HERE’S TO DYIN’!
Blazer thought he shouted at the top of his lungs, but it was nothing more than a terrible, dry-throated whisper. Yet it brought results. Suddenly, the dying man could not only see the lean figure warily approaching but could actually hear his high-heeled riding boots on the stony creek bank and even distinguish the cold glint of moonlight on his gunrig and spurs.
This was no illusion. This was real. His last wish had been granted! This was no ghost. Sparger had come!
Blazer began firing.
He triggered at the lean figure, firing into the rapidly descending gray curtain, drilling one last vengeful bullet into the total blackness.
He died as he’d lived . . . full of hate.