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Updated: June 29, 2025
Jim Asberry had not been outwardly armed when he left Spicer. But, soon, the brakeman's delicately attuned ears caught a sound that made him lie flat in the lee of a great log, where he was masked in clumps of flowering rhododendron. Presently, Asberry passed him, also walking cautiously, but hurriedly, and cradling a Winchester rifle in the hollow of his arm.
So long as it was broad daylight, and he displayed no hostility, he knew he was safe and he had plans. Standing before the Hollman store were Jim Asberry and several companions. They greeted Tamarack affably, and he paused to talk. "Ridin' over ter Misery?" inquired Asberry. "'Lowed I mout as well." "Mind ef I rides with ye es fur es Jesse's place?"
Each knew the other was bent on his murder. At Purvy's gate, Asberry waved farewell, and turned in. Tamarack rode on, but shortly he hitched his horse in the concealment of a hollow, walled with huge rocks, and disappeared into the laurel. He began climbing, in a crouched position, bringing each foot down noiselessly, and pausing often to listen.
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