Howdy folks,

Welcome to the exclusive newsletter-only preview of my next Sheriff Sol Redding adventure. This is from the final draft of the book as it stands today – it may change a little (or a lot!) by the time I publish. I just wanted to give you a taste of what’s coming…

The scene: Sol and his partner Abe find themselves in a mess of trouble in the middle of a cattle stampede. If the marauding rustlers don’t get the heroes, then the charging longhorns just might… i

*starts*

Gunshots crackled across the desert shrublands, sending a flock of crows cawing into the air. One round zipped by Sol’s ear, clipping his Stetson. Several longhorns whirled and lumbered away, bellowing.

Sol’s heart skipped a beat—would the rest of the herd follow? Just a few more seconds and he’d be at Chilli Joe’s side. Joe emerged from a cloud of dust at a gallop, two rustlers on his tail. Sol snapped his rifle to his shoulder and fired at the outlaw on the left, but his shot missed. Several longhorns bellowed as they galloped through the sagebrush, trailing dust clouds behind them.

Sol levered a round into breach. “No,” he growled. “The hell with this.”

He kicked his mare into a gallop, weaving between the charging cattle. The rustlers fired a volley at Chilli Joe, and his brown gelding tossed its head and squealed in agony before it pulled up, blood foaming from its chest.

While Joe fought to stay in the saddle, the two remaining outlaws flanked him. Sol raised his Winchester and sent another round in their direction, but his shots were blocked by a hapless longhorn. Sol cursed and squeezed his mare between a cow and her calf, trying to get a better angle. The rustlers wasted no time and fired at the injured Chilli Joe from point-blank range.

Sol’s heart sank. “No Joe, take cover.”

Chilli Joe slid from his saddle and fell under the hooves of the frenzied cattle. The two rustlers screamed like banshees and turned towards Sol, emptying their revolvers at him.

Sol ignored the lead flying past his head and felt his mare shift under him in a vain attempt to head off the stampede. It was a lost cause. Frantic cattle galloped in all directions, colliding with other longhorns, bellowing in distress, eyes rolling back, jaws foaming, horns tearing great gashes in each other. Sol backed off to spare his mare serious injury. The herd thundered away to the north, hooves flinging huge clods of earth into the sky as they ran through the sagebrush.

A rustler raised a Colt Navy and fired into the heavens. “Hot damn, look at them beeves go,” he crowed.

The outlaw turned towards Sol and the blood drained from his face. Sol had his Winchester pointed right between the man’s eyes.

The rustler raised his hand. “N-now wait a minute. You don’t have to—”

Suddenly he whipped his revolver up from behind his back. Sol squeezed his trigger, blasting a bullet through the rustler’s forehead. A cloud of blood and brains sprayed from the back of the outlaw’s head, and he flew backwards off his horse.

Sol looked at the corpse sprawled across the dirt. He let out a satisfied grunt. “Wrong, jackass.”

What did you think? Like it? Hate it? Let me know at nick@nickbrumbywesterns.com