Free High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1 by B. S. Dunn

with a stick and caused it to flare, sending off
little sparks that danced in the night air before it died down again.
In the surrounding darkness, the croak of frogs was loudly
accentuated by the stillness of the night. Somewhere close, a wolf's
howl made the horses stir and fidget nervously. Slate stood and
walked over to the animals to soothe them.
    Laramie
stood and crossed the camp site to talk to Slate while Sally enjoyed
the small amount of warmth provided by the fire. After their
conversation, Slate picked up his rifle from beside his saddle and
walked out into the night.
    “Where
is he going?” Sally asked curiously.
    “He's
goin' to take watch,” Laramie explained, “just in case we
get any unwanted visitors.”
    “Do
we need to put the fire out?”
    The
gunfighter shook his head, “No, it should be alright. That was
why we set up in these rocks, it'll kill the glow of the fire some.”
    Sally
shivered, “I was hoping you would say that, it's getting cold.”
    “If
you turn in next to the fire and keep your blanket wrapped around
you, you should be fine,” Laramie explained.
    “I
hope you're right.”
    An
hour later, with Slate still on watch, Sally and Laramie rolled up in
their blankets and went to sleep on opposite sides of the fire. The
plan was, that in a few hours, Slate would wake Laramie, who would
take over watch. Like a lot of plans formulated throughout history,
this one didn't work out.

    *

    At
first Laramie couldn't work out what had roused him. The fire had
burned low, but he wasn't cold. Sally was asleep and peaceful, so
that wasn't it. There was a slight breeze in the trees which made a
low whistling sound. Apart from that, it was relatively quiet. Even
the...
    He
stopped and listened. The frogs, yes the frogs were too quiet.
Something had caused them to cease their song. They should still be
croaking, unless...
    Laramie
eased his hand out and wrapped it around the butt of one of his
Remingtons. He slid it slowly out of its holster. There came the
triple click of a gun hammer being eared back to full cock. It wasn't
his.
    “Just
put the gun down Davis, nice and easy,” came a low, familiar
voice.
    Laramie
cursed under his breath and put the pistol down.
    “Now
stand up, real slow.”
    He did
as ordered and once up, was face to face with the Sheriff of Rock
Springs.
    There
was a scream from Sally as Blackie Harbin dragged her roughly by the
hair and forced her to her feet. Laramie made to move to her aid but
was stopped short when the sheriff's six-gun dug into his ribs.
    Jeb
Coltrain smiled wickedly, “ I have someone with me who's been
dyin' to meet you.”
    The
sheriff nodded and there was a swift movement from behind. Something
hard smashed into the back of the gunfighter's head and caused him to
sink to his knees. His ears rang and through it all he heard Sally
scream again.
    Laramie
shook his head to clear the cobwebs and struggled to his feet. A
little shaken, he turned to faced his attacker.
    The
man was short and very rotund and his right hand held a large tree
branch. So that's what hit me, Laramie thought, then became aware of
the small trickle of blood on the back of his neck.
    “You
damned murderer,” cursed the Judge, “You killed my boy.”
    He
raised the branch to strike again, but Laramie's survival skills
kicked in before the Judge could start his downswing.
    The
gunfighter's head snapped forward and caught the Judge across the
bridge of his nose. Cartilage crunched and blood spurted as Zebulon
Coltrain emitted a howl of pain, staggered backwards and clutched at
his ruined nose.
    Jeb
Coltrain grabbed Laramie roughly about the throat and pressed his
Colt hard to the side of his head, “Do somethin' like that
again and we'll just hang you right here,” he warned.
    “Son
of a bitch,” the Judge cried out, “He broke my nose!”
    He
pulled his hand away from his face to find it covered in blood, “I'm
going to enjoy hanging you,” he spat a great glob of blood