The Wrong Man — George G. Gilman

Giant redwoods clinging to the slopes of the Coastal Range as it drops down to the blue Pacific Ocean.Man stretched out on the wide deserted beach right by the water’s edge. Surf may be up but he’s paying no mind. Not working on his tan either on account of his being fully dressed. Just lying there quite still on account of he’s dead.Bullet hole drilled clean between the shoulder blades. Near him a horse, a black gelding, edgy, close to being spooked, while another man, black hair, maybe some Apache blood in him, searches through the saddle bags. Hurried.Not the sort of picture a tourist brochure would use. But a scene to freeze the blood of a man called Steele. Especially when he looks into the dead man’s face and discovers his own double.