A Grave for Lassiter Read Online Free PDF Page B

still clutched his revolver. He fumbled it into his holster and remembered that the belt that held up his pants was missing. He stood with right hand anchored against a stunted pine to keep his knees from caving.
    â€œVance!” he tried again but the voice was as feeble as before.
    Suddenly he was aware of something crashing through the dry brush. His hand dropped to the gun, missing the butt. He had to make a second try. Then he saw that his black horse had produced the sound in the brush. It came prancing upgrade from the gully between the hills, reins still tied to the saddlehorn.
    â€œGood boy,” Lassiter said hoarsely and the animal came up to where he swayed unsteadily.
    The black horse stood patiently while he tried to mount. His breath was rasping when he finally reached the saddle. There he slumped, head down. Although he knew it was only a little past noon, the world seemed to be darkening. He got the horse into motion.
    Somehow he had to get help. He thought of the blonde Vanderson seemed so sweet on. What was her name? Melody. A strange name. Perhaps Vance Vanderson with his coward’s heart would be with her. He and the girl would help him.
    Desperately he tried to think where he could find the girl. Oh, yes, she ran a freight line with headquarters in Bluegate.
    As he rode the horse at a walk, he wondered if Melody knew that Vance Vanderson was yellow. From the crown of his head to his big toe. He started to laugh as he pictured the handsome boyish Vanderson lowered into a vat of bright yellow and pulled up at the end of chain, dripping paint. Laughter sent a knife of pain into his body. For a moment the day seemed to darken even more. He squeezed his eyes shut in the hope of steadying himself in the saddle. When he opened them the world seemed out of shape.
    His mind moved sluggishly, like an overloaded wagon being pulled up a steep grade. It dawned on him that possibly Vanderson, in fleeing, now lay under the tons of ceiling rock that Lassiter had escaped by sheer luck. He rode on and on, the horse travelling at a patient pace.
    Lassiter’s head bobbed at each step of the horse on the rough terrain. After a time he tried to figure out where he might be. Behind him mountain peaks were lost in a great sea of clouds. He was going away from the mountains, not toward them. And at the same time he realized he was on a road of sorts, a path paved with wheel tracks through the wilderness. But the road had to lead somewhere; to a town, a ranch or an isolated mine.
    As this was sliding through his fuzzy mind, he felt himself falling. Instinctively he flung a forearm across his face. His arm took the brunt of the fall. It was a few minutes before he realized he lay with his head against the primitive road, his left leg straight out and elevated. His foot was jammed in the stirrup. When he tried to work it loose, he lacked the strength. The slight exertion brought the warmth of fresh blood from his wound.
    If that horse runs, he thought, I’m a goner. How ignominous an end for Lassiter, whose early demise had been predicted for years, as shot to death in a gunfight or hanged at the end of a vigilante rope. Instead, to be dragged to death by his own horse.
    Lassiter wanted to laugh at the incongruity, but he swam in pain and it was useless to try.
    He still had his gun. Could he kill the horse and thus eliminate any danger of his skull disintegrating against rocks or stiff underbrush if the animal panicked for some reason and broke into a blind gallop?
    No, he could never cold-bloodedly dispose of such a devoted friend. Not even to save his own life. Somehow he would survive. Someone would come along and find him.
    â€œEasy, boy,” he heard himself say. The black ears twitched.
    It was the last he remembered. The earth just seemed to float out from under, leaving him suspended in midair.

Chapter Five
    Ed Kiley was still frightened after his miraculous escape from the mine. He had hung around the