It was no man’s land
because every man claimed it!
THE BURNING PRAIRIE
A couple of bullets screamed through the window, and Harry Mullins’ trophy trout split in two.
Harry Mullins was the supply sergeant who’d offered the scout free use of his lakeside cabin. Mullins was going to be mighty sore, Jordan reflected as he lit a fresh stogie from the burning roof fragment.
Jordan had promised Mullins that he’d look after the shack.
The Army scout wasn’t the type whose life flashed before his eyes every time his life was in danger. Otherwise he’d have done little else in recent years but look back on his relatively brief span on the spinning globe.
As usual, the scout was concentrating almost exclusively on how he might best keep a whole skin . . . and a whole scalp.
Stay and fry — run and die.