Chapter Three
The Strange Letter
Slim, his hands reaching toward the heavens, turned slowly around in the moonlight. He was careful to make no false move for the bitterness in the voice of his unknown captor almost cut the night air.
The rays of the thin moon shone full on Slim’s face. The other man was hidden in the shadows, but Slim knew that a gun was trained on the middle of his body. He waited patiently. There was a snort of disgust from the unseen gunman.
“You can let your hands drop. I’ve got the wrong one. Just my luck.”
Afraid of a trick, Slim was slow in lowering his hands but once they were at waist level he felt safe. His revolver was still in the holster at his side and in a move almost too fast for the eye to follow he could draw the gun and fire with amazing rapidity and accuracy.
Shoes scraped over rocks and a form loomed out of the shadows. Then the moonlight revealed a youth about Slim’s own age. A rifle was cradled in one arm.
“Looks like we’re a fine pair,” chuckled the newcomer. “After you saved my hide from the skunks who tried to ambush me I turn around and show my gratitude by bushwhacking you. Darned wonder someone didn’t get killed in here tonight.”
“Who are you and what do you want?” snapped Slim, his anger still near the boiling point.
“I don’t blame you for being a mite peevish,” said the stocky cowboy. “Matter of fact, I don’t know altogether what has happened.”
“Who shot your horse down?”