Howdy folks,
Welcome to the exclusive newsletter-only preview of my next Sheriff Sol Redding adventure. This is from the first 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 offsider Jasper (and Jasper’s hound Gizzard) are exploring the depths of a long-abandoned silver mine when things suddenly go from bad to worse…
*starts*
The dog suddenly froze, nose to the ground and tail in the air. The hound bristled and growled, low and menacing. Jasper peered into the blackness. “What is it, boy?” he whispered.
“Better not be another skunk,” Sol growled. “I ain’t forgiven you yet for the last one.” He held the lantern higher to get a better view. Gizzard pressed against his leg, growling and trembling. “What is it?” Sol whispered. His whisper echoed in the darkness.
“Not sure,” Jasper murmured. He took a few more steps. Bedrolls, food tins and the remains of an campfire lay scattered along the tunnel. He picked up a torn cloth sack with the words ‘FIRST BANK OF COLORADO’ printed on the side. Jasper closed his eyes. “Uh oh.”
Sol held his lantern over Jasper’s shoulder. “Wait, what is that? Yours?”
Jasper reached up and trimmed Sol’s lantern. “Too bright,” he complained. He dropped the sack and looked around him, his heart thumping. A ribbon of smoke curled up from the campfire. His blood ran cold. “Time to skedaddle, sheriff, this was a bad idea.”
Jasper turned and trod on Gizzard’s paw. The dog yipped and leaped in the air, knocking the lantern from Sol’s hand. It hit the ground and snuffed the light out.
“Damn it, Jasper” Sol’s voice echoed along the tunnel. He stood motionless in the pitch blackness. Sweat stung his eyes, and his Schofield seemed to weigh him down. Gizzard’s nose touched his leg, and he patted the dog. “Get us out of here, boy.”
Something scraped in the darkness. Sol froze, fingers of ice running up his spine. “Was that you, old man?”
“Hell no.” Sol heard the fear in the prospector’s voice. “Hell, it’s them ghosts ’n specters.” Jasper’s voice almost cracked. “I’m sorry boys, didn’t mean to stir you up. I’ll just take my leave.”
“Get a hold of yourself, you old fool.” Sol’s heart pounded like a drum. The darkness weighed down on him like a hot blanket.
Gizzard turned tail and scampered away along the tunnel. The prospector cursed loudly. “Get back here, you cur.”
His shout echoed away to nothing. In the silence Sol heard something new echo along the tunnel. Is that… growling? “Jasper, Gizzard had the right idea. It’s time to go.”
Sol started feeling his way back towards the exit. In the pitch black the rough stone walls were cold to the touch. The silence was broken by the sound of a hammer being cocked on a revolver. Sol’s stomach dropped and he put a hand on his holstered Schofield. “Old man, I thought you said we wouldn’t need a shootin’ iron.”
Jasper’s voice quavered in the darkness. “That wasn’t me.”
Footsteps approached from behind him. A match flared, and someone pressed a gun barrel into the back of Sol’s head. The cold metal sent shivers along his spine. Sol closed his eyes. Aww, hell.
A gruff voice echoed behind him. “Don’t move a muscle, senor. This ain’t your lucky day.”
What did you think? Like it? Hate it? Let me know at nick@nickbrumbywesterns.com