Big Jim 3 by Marshall Grover

Author:Marshall Grover
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: piccadilly publishing, gunfighters in the old west, cowboys and gunfighters, best western ebook, the american old west, leonard meares, marshall grover, big jim rand, western adventure ebook, wild west action adventure
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Six – Return to Double L

That section of the regular trail, the scene of Holbrook’s act of treachery, was less than two miles from the east boundary of Double L range. At the time of the shooting, Sam Beech was approaching, but too far distant to hear the sound of the shot. He reached the trail, wheeled his pinto and rode slowly toward Byrne City, approximately fifteen minutes after the five southbound horsemen had passed this same spot.

Soon, he was riding within the shadow of the soaring cliff-wall to his right, the rock-littered slant to his left, and he might have travelled all the way to town and never suspected the proximity of the stricken Archer Gillery—but for the fact that Arch was wearing his favorite bandanna. That bandanna was of polka-dot pattern and red. Bright, fiery red, dazzling when caught by the sun. From this high angle, Sam could not discern the carcass of the butchered colt, but the small patch of red was a distraction, showing stark in the clutter of rock and rubble at the base of the slant. At first, he thought nothing of it. He actually rode on for a distance of some twenty yards before, prodded by his curiosity, he turned his pinto and ambled it back to the extreme edge of the trail. Mindful of his natural clumsiness, he dismounted with scrupulous care. He didn’t stand at the edge of the trail; he didn’t dare to. Instead, he sprawled on his belly and gingerly nudged his head over the edge, to scan the area below.

That flash of red—what had it been? No sign of it now. His eyes must have been deceiving him. He withdrew from the edge, rose to his feet and made to remount. Then, on a sudden impulse, he walked another twenty feet southward and again bellied down to check the litter of rubble below the slant.

This time, he didn’t spot the flash of red, but what he did see caused his heart to thump. Portion of the dead horse. Enough of it to indicate it was still saddled. A rider had gone over the edge and, judging from the condition of the grade, had dislodged a great deal of rock in his fall to the base.

He ruled against attempting a descent astride the pinto. Why risk the pinto’s life? After leading the animal to the right side of the trail, he carefully tethered it within the concealment of a straggle of brush. Another fifty yards south he walked, before deciding that the slant was less steep, comparatively safe for a descent.

Gingerly, he lowered himself to the slope. His boots sank into almost eighteen inches of soft earth and crackling shale. He began his descent, slowly at first, then at increased speed, the increase of speed being caused by his natural clumsiness; he lost his balance, pitched forward and rolled twenty feet. Battered, dusty, but undaunted, he struggled to his feet and resumed his downward journey. From there to the base of the grade, he fell and rolled three times.

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