The D.A. Breaks a Seal

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The transcontinental Pullmans, creaking like some huge snake whose vertebrae had gone dry, crawled across the last weary miles of desert. Joshua palms, thrusting up grotesque spine-covered arms, made the scenery resemble some fantastic reconstruction of life on another planet. Yet within forty minutes the train would wind its way through a canyon and shortly thereafter glide through the dark green of fertile orange groves.

Doug Selby, distinguished looking in his major’s uniform, and with five days of his furlough still to run, let his eyes drink in the familiar scenery. The train topped a summit, and Selby knew that he was once more in Madison County, where for years he had been the district attorney. Rex Brandon, the grizzled ex-cowboy who had been elected sheriff at the same bitterly contested election, had gone into the courthouse with him, and the pair had stayed in there, fighting an organized opposition, until that fateful December seventh when a bigger, more desperate fight had called Doug Selby into the Army.

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