Essay on The Juniper Trees
His eyes traveled to the woman who’d ignored her husband when they rode into camp—maybe she wouldn’t even miss him. No harm would come to her. He had his orders and those were to kill Masters. The sides of his lips turned up. He’d take great pleasure in killing the man responsible for his mangled leg and the scars he’d received from the Scarlett Rose.
Ready now, Duvall checked his Winchester and slunk low, passing over the prickly pear, and coming up behind the boulders. He needed one clear shot. His rifle barrel edged between the boulders and slid into the open. So close, he could almost touch Masters’ woman. His foe wouldn’t live to see another day.
Shouts and whistles sent the cattle into the corral. She kneed her horse within a few yards of the commotion and dismounted. A frightened calf bolted and slid headfirst down the muddy sides of the creek.
Masters scrambled into action, letting his lasso fly around the startled animal’s neck. While the gelding kept the rope taut,…