his steam on. He swelled with the support he thought the laughter meant.

You got a dusty pink petticoat in your saddlebag! And we haven’t seen you walk. I bet you walk with a limp just like the X Maime.

There was some muttering. It wasn’t good to talk down about a woman, even when using it to rub a guy the wrong way.

Joker noticed. Quickly, he changed tactics.

Now I got it! Mame is short for MaDame.

This elicited several loud haw-haw laughs. Not only was this more acceptable territory, which released tension, but it was actually somewhat funny. The Joker was back on the track he wanted to be.

Ya, that’s right. Madam be your name. You short your name ‘cause you can’t abide your real one!

This elicited guffaws and whoops and stomps on the dirt floor. Fists and glasses banged on the bar. A huge fellow knocked his head against the wall in a way that generally gets him some attention. The commotion all together provided enough vibration to loosen a bit of dust from the saloon ceiling.

A fellow gasped. He had recognized the name.

The object of the disdaining humor spoke up.

Joker, the name is spelled M, A, I, and M. That’s an M as in Man. You know, that other name for someone who is not a coward. The A is for the Aim that always hits dead center. The I means Intelligence. Which is how I know you are an insufferable manure-eating maggot about to be squashed between thumb and forefinger. And the last M means Mister, you better reach for your gun!

The joker tried. It took him half a second to abandon his ego and realize this was serious business.

When he grabbed for his gun, it momentarily got stuck in his holster. Maim waited for him.

He sure is an inept pretender, that joker, Maim noted to himself.

Maim almost felt sorry for him. But if he was lenient, Maim would be painted with the same brush he had just painted the joker with. Maim dearly wanted a town to stop at and maybe, somehow, find a home. A name associated with cowardly action or non-action would get him run out of town.

The joker sure was having a hard time getting his gun out of his holster. Several times, he glanced at Maim to see if the bullets were coming yet. Then went back to the task of trying to clear leather.

Maim noticed the front sight was caught by a loosened rawhide string used to sew the holster together. Maim almost reached over to help him free the sight so he could lift the gun out and become a suitable target. But he stoically stayed away, waiting for the joker to get into real action.

The joker almost got chided for having a front sight on his gun in the first place, noting that getting the sight caught at the beginning of a gunfight could surely get a person killed. But Maim refrained from that, too.

The joker’s gun cleared.

In that instant, Maim put a bullet through the wrist of the joker’s other hand, the empty one. The wrist shattered.

Following that, while the wrist was still exploding, a second bullet went through the elbow above the useless wrist. The bullet chipped the joint in a way that would never heal right.

The joker’s gun was rising in Maim’s direction.

Wow, he sure is slow, thought Maim.

But Maim refused to dilly dally.

Before the pain of the devastated empty arm could be realized by the joker’s brain, a third bullet destroyed the elbow of the gun-holding hand.

The joker’s gun had been nearly pointed at Maim. As Maim’s bullet entered the joker’s elbow, the arm jerked and the latent gun suddenly went off.

His trigger finger contracted, concluded Maim.

The bullet nicked the boot of a spectator too interested in the gun show, who suddenly yelped and gave the two-man show more room.

But the joker failed to release the gun. Therefore, Maim sent a fourth bullet his way. It gloriously shattered the gun-holding wrist.

There must have been quite some time since shots were popped in that particular tavern. The dust from the ceiling came down thick.

Nobody talked. But the dust caused some sneezes.

The rest of the men in the tavern suddenly remembered the name. And why.

The stories they had heard were so outrageous that they tended to be dismissed. Then forgotten, because they simply couldn’t be true.

Now, however, they realized the stories were indeed the real thing. Outrageous, yes. But true even so.

The joker ended up with two destroyed wrists and two destroyed elbows in a gunfight. Yet was allowed to live.

He was allowed to live the life of an incapacitated invalid known to be a coward. Some would occasionally help him out, perhaps, from pity, but not consistently. His life would be one long difficulty of terror and suffering. He could not even kill himself with no working wrists or elbows.

This gunfight would become another outrageous story for people to dismiss whenever they heard it.

Maim was named Maim because he never killed. But he did ensure his attackers lost use of limbs so they were unable to come gunning for him later on.

As mentioned in the first book of this story, his dad, a fire and brimstone preacher, instilled in his young boy the sheer terror of hell should he ever kill a human, even if accidental.

Here, out West, not killing would be the actions of a coward and would make him a target. The solution was to maim his target so thoroughly that it would be a physical impossibility to ever gun for him in revenge.

And he was never called a coward for doing it that way.

But now he had a problem. He was certain that soon he would be asked by a shuffling, scared man to please leave town. And he had just gotten here.

Well, it has happened before and it will happen again, Maim mused as he left the tavern. "I may still be looking for a place to settle when I am an old man. But, somewhere, in some corner of the country, there must be a spot where people exist who have either not heard the Maim stories or don’t really mind him mingling with them so long as he minded his own business.

