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Hills of Fire — Dorothy Daniels
NO ONE BID HER WELCOME.
No one was at the station to meet Judy Lