Saturday, March 06, 2010
An eerie feeling came over me when I first took a close look at this one. “I’ve been there,” I said to myself, and that’s weird since I’ve never been in the desert southwest except for just passing through. That’s when it struck me.
Years ago I accidentally took a job which required me to fly to various countries. The flights were long and boring, so to occupy my time, I took to reading Louis Lamour westerns.
I had a slug in my shoulder and felt myself getting weaker with each step. If I didn’t do something right now, Hanson’s gang would be on me. I’d be dead Jesse's ghost. All I could think about was that little yellow-haired gal, a bit narrow between the eyes but cute as a button.
Since it was only about an hour before sunset, I decided to slide down into a winding arroyo and hunker down for the night. I could build a hat-size fire, boil a little water and clean my wound. I had three bullets left, and there were seven Hanson boys only about six miles down my back trail. The night would be cold, and the air smelled of murder . . .
