In this chapter Daphne goes 'Head to head' with Arfon but the outcome is undecided. Sion is rescued by Daphne but at what costs to Daphne's nerves?

The Welsh Mountain Ram 27.

Briony... Betrayed wife and mother.
Sion... Her eight-year-old son.
Ellairy... Her nine-month--old daughter.
Arfon... Brionys’ abusive and unfaithful husband.
Dave Cadwalloder... Welsh bachelor hill-farmer.
Jenny and Lassie... Daves’ sheepdog bitches.
Laddie... Daves’ sheepdog.
Jessica and Pansy... Daves’ sows.
Angel... Daves’ mare.
Gabriella (Gabby)... Angels’ foal (Gift to Sion.)
Elsbeth... Briony’s sister.
Daphne... Daves’ ‘girlfriend’
Cledwyn... Farmer further down the valley (Neighbour.)
Blodwen... Cledwyn’s daughter.
Rachel... Daphne’s TV friend.
Shirley... Rachels’ GG wife.
Fajita... The maid.
James & Tara... Rachel’s teenaged children (16 & 15)
Billy and Janet... Manager and accountant at Daphne’s club.
Terry... New Zealand Shepherd.
Wendy Blodwens best friend at school. Also Dave’s friend.
Jane Policewoman at Machynlleth.
Jack Davies Sergeant at Machynlleth

The Ram 27.

Daphne sat in the car and parked in the gateway debating what to do. She decided to check the lie of the land and she was grateful for the white fur jacket and jeans. Even her girly boots with the one and a half inch heels were a better match for the snow than the usual three or four inch heels that Daphne wore when out in public. For once she was grateful that her fashion sense had been suppressed by her real need to prepare for the snow that morning and the boots now proved a blessing. She would have preferred Dave’s heavy work boots but they were in the SWB Landrover. She parked the LWB Landrover County further up the road in a discreet lay-by where her mobile worked. Then she called the police on her mobile and explained the situation.

Finally she explained to Briony and Blodwen and told Blodwen to come with the police up to Cledwyn’s farm to collect her radio. Dave’s radio, as always, was in its charger on the dash. Whichever vehicle he took, he always transferred the radio. Daphne now had good cause to be thankful for Dave’s obsessive habit; a habit born of once being caught out in a storm on the hills without the radio and his sick father being frantic with worry.

Having alerted everybody, Daphne left the dogs in the Landrover with a message to Blodwen by mobile that the keys were behind the gatepost at the entrance to the farm.

With these arrangements in place, Daphne picked her way along the hedgerows towards the house and selected an approach she knew made her invisible to the house. As a child, Dave had often sneaked back to the house to avoid his grandmother’s ire for being late for dinner. Dave knew every inch, wrinkle and fold of the fields around the house. He also knew how to circumvent the fields containing the sheep so as not to disturb them and give him away.

Naturally, Daphne also knew all these tricks and in short order she found herself at the old side entrance that was but rarely used. In the farmyard she had recognised Arfon’s car so her surmise had been right. She reached in her handbag, tested the keys and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. She was in! Now all she had to do was wait for backup.

Her first act was to take off her heeled boots so that moving around would be easier. Silence and her intimate knowledge of the whole house enabled her to creep around until she picked up the feint sound of voices exactly where she expected to find them ... in the kitchen. Having forced his way through the utility room door directly from the yard where he had parked his car, Arfon had simply settled down and made himself a cup of coffee. Daphne could now hear Arfon shouting at his son Sion.

“You must know where he keeps his guns; every farmer has a shotgun!”

Daphne listened to the boy whimpering in terror as he lied and tried to explain that he didn’t know and he hadn’t seen any guns at all. Even at aged eight, Sion knew not to let Arfon anywhere near any guns.

