Huitt's Trail

Unexpectedly, a loud crash came from the thick undergrowth. The bush parted, and a black charger leaped right into the middle of the makeshift camp. Mounted on the back of the snorting animal was a large man with a dingy boater on his head and a deep scar across his left cheek. In his left hand, he held the reins of the well-built animal, in the other a Colt revolver. Brit Smith pulled the trigger of the cocked pistol, and a flash of smoke and sparks flew from the barrel. Blood flew from the man’s chest, who had been sitting on the second wagon, as he toppled off of the seat backward. Smith steered the horse, and wielded the weapon at the man on the first wagon. Another loud roar, the man flew from his seat . . .