Trail South from Powder Valley by Brett Halliday

Author:Brett Halliday
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497650541
Publisher: Open Road Media

11

Sam Sloan and Ezra drove their weary horses up Lonesome Creek canyon at a killing pace as the intermittent crackle of pistol and rifle fire continued to echo down between the canyon walls. Young Ben Andrews was right on their heels, though neither of them was giving him a second thought.

Sam was a few feet ahead of his heavier companion when his horse gave a snort of terror and leaped aside from the trail. Sam checked him and leaned from the saddle, saw the dim outline of a dead horse lying on its side, and a few feet beyond was a faint blur of darkness in the trail that looked like a man’s body.

Sam jumped from the saddle as Ezra and Andrews came thundering up. He wasted one close look at the dead horse and recognized Pat’s favorite roan—the one Pat was riding when he left Powder Valley. He shouted this information to Ezra while he trotted on to halt beside the limp body of Pat Stevens lying on his back in the trail. Pat’s face was turned up to the starlit sky and his eyes were closed. His features were as pallid as death, with a look of complete peace imprinted upon them.

Sam Sloan tugged off his hat before he dropped to his knees beside his stricken partner. He heard Ezra dismounting and clumsily coming toward him, was faintly conscious that the shooting was continuing up the canyon and that Andrews was spurring past in that direction, shouting something.

Sam didn’t know what Andrews shouted. He didn’t care what the youngster did, nor what the shooting was all about.

It had never before entered Sam’s mind that Pat Stevens was only human and would some day die like any other man. He had simply never thought about Pat that way. The three of them had often joked about death—as though it were something that happened to other people—as though it could never actually happen to them.

He touched his fingertips wonderingly to Pat’s forehead. Yep. The flesh felt cold as ice. He struck a match as Ezra lumbered up beside him. In the flickering circle of illumination he saw Pat’s disarranged clothing and the bloody bandages that Helen had applied some hours previously.

“Pat?” The single word was jerked disbelievingly from Ezra’s lips as he dropped to his knees beside Sam.

Sam nodded his uncovered head somberly. The yellow light of the match flickered out between his fingertips. Big, one-eyed Ezra lifted his hand and slowly pushed off his floppy black hat. In a voice that was choked with grief, he muttered, “Musta happened while we was arguin’ with the kid back yonder.”

Sam said, “Yep, I reckon.” He rocked back on his heels and forced his numb fingers to roll a cigarette.

Ezra asked, “What’re we gonna do?” Still in that choked tone of disbelief.

Sam thumbnailed a match. When he sucked flame into the crimped end of his cigarette the yellow light showed his dark features set in harsh lines of determination.

“Ain’t but one thing fer us to do,” he said after a time.

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