Red Grass

Nearly half the distance covered. Fifty yards or so. A little more of the man had crept into view, the thrust of his legs and buttocks... Trotting forward eagerly, weight on his toes, Blaine stepped onto loose shale. It had been hidden from him by a crease in the broad rock face, and he had no warning. His book skidded, and he went down in a rattle of loose rock. Sprawling, he lost the Winchester. his hands went out to break his fall, and he felt a quick cool slice of pain across his right palm. The man at the bluff's edge whirled about, sunlight glinting off the long barrel of the rifle in his hands. Blaine couldn't see the face under the man's black hat. There was only a glimpse of drab and dusty clothes, a slight figure, a flash of mouth and chin, and then the spurt of flame from the muzzle of the rifle.


Genre: Literary Fiction