Stories, quotes and anecdotes from Appalachia, with an emphasis on the Depression era.
Before Hollene had time to react, a single shot from a high-powered Winchester rifle exploded into the air. Al’s startled horse jumped and spun wildly.
Another shot. Hollene fell to the ground, her face torn to pieces, black from powder burn and smattered in blood.
Dave Dingess, riding nearly beside Al and Hollene, had also spotted the two men hiding among the rocks. He had put up his hand before the second shot, then felt it go numb. Feeling little pain, he had quickly turned his horse and slid over toward its side opposite the shooters, and clung to his saddle, keeping his arms around the horse’s neck, until he maneuvered to safety. He and Harve galloped back up the creek toward home and help. No shots came their way. But Dave’s hand was covered in blood.
Al, meanwhile, tried to regain control of his horse. He looked down at his wife, then up toward the rocks.
Another shot—this time finding its mark.
Al fell to the ground, rolling in the dust. He felt pain at his right elbow and all through his arm, then numbness. His arm was covered in blood—shot and broken—useless from the fall.
His horse sped away down the creek.
Al crawled toward Hollene, reaching under his jacket for a pistol. Then came another shot, this time grazing his breast and ripping the fabric of his vest. The pressure was intense.
Al followed his horse downstream to safety.
For a brief moment, the scene was completely quiet.Read More »