Sketch a Falling Star by Sharon Pape

Author:Sharon Pape
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Women Sleuths, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781101560815
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2012-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

1878

Denver, Colorado

Marshal Drummond rode into Denver a full ten days after leaving Albuquerque behind. Since there were no tracks to point him in Trask’s direction, he’d had to make do with experience and instinct. The way he figured it, Trask might well be a man without a conscience or a heart, but he was hardly a man without a brain. Aware that the law would be on his trail, and presumably without a hidey-hole nearby, the best place for him to take cover would be in a big city. Denver was the closest one that fit the bill.

The ride had been hard on the marshal, who had not fully recovered from his grim bout with death. The aching and throbbing of his body had worsened with each day he spent in the saddle, each night he lay upon the hard ground. By the sixth day, a peculiar numbness had set in, as if his mind had determined there was nothing to be gained by reminding him of his distress. On several occasions, he went hungry rather than lose time looking for a farmhouse where he might buy a meal. As long as his horse had oats and grass, he could hang on. He hadn’t owned much of an appetite of late anyway. And in spite of the endless hours with only the chestnut for company, he didn’t allow himself to wonder what he’d do if he couldn’t pick up the killer’s trail. Failure was simply not to be contemplated.

Upon reaching Denver, Drummond immediately made the rounds of the city’s stables. A man planning to lay low for a while would need to board his horse. At each stable he pulled out the picture of Trask. He hit pay dirt at the third one.

It was the blacksmith’s apprentice, Tom, a scrawny youth with a long stalk of a neck and hooded eyes, who recognized Trask. “That’s the guy; that’s definitely the guy who sold us the buckskin two, three weeks back,” he said, passing the picture to his boss.

“You’re certain about that?” Drummond asked, afraid to believe things might finally be turning in his favor.

The blacksmith, who introduced himself as O’Malley, looked at the picture and nodded. “That’s him all right—a nasty son of a bitch if I ever met one. I came close to throwing him out of here.”

“Sounds about right,” Drummond said. “He didn’t happen to say why he was sellin’ the horse or where he might be headed?”

“No sir, Marshal. He didn’t volunteer nothin’, and I didn’t say more to him than was necessary for conductin’ our business. But I can tell you the horse was sound enough. Just in need of some rest and food. That Trask had pretty much run him into the ground.”

“What’s he wanted for anyway?” the apprentice asked, his eyes glittery with excitement.

“Murder,” Drummond told him solemnly, “and other things you don’t want to know.”

Tom opened his mouth as if he was about to dispute that assumption, but he closed it again without saying a word.

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