Steel Trails of Vengeance

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Numerous small groups of people clustered along the dusty main street of Richfield as Jeff Danner guided his weary horse across the plank bridge at the east edge of town. Ahead of him rode his two prisoners—Ears Dooley, comically giant ears protruding from a narrow head, and rotund Sam Dooley, brothers unalike except for vicious dispositions. Sam slouched shapelessly with the gentle gait of his tired mount, but Ears held his scrawny back rigidly straight in the saddle to show the gaping spectators his defiance.

Danner shook off the weariness that gripped him, thankful that the bright morning sun beat against his back instead of into his eyes. With the back of his hand he scrubbed a week's beard stubble.

The Dooleys looked neither right nor left as they passed the first of the spectators. Hostility weighed heavily in the air, only a small portion of it aimed at the two prisoners. Only a few—a very few—of the onlookers favored Danner with anything resembling friendliness.

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