Daphne chewed her lip thoughtfully. Her pair of shotguns and her rifle were securely locked away in a substantial steel cabinet that was discreetly tucked away in the cellar under the stairs in an old store-room. It would take at least a sledge-hammer and chisel to break the locks, and even then, the ammunition was located elsewhere. Daphne had every cause to fear her own guns because she had been present at a shoot as a young teen-ager when one of the beaters had been accidentally shot. The teen-aged Dave had been the beater right next to him and the first to respond to his scream. The young lad, another farmer’s son, had died before anybody could do anything and the incident had left a lasting impression on the young Dave.

Ever since that day, Dave had had little to do with guns even though the shotguns were deemed a necessity around the farm to shoot vermin. As to the rifle, it had been his dad’s pride and joy and Dave had reluctantly surrendered the weapon to the police when his father had died. As a young man of nineteen, he was too young to hold a fire-arms certificate until he was twenty one. Tearfully, he had surrendered the rifle to a sympathetic police superintendant who had promised Dave they would keep the rifle until he was twenty one and then if he proved himself a responsible adult, the superintendant would make every endeavour to have it returned to him.

The deal had worked. By getting the farm on its feet again and making a success of it, Dave had proved his maturity to his neighbours. Every farmer in the county knew the story and the police were more than willing to return the rifle a few days after his twenty-first birthday. Even so, Dave had locked the guns away and virtually forsaken them from that day. The cabinet was warm and dry so the guns remained cleaned and oiled just like all the other pieces of Farm machinery but Daphne had little cause to bring them out except for the yearly police check and to clean and oil them. Daphne felt a wave of relief as she considered the situation.

‘Even if Arfon did discover the guns, he would be hard put to break open the cabinet and even then; the ammo was stored elsewhere. More importantly, the firing pin and bolt for the rifle were also stored elsewhere. It would take time for Arfon to ever get the rifle operational. By that time, hopefully, the police would be on the scene.'

What Daphne had not allowed for was the curiosity of eight-year-old boys especially when joined later by sixteen-year-old boys. Their fascination with guns had already manifested itself in Wendy’s market shop. James had gone rooting one afternoon and found the shotgun ammunition tucked away in the back bottom drawer of Daphne’s shoe locker.

The rifle ammunition, because it was more dangerous, more valuable and had to be accounted for at each police inspection, was better hidden. Nevertheless, James had shown Sion the cartridges and both boys had naturally gone looking for the gun. They had found the gun locker and James recognised it, for its robust construction had rather betrayed its identity. . After that Sion knew where the guns were kept even if he couldn’t get at them.

Back in the kitchen Arfon was cursing and bellowing at his son and eventually the terrified boy broke down. He blubbered out the location of the gun locker and Arfon let out a curse of victory. After storming down to the cellar, he found the locker and cursed again. He would have to either find the keys or break the locker. A visit to the barn produced some substantial tools but while he was away, Daphne rushed down the cellar and debated what to do.

‘Should she take all the weapons and arm herself or should take one weapon and leave the others without ammunition? That way Arfon would have no idea of what was available.’

To throw Arfon off his stroke, Daphne took the pump-action modern gun whilst leaving the disabled rifle and old fashioned double barrelled shotgun behind still without ammunition. As she was closing the locker he heard Arfon’s heavy steps on the stairs. She slipped into the shadows of the adjacent store room for she had not thought to bring the ammunition with her. Silently she cursed her oversight and was forced to wait until Arfon was busy destroying the door of the locker before she could sneak back upstairs to her bedroom.

She quickly loaded her gun then removed the surplus cartridges to another location. Her intuition had told her that if the two boys knew where the guns were they might also have located the ammunition.

Her intuition proved right as she heard the bellowing Arfon dragging his son along the landing even as she was hiding the ammunition in the attic.

Arfon burst into Daphne’s bedroom and plunged into the wardrobe where Sion had seen the cartridges. He cursed furiously when he only found an empty cartridge box and he turned on his son.

“You lying little sod! Where have you put them? I’ll f-----g thrash you, you eff–g little bastard.”

With that Daphne heard the loud smack followed by Sion’s scream of pain or fear. She fingered the trigger of her pump action and silently hoped she would not have to use it. Then she heard more smacks and realised Arfon must have lost it completely as he was beating the boy, possibly to death. Daphne was forced to intervene.

