CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE The next morning I woke at dawn and got dressed. I picked out a shirt that Chester had given me the last time he’d gone shopping. He’d ordered one of his fancy shirts, but when it’d come it’d been too big for him, so he’d given it to me. It was...
CHAPTER THIRTY I rode west on Trevitt’s horse, with my own rope hung over his saddlehorn. I was probably going to need it for Stobo, if he was as big as they said. As I rode, I kept fussing with the rope, and before I knew what I’d done, I’d made a noose. It scared me...
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE I cut straight down to the Arkansas and followed it west. I rode close to the water where I could use the sound of it for my cover. It wasn’t much of a flow here, but there’s something comforting to the sound of running water. Too bad I was in no...
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Riding gives a man lots of time to think. Some men fill up that time with whistling or humming or low singing. Some men talk to themselves, or their horses. I knew a man once who’d recited verses of poetry he’d memorized – Shakespeare and Virgil....
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN I stopped pacing when Doc came out of his back room. “How is he?” Doc sighed. Somehow it was worse than a head-shake. “He’s in bad shape, Marshal,” he said. He wasn’t calling me Matt. That was an even worse sign. “The worst is,” he said,...
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX By mid-afternoon I was back sitting in my office. The heat was back and almost unbearable. The kid was off with Shiloh again, though they’d be back any minute. They were just rubbing down Clay Richard’s strawberry roan, which the kid had taken quite...
Author David Blixt’s work is consistently described as “intricate,” “taut,” and “breathtaking.” A writer of Historical Fiction, his novels span the Roman Empire to early Renaissance Italy up through the Elizabethan era…READ MORE
