Devil's Manhunt (Stories From the Golden Age)
“Even the dogs failed to move out of the stranger’s path, but lay sluggish in their hollows of sand and suffered their fleas to bite. A drunken Indian was weaving an erratic course between the ’dobe houses of the single street, stopping now and then to shake a bottle at an imaginary foe. The stranger came abreast of the Indian and the redman straightened, looked up and sobered a little.Hunger was on the stranger’s face and guns, like a stamp. Man-hunger, with kill in his eyes.Zeke Tomlin had bee...n wiping the packing grease from a buffalo rifle. He looked at it and put it down. It was cool in the hardware store but there were no visitors. Zeke, the clerk, was alone behind the counter. A rack of guns backed him, each newly taken from its case. Zeke looked up at the stranger and felt sick and hot.It was a long time back to Mesa. Nine months. It was a long time back to the hunted trail he had followed away from there. He had thought it was all done and forgotten. And here was Les Harmon, riding through the hot white dust, come to kill him.It is a terrible thing to be hunted, Zeke knew that.MoreLess
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