EDGE: Sullivan's Law (Edge series Book 20) by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman [Gilman, George G.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Lobo publications (A High Plains Wesrern)
Published: 2013-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

DAWN was a dirty grey hue on the eastern horizon as Edge rode up among bare rock hills and Fort Waycross was lost to sight behind him. Once more, his hooded eyes were never still for an instant in their sockets. Ahead, to the sides and to the rear, as the grayness spread to encompass the entire dome of the sky, blotting out the stars and dulling the moon to a pale and fuzzed disc, he scoured his surroundings for sign of danger. And forced a nagging anxiety into the deep recesses at the back of his mind.

The main body of hostile Apaches had not simply resigned themselves to the loss of six braves and the weapons they had been sent to steal. Some time, between when Edge rode out of Waycross and Kirk led his troopers in, the fort had been raided yet again. But the fact that the Apaches in the mountains were now undoubtedly well armed was not the cause of the half-breed’s concern. What bothered him was the possibility that, en route for Waycross, the war party had clashed with Sullivan and his men.

If that had happened, the missing bodies and empty arms store was proof the Apaches had won the battle. And finding a ten-thousand-dollar-rich Apache would be vastly more difficult than running down the fat man and his bunch.

By sunrise, Edge was high and deep into the Dragoon range. Still on the trail that led ultimately to Silver City. Signs of the men he was tracking were sparsely scattered but, from time to time, he saw indisputable proof that he was headed in the right direction: ruts, cut into patches of soft earth or through dishes of dust by the fat Sullivan’s tandem gig. Even more infrequent were the hoof prints of unshod ponies - the sign which Sullivan had followed to back-track on the Apaches’ route to Waycross.

The sun was clear of the eastern ridges, and hot enough to make the cold of night a dim memory, when Edge reined in the gelding at a point where a spur led off the main trail. There was an abandoned stage line way-station in the vee where the Silver City trail swung due east towards a pass and the spur started a twisting course up a steep incline.

Edge had approached the way-station - four frame walls without a roof and with no glass in the windows - at an easy walk. There were a hundred better hiding places within rifle range than the decrepit building. He stayed in the saddle as he kicked at the door. It didn’t swing open. Instead, the hinges tore loose from the rotted frame and it collapsed inside in a cloud of dust. A bobcat kitten streaked out with a shriek of aggressive fear. The gelding snorted and backed off.

‘Easy,’ the half-breed soothed. “That ain’t the fat cat we’re looking for.’

There was nothing inside the walls except the fallen roof. Edge stood erect in the stirrups and swung his

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