Edge 51 A Time For Killing by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: LOBO Publications
Published: 2018-03-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

BISHOP STEERED the multi-colored wagon into a tight turn and headed it up the gentle incline of the track between the fields to the trail. And the watching men could see that the lower half of the door in the crimson-painted rear panel of the rig was decorated in a green and blue chequerboard pattern. The upper section was cut with a window, hung with the same kind of white lace curtains and black drapes as the side windows.

'A bordello on wheels,' Harry Kemp growled. 'That really is the craziest thing I think I've ever seen.'

When she felt it was safe to do so, after the wagon was more than halfway back to the trail, Brenda pulled aside the curtain and drape at the door window and made a face.

'They're going to find themselves in trouble if they try to set up shop in town,' England muttered as he began to re-fasten the buttons of his frockcoat.

'It'll fall to the new sheriff to run them out of Pomona,' the cavalryman pointed out.

'God, that's right,' England said, a little surprised. And there was a look of regret in his coal-black eyes as he toyed with his bushy moustache.

Edge glanced at the house and its two out-buildings and discovered that what was left of them now brought no unwelcome images from the distant past into his mind. There was no force in the flames now, and the smoke was predominantly grey instead of black - and it spiraled lazily rather than billowed up toward the disintegrating pall under the low cloud. Except where the roof had collapsed and taken some masonry with it, almost all the four stone walls of the house remained standing. Blackened, window-less and doorless. The all-timber combined barn and stable, and the building in which Donald Kemp made and stored his corn liquor and cider, had been reduced to elongated heaps of charred ash. The corral and flanking. apple orchards out back were still being layered with the , fine black and grey detritus that had been carried up on the hot air. To where some faint breeze had drifted the ash in that direction.

Very little of the much-diminished heat of the flames reached across the yard to the start of the track where the three men stood for a few more moments: watching as the enclosed wagon came to a brief halt alongside the flatbed that had been abandoned by Kemp and England. The pause was for no longer than three seconds, before the sight of the three coffins acted to urge Bishop to demand an abrupt and swift re-start by the pair of fine grays.

'Sonofabitch, my folks,' the uniformed man groaned.

'I'll go bring them down, Corporal,' Edge told him. 'If you want to start doing what you have to here?'

'Appreciate it.'

'Guess I'd better have a look around for evidence,' England muttered pessimistically. And got rid of the ugly mess of chewed-out tobacco. 'Even if there's not a chance in a million of finding any.'

The half-breed went up across the fields, back-tracking at a far easier pace than he had come down into the hollow.

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