The man came into the border town at dawn. He sat tall in his saddle, and he was a tall man. A handful of inches over six feet, but slim and wiry. He was some dirty, and a week’s worth of stubble smudged his rawboned face. Behind him, the desert heat was building and the red sun was rising like a phoenix. It had been a hard ride, but Thane Johnson was a man used to hardship.
He sprang from the saddle and threw his reins over the strangest looking hitching post he had ever seen. Looking up and down the quiet street, he realized that it wasn’t just the hitching post. This was the strangest town he had ever seen. And he had seen many. Continue reading “The Double Shot. (for Louis L’Amour)”