Death Valley Drifter by Jeff Rovin & Ralph Compton

Author:Jeff Rovin & Ralph Compton [Rovin, Jeff & Compton, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

THE CHANGE FROM daylight to twilight was familiar to Quinn.

Pushing his horse to cover as much ground as possible while the sun was still out, the man knew he had experienced sunset before, of course, even though he could not picture where or when. All of the transitions of light and shadow were strangely reassuring along with the slight cooling of the air, the first hint of the full moon staking its claim on the horizon.

Yet that was where the comfort of dusk had ended. Every sound seemed strange—like he was a primitive man hearing something for the first time, and being especially alert because he was uncertain what was out there, only knowing that it probably wasn’t good for him.

But those were all surface feelings, something that came naturally. What was deeper and had been troubling him since noontime was that Hank felt as though he did not even belong here, in this place, in this body.

His name had to be Quinn—why else would he have seen and heard it so clearly? He must know a woman named Aggie, for the same reason. And he had, without the full vignette, remembered the name Beaudine, a blond-maned horse.

Yet what if that was not part of his past but rather an elaborate delirium or dream, some kind of fancy brought on by the damage to his skull? The present was reliable because he could see and hear and smell it. The images in his head could be anything.

They certainly had not triggered a cascade of memories or images or a continuation of the little story that had played out. Hopefully, those would come. He did not want to exert himself the way he had earlier, since he did not know what might happen to him physically while his mind was wandering through the past.

“And anyway, you have more immediate concerns.”

Such as which way to go. He had checked Martins’ map as he rode. It would have been easier, by moonlight, to take the Butterfield route to the way station, but he had to assume Lieutenant Martins’ accomplices possessed the same map he did. They would be looking for the most direct trip, and that was it. So he would stay the course, guided by the setting sun and the few landmarks on the map. Hank had already decided not to stop for the night, counting on the full moon to illuminate any gopher holes or gullies along the way.

Quinn’s plan was rewarded when, well after dark, he saw moonlit curls of smoke rising from a shadowy chimney. As the rider neared, the moon-tinged outline of the overall structure came out in relief against the dark mountains behind it. The log building was long, low, and set behind a lattice fence that only ran along the front and was covered with dead vines that had probably once held flowers. There was a two-story barn out back that likely doubled as stables. He saw a pen with a coop for chickens—for eggs, he reasoned.

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