That’s when he looked up and saw the Diamond-X daughter. Maime was her name, so similar to his.

She looked his way. And walked directly up to him.

Steph is maimed for life, I hear. Why?

Wal, do you really care?

Kinda. He’s been sparking me.

He didn’t mean it. What he said about you a few minutes ago proves it.

She froze, realizing she was demanding an explanation from a man for something about which she didn’t know the whole story. It bothered her immensely that she would do that.

Maime, my name is Maim.

Maim courteously tipped his hat and walked toward the stables.

She stood there, mouth open. Although flabbergasted, she nevertheless realized she was attracted to the strange man with a name similar to hers.

Then she realized what the name meant.

She had heard the stories, too. They kept being repeated, they were so outrageous, even though nobody really believed them.

Suddenly, she decided she would find out more about him. The stories were embellished, of course, like stories are in the retelling. She felt a need to know the man who had such stories told about him.

But first she would find out what happened here. Somebody would tell her what was actually said about her.

Before she got started on that self-imposed errand, she saw Maim leaving the stable on his horse. She yelled and ran toward him.

The Diamond X is that way, she said, pointing out the two-rut road. A bit over 10 miles. You’ll see a few buildings about a mile off on your right where you turn off.

A scream rent the air. It was the joker, of course. Steph was his name, Maim remembered.

Are you sure? he asked.

There was no hesitation.

Yes. And it may be a good idea to get started before somebody else gets maimed because they decided to be a big man and chase you off.

You are wise, Maim said and headed in the direction she had pointed out.

Wise, thought Maime. Not pretty. Not charming. And not condescending. But ‘wise’. Who woulda thunk!

She was immensely pleased.

Jerking her attention to the present surroundings, she told herself, Now, to find out what this was all about.

The Ranch Road

While Maim was riding in the direction of the Diamond-X, Steph had passed out. Doc took advantage of the situation to clean the wounds and bind them the best he could. Gunshots could be nasty, tearing flesh into ragged strips. And some of these were as bad as he had seen.

Doc shook his head. Steph would never use his arms or his hands ever again. With the thorough cleaning they got, they were unlikely to become infected. The binding should let them heal without having to amputate. Yet, amputation might be the kinder treatment considering that the arms will be useless and in the way for all of his life. And also considering that people would be more inclined to give less credence to the coward name for an amputee than when seeing a man with two whole arms.

But Doc was more a doc than a humanitarian. He fixed people the best he could. The people would then need to lead their own lives.

As was his habit, Maim kept a lookout for anything different than expected as he rode along the trail. He intended to always be alert, never complacent.

He had ridden into town, Wester was its name, thinking perhaps he could get a pointer to a ranch that was hiring. Summer was well along, but ranches can suddenly find themselves short handed.

Maim had the means to ride all summer, if he decided to do so. He had the means to ride for years, actually. He had not spent even 10% of what he had earned from Lettie for maiming her nemesis. (The Lettie incident is described in the first book of this story.)

Still, it would be pleasant to pause his roaming for some months. He got tired of the company of only himself and his horse. He wanted people to interact with. Montana wanted horses to interact with.

Even as he had ridden into town, Maim knew his desire was a daydream and something unlikely to happen. His experience told him that a braggart would challenge his gun skill, or someone would remember his name and the stories they heard. Then he would have to skedaddle back to the trails before more people got maimed.

Maim had long ago found that using a pseudonym was distasteful. Soon after he had maimed his dad, he had adopted Maim as his name. And Maim he remained.

A bit over halfway to the Diamond X, the trail crossed a stream. Maim decided to rest a bit and relax while he assimilated the ambient feeling of the country.

He turned off the trail at a point where his horse’s tracks were unlikely to be seen, and headed upstream a ways. In an area of tall grass, he dismounted from Mort.

His horse responded to any name beginning with an M that Maim may think of, so long as it wasn’t a name suitable for a mare. Thus, this time it was Mort who was watered from the bank among the tall grasses.

Maim got his cup out of a saddlebag, cautiously filled it from the stream, and stood near his horse sipping the good, clear water. His full canteens he left as they were.

It should be said in passing that Maim could well have lowered himself to the bank, leaned over the water, and sipped the refreshing liquid from his cupped hands. Some years ago he had barely escaped an ambush when his focus was on his hands during the second it took to lift the water to his mouth. Since then, he has been known to weave a cup from grass or bark rather than assume that vulnerable position again.

While sipping the water, he was thinking about the girl called Maime.

Suddenly, he smacked his forehead.

This would not do. He was in country new to him. It simply would not do to think of anything. Thinking reduced his focus on the present. He absolutely must remain present with his environment or endanger himself and his horse.

Therefore, Maime was pushed out of mind. Or nearly so. The interrupted thoughts remained