Despite her conviction, Daphne was still afraid. She knew she was no match for a powerful brute like Arfon and, despite being armed; she had no idea what she might find on the other side of the door.

The smacks continued so Daphne decided to use stealth. She gently eased the door latch back then flung the door open and took one step inside as she brought her gun to chest height and screamed “Stop!” at the brute’s back.

Arfon swirled around with the limp boy hanging in his powerful grip. The man’s look of rage turned first to shock at seeing a woman with a shotgun and then his expression turned to fear as he recognised the business end of the pump gun.

“Put him down you bastard.” Daphne whispered.

Instead, Arfon wrapped his arms around the boy and held him as a shield.

“Shoot me you bitch and you shoot him!” Arfon grinned evilly.

“He’s your own son you sick bastard, put him down or I’ll blow your legs from under you.”

Arfon grinned and lowered the boy to his waist whilst challenging Daphne to have a go.

“You can’t risk it you bitch! That thing would kill us both.”

Daphne was in a quandary. Arfon was partially right. The gun had a spread of shot that might well include the boy. She was in a jam, the risks were too great. All she could do was bluff it out. Her hesitation misled Arfon into thinking he had gained the psychological advantage. Being a natural bully, Arfon presumed he now had her in his power and he advanced towards the woman confidently. It was a mistake, his approach reduced the spread diameter of the shot and with every foot he approached, the ammunition would more resemble a solid bullet if the gun was discharged.

Daphne might have been uncertain but she wasn’t afraid. Her knowledge of the shot-gun’s nature and power gave her the whip hand and she wasn’t about to surrender her material advantage. She knew however that her message had to be loud, clear and forceful so she raised the barrel to just above Arfon’s head and fired.

The resulting bang was deafening in the confined space of the bedroom and the reverberating shock left them all deafened. Daphne however recovered first because she had pulled the trigger and she knew from previous experience, what sort of noise to expect.

Furthermore she was behind the gun where the sound was least and she had previous experience with the gun as a fourteen to sixteen-year-old before the accident.

Arfon dropped the boy and screeched defiance as his head rang painfully.

"You bitch! You've shot me!"

"No I haven't you arsehole! That was the wadding. Stop fucking crying!"

Although she screamed this information at the top of her lungs, Arfon was so deafened by the explosions that he could hardly make her out. All he deduced was that the woman meant business. With Arfon now separated from Sion, Daphne had a better, clearer shot but she still had no intentions of killing the man. Her main intention was to rescue Sion. She lowered the barrel fractionally and waved it vigorously to signal her demand as she screeched as loud as she could.

“Step back from the boy!”

Arfon stood dumb and deaf, unable to make out Daphne’s screech. She lowered the barrel a bit more and stared into his eyes.

Arfon saw the cold, calculating face of death for Daphne was calculating the critical spread as she ran some mental approximations.

‘He’s fifteen feet away and this is my twelve bore. I’m reckoning a four to five inch spread with maybe a couple of strays going an inch or two wider so-oo aim about a foot above his head to avoid hitting him with shot or any more wadding’.

So doing, she brought the gun to her shoulder, aimed at the wall and fired over Arfon’s head.

The second explosion did it for Arfon. He squealed in terror, flung up his hands and for several seconds it seemed as though they had come to a deadlock as neither of them moved. Eventually, as her ears stopped ringing, Daphne stepped around the open door and moved to the side of the bedroom whilst motioning with the barrel. She now had a clear shot at Arfon for Sion was lying terrified on the floor.

“I said step away from the boy!” She screeched again. “Or next time I’ll shoot to maim you.”

Her seemingly hysterical shout finally broke Arfon’s nerve. He cursed wildly then made a tentative step away from Sion and towards the now unblocked doorway. Daphne sagged with relief and nodded encouragement as she screamed.

“Go on. Fuck off! The police will be here shortly, they’ll deal with you; fuck off!”

Arfon could hardly believe his luck as he stepped closer to the door while the bitch sidled around to protect Sion by putting him behind her.

