Honor Road by Jason Ross (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

hard in the chest with his handgun. “I’m going to blow a hole in you right here, you sonofabitch, if you don’t start talking. Where’s the nearest ranch with snow machines?”

Pete Lathrop looked around as though seeing the place for the first time. “It’s kinda hard to tell with all this white fluffy stuff in my eyes.”

“You think you’re so clever,” Chambers seethed. “You think you’ve got this county wired—wrapped around your devious, little finger. I’m going to count to three and I’m going to blow a half-inch hole in your lying heart.”

Sage’s rifle slithered down and around on its sling, and before he knew it, his 30-30 was in his hands, pointed at Captain Chambers. His hands racked a shell of their own accord.

“This is over,” Sage boomed. It took a Herculean force-of-will to make his voice work, because his throat had almost entirely closed up in terror. “We walk away now and we leave the commissioner here. I can lead us back through the forest on foot. We still have our snowshoes. We can make it out, but we can’t make it dragging him.”

The captain laughed, but his handgun remained jammed into Commissioner Pete’s chest. “So does this mean your balls finally dropped, Sage Ross? Good for you. We’ll dump you in the same snow bank as Commissioner Rattlesnake, here. Arrest him too.” The captain pointed a finger at Sage. Half the boys aimed their AR-15s at Sage, then the other half followed suit.

Sage was close enough that he didn’t need to look through his scope to know his bullet would go through Captain Chamber’s chest. “They shoot me. I shoot you. This is where it ends, either way,” Sage said. He sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

“Hold on now, boys,” Commissioner Pete patted at the air with his zip-tied hands. “Sage, lower your rifle.” He rubbed the side of his neck, then unwrapped a red scarf that’d been tucked under the collar of his jacket. “Just calm down everyone.” Pete worked the wrap up and around his ears.

“I’m not going to ask again: where’s the nearest ranch?” Captain Chambers hissed.

Sage hadn’t lowered his rifle, and the boys hadn’t lowered theirs either. The high school boys darted glances around the circle. Their jaws gaped. They looked at Sage, the captain, the commissioner, then each other. Then, they repeated the process, each on his own circuit. They looked like a gaggle of confused roosters. Sage knew they’d shoot him for no other reason than they didn’t know what else to do.

“Seriously, Sage. Sling your gun,” Commissioner Pete ordered. “It’s over, Ron. Holster your gun. It’s over boys,” Commissioner Pete called out to the high school boys standing in the circle. “You’re surrounded and everyone but Chambers can go home.”

“What’re you talking about, surrounded?” Captain Chambers spat, but Sage saw realization dawn in his slack cheeks and wide eyes.

“You don’t think all those snow machines ran out of gas at the same time by chance, do you, Ron? And why did the gauges show full back at the ranch? Hmmm. Makes you wonder.” Pete Chambers tapped his chin with his bound hands. “Makes you think maybe I knew you’d do something desperate to hang onto your little fiefdom over in Union. Makes you ask yourself if little, ole Wallowa County didn’t already know you were planning this escapade.” Commissioner Pete nodded while the truth settled. “Sheriff Tate,” Pete shouted into the night. “Come on into the light. Show yourself.”

The snow rustled outside the circle of snowmobile lights. From the gloomy edge, the portly figure of the Wallowa County Sheriff appeared, wearing his uniform, his revolver drawn.

“Holster your gun, Ron Chambers. You’re under arrest.” Sheriff Tate reasoned with the team, “All you boys, put your guns on the ground. Don’t give our men any reason to shoot you. Half of them are still pretty sore about the lickin’ you gave them last time on the football field.”

Commissioner Pete smiled and held up his hands. “That’s right. Set the guns down. Half the men of Wallowa have you in their sights. Just set your guns down and go on home, boys. Nobody needs to bleed tonight.”

“Steady, boys,” Sheriff Tate yelled over his shoulder into the dark-curtained snowfall. “Don’t shoot unless they shoot first.” He crunched over the snow toward Captain Chambers. Chamber’s gun barrel wavered like a divining rod of his confusion and unwillingness to quit. It struck Sage: it’d probably been a long time since anyone had told Chambers “no.”

“You too, Sage,” Pete said. “Put your gun down.”

Sage snapped out of his adrenaline-drenched fugue and complied. He untangled his sling from his backpack and set the 30-30 on the snow.

Sheriff Tate reached up and slipped the web of his thumb between Captain Chamber’s 1911 hammer and firing pin. He lifted the gun gently out of the stunned captain’s hands.

Chambers stood in the circle of snowmobile lights, mute and lost, while Sheriff Tate cuffed him and recited his Miranda rights.

Men with hunting rifles appeared from of the edge of the night and closed the circle around the arrest team. Sage raised his hands and the boys followed suit. A bearded, bear of a man collected their guns. Headlights flickered on the county road ahead and trucks appeared out of the drifting static of the snowfall—a dozen or more.

Wallowa County men helped the high school boys into the back of the trucks and tossed their backpacks in after them.

“Not him,” Commissioner Pete pointed his bound hands at Sage. “He comes with me. Give him back his rifle.”

One of the men whipped out a Leatherman tool and cut Commissioner Pete’s bonds with pliers. A man Sage had never met handed him back his 30-30.

“Come on.” Pete motioned Sage toward one of the trucks. The driver behind the wheel looked like he might be Pete’s son. “Let’s get coffee.”

Sage watched the dawn as it colored the sky behind Sacajawea Mountain. He sat at Commissioner Pete’s breakfast table while his wife and