High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1 Read Online Free PDF

boy,” snapped the Judge.
    “We'll
pick up his trail tomorrow Zeb. We know he's headin' towards the
border,” the sheriff spoke matter of factly.
    The
judge struggled to his feet and looked his brother hard in the eyes,
his flabby jowls quivered with pent up rage, “I don't care if
the killer gets across the damn border into Canada. We will not stop
until he is dead. Do you understand?”
    The
Judge looked around the group and lay down the challenge, “Do
you all understand? When you rode out of Rock Springs you signed on
until the end,” he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled
out his imported Webley Bulldog pocket revolver, “I will damn
well shoot any man who tries to back out!”
    “Ease
up Judge,” Jeb cautioned, “no man's backin' out. You keep
that up and we'll be buryin' you next.”
    The
big man put his gun away and sat down, “Just you make sure they
don't”
    “We'll
ride to Four Trails swing station tomorrow Judge,” Jeb
explained to his brother, “He'll have to ride through there to
get to the border. Besides, he can't hide forever. That damn horse of
his is a dead give away. We should reach there sometime in the
morning, of course that depends on how much them damn townsfolk slow
us down.”
    Judge
Zebulon Coltrain gave no indication that he'd heard his brother's
last words. He just sat and stared at the orange flames of the camp
fire as it flickered in the dark and licked hungrily at the small
branches that fed its being. The fire would slowly devour the wood
just as the burning hatred in the Judge would eventually consume him.

    *

    One by
one, the outlaws at Four Trails fell into a deep slumber, helped
along by the contents of three bottles of whiskey from behind the
bar. Laramie watched them intently from under the brim of his dark
coloured Stetson as they dropped off.
    It was
almost midnight, and Lone Wolf and Slate had been on watch for three
hours. At one point, Laramie had thought that not all the outlaws
would give in to the peaceful murmurings of sleep.
    The
sandy headed Cato was the last to succumb and it wasn't long before
his soft snore joined the chorus of the others.
    With a
small sigh of relief, Laramie eased his feet from the chair they
rested on and slowly tilted the Stetson back so he could see more
clearly in the low glow of the lantern light. He sat up and
cautiously looked for any indication that the outlaws were aware of
his movements.
    None
of them stirred, so Laramie, careful to make no noise, stood up and
waited before he moved. Stealthily he crept towards the door which
Sally waited behind nervously.
    Laramie
tried the handle and it turned easily. He pushed the door open and
slipped through the narrow gap. He closed the door and the latch
clicked shut. He heard Sally expel an anxious breath.
    “Thank
God it's you Laramie,” she whispered, “I was beginning to
think you weren't coming.”
    Laramie
placed a hand on her arm to quiet her, “When we leave, the only
way to go is through that main area where the outlaws are sleeping.
Try to be as quiet as possible. If anything goes bad, run out the
door and don't look back. Slate will get you away from here.”
    “What
about you?” The concern was clear in her hushed tone.
    “Don't
worry about me. Slate will have horses ready. You get on one and
don't stop until you are well clear of here. He will take you to your
father.”
    “Okay.”
    “Are
you ready?” he asked.
    “Yes,”
Sally answered apprehensively.
    Laramie's
voice grew grim, “Follow me.”
    He
stood before the door and took a deep breath, then dropped his hand
to one of his Remingtons, drew it from its holster, and thumbed back
the hammer. It was hard to tell which was louder, the triple click of
the gun, or the sound of his breath, as both seemed thunderous in the
darkness.
    Laramie
levelled his hand gun and once more opened the door. It gave a slight
squeak and to his ears, it sounded like someone had dropped an armful
of pots and pans on the floor.