Kill Crazy, page 2
She shook her head and he watched her walk away, and then watched her return, riding Mel’s horse. She flapped the saddle-bags at him and he saw her through a descending mist.
“Tell the posse ‘howdy’ for me,” she said. “Sorry you didn’t understand me, Tom.” She turned the horse and rode off toward the pass.
He lay for a long time like that. He saved his strength. Somehow he had to last long enough to explain to the riders on their backtrail.
He heard them coming, finally, late that night. He even saw them against the moonlit slope, riding past, talking among themselves, not fifteen paces away.
He strained to call to them.
He couldn’t make a sound.
He couldn’t move.
He lay that way for two days before he died, and they never did find him. His brother, either.
Gil Brewer, Kill Crazy