‘Is she inviting me to leave?’ He asked himself.

He took a couple tentative steps that did not invite a reaction from Daphne so he concluded incredulously that the bitch was letting him go. He immediately disappeared through the door as Daphne bent down to rouse the terrified boy.

“You’re safe now Sion! Listen to me darling, you’re safe.”

Eventually the boy stirred and reached out to touch her. Then he burst into tears as he realised his salvation. Daphne reached out and took his hand whilst still keeping a firm grip on her gun. She felt him trembling and gently held his badly bruised wrists.

“Listen to me Sion; you’re safe. He’s gone; I don’t think he’ll be back.”

The boy looked up into the face of his guardian angel then burst into more convulsive sobs as he reached out to cling to her. She reached out her left hand and hugged him to her whilst still holding the shotgun John Wayne Style in case Arfon reappeared. They sat on the floor with a clear view of the bedroom door, both still tearful; Sion with terror from the kidnapping and the pain in his ears still ringing from the deafening blasts of the shot gun, Daphne tearful with relief and nervous exhaustion. Thus they remained in a tense, desperate embrace, woman and boy for fully quarter of an hour, until they heard the faint wail of sirens. She bent down and kissed Sion’s hair as she croaked encouragement through a voice hoarse with emotion and nervous exhaustion.

“That’s the police, they’ll be here shortly.”

Sion wiped his eyes and peered up at Daphne; his hearing now returning.

“Has he gone?”

“I don’t know son, I’m too afraid to look.”

“You should have shot him while you could.”

Daphne sighed as she readjusted the gun for it was getting heavy. Then she explained patiently.

“That wouldn’t do Sion, it wouldn’t do at all. Look at those two holes in the plaster on the wall. Look at the spread of the little pellets.” She rested the butt of the gun on her thigh as she explained. “I know what this gun can do Sion, it makes a horrible mess. When I was only sixteen I saw another boy get shot. It was an accident at a pheasant shoot but the boy died screaming and I was the first to reach him. I never want to see that again nor do I want to hear such screams.

It’s not like a cowboy film or a police film. This gun doesn’t fire bullets, but you already know that. This gun blows a hole three or four inches across. No Sion, I never want to see that again.”

“If he could have found the bullets, he would have shot you.” Sion persisted.

“Well, he didn’t and he didn’t, let’s just be thankful.”

”There’s the siren again, it’s getting closer.”

Sion made to stand up but Daphne dragged him down to her side again.

“Don’t move from here lad. You and I are not moving from here until a policeman comes through that door.”

“But they’re here, listen, that’s the car door slamming.”

“Just sit tight son. We still don’t know where he is.”

Sion realised that Daphne was trembling.

“Are you afraid?” He gasped disbelievingly; unable to credit that the heroine who had saved him from the hands of his father could actually be afraid.

Daphne squeezed him again and adjusted her cramped legs.

“Yes Sion. I’m afraid, there’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”

Sion bravely tried to put his hands around Daphne’s waist and hug her to him. She let him then she heard the door at the end of the landing being opened. She rearranged herself so that Sion was behind her and she was on one knee with the gun covering the door. The almost inaudible sound of soft footsteps warned of somebody’s cautious approach. Daphne called out.

“Whoever it is, I’ve got the door covered.”

A wave of relief washed over her as Sergeant Jack Davies’s voice answered.

“Is that you Daphne?”

“Yes Jack. I’ve got the boy Sion with me. Are you alone?”

“Yes. Jane’s keeping an eye on the yard. So he was here then?”

“Yes. Was his blue car still in the yard?” Daphne checked.

“No.”

“Well it looks as though he’s gone then. You can come in.”

Daphne stood up and discharged the cartridges from the gun as Sion stood beside her. The loud ‘clacking’ of the gun’s unloading mechanism alerted Sergeant Davies as he appeared in the doorway.

“My God girl, what’s happened?”

Daphne slumped against the wall as the gun dropped from her failing grip. Sion squealed but the sergeant stepped forward and caught her as she slid unconscious down the wall. She’d fainted.