A Grave for Lassiter Read Online Free PDF

great roaring tortured his eardrums. A haze of dust as thick as river fog churned up as more rocks began to fall. Visibility was restricted because of the choking dust. He could no longer see Holzer nor hear him, but he located his own .44.
    Somehow he staggered toward the rear of the mine that he knew had an opening at the far end. More rocks tumbled from the ceiling. The ground shook even harder underfoot. As he had predicted, the concussion of gunfire had caused the unstable ceiling to start giving way. Sound waves had triggered a partial collapse of the tunnel. How long before it became complete?
    The possibility jarred through his pain. Fortunately, so far he had been able to evade the falling rock. But how much longer would his luck hold?
    In the distance he could barely make out faint day-light. He came to the first of the deep holes and edged around it as Vanderson had done. Damn Vance. If he had stayed put instead of running like a panicked cat they could have stood off the pair near the mine entrance. But Vanderson in his mindless flight had drawn them deeper into the tunnel.
    Rock was still falling when he reached the second, deeper hole. He staggered to the edge and nearly lost his balance. Then he was groping toward the gray fog of daylight through the dust, thankful he had a way out without having to fight his way back to the entrance. He was in no condition to cope with Holzer and Kiley now. He knew that Kiley had suffered a superficial wound to the left hand but was still dangerous. Because of the churning dust, he had no idea of Holzer’s condition. Thankfully the mine was an extended tunnel under a long hill.
    He never did know how he stayed on his feet. His back throbbed. His whole left side was wet. Blood ran down his pants leg and into his boot. It made squishing sounds as he managed to continue his staggering run.
    At last warm sun touched his face. Here was thick brush and some rusted tools, shovels and picks with broken handles.
    â€œVance!” He thought he was yelling, but his voice was a bare whisper. Three times he tried to reach Vanderson, but with no luck. Perhaps the man was still running in his desperation to flee danger.
    No longer did Lassiter hear the thud of falling rock from the tunnel. But dust in great clouds boiled out the exit.
    It took concentration to form his mouth and tongue into position for a blasting whistle. His first try was a pitiful sound that could be heard for only a few feet.
    Even that slight effort drained him. He fell to his knees. The shock of striking the ground brought a new spasm of pain that beat on him like a club. A great pounding threatened to pull him under into darkness. It was as if someone held a red hot poker against the jagged flesh the bullet had torn in his back. His head was a giant throbbing pulse.
    He had to get away before Holzer and Kiley realized there was an exit to the mine and came around the hill to trap him. He managed somehow to pry himself into an upright position. His legs seemed made of India rubber. Faintly now he was aware of running water and saw a creek meandering along a slot between the mine hill and the one that adjoined it. Although the sun had slid under a bank of stormy clouds, he could feel himself sweat. His body was soaked with it. Beads of light danced behind his eyes.
    To come all this way through a dangerous life on the frontier and turn his back—turn it just once to go after Herm’s cowardly stepson . . . Once was all it took, just a shaved second of carelessness and a lucky shot from Holzer’s gun. And the result? He was at the edge of oblivion. His teeth chattered as if he stood barefoot on a glacier.
    Taking a deep breath, he shaped his mouth a second time around a whistle. This time the sound was shrill, born of desperation. It blasted its way along a curve in the brushy hill and through a narrow gulch with the rush of a small creek he remembered from years back. For the first time he realized he