Max Brand

The Sheriff Rides Max Brand

At timberline, John Signal paused. Before him, the pass narrowed to a gorge, dark and silent as a throat of iron; behind him, the slope dipped and folded like a sea heaped up by some prodigious wind until it descended to the green of the valley, far off and quiet as standing water. By shading his eyes and peering, he could discern that glimmer of green clearly in spite of the blue mist of distance; and clear as a streak of quicksilver he made out the face of the river. Where the bright mark divided, there was the village which had been home to him. He never would see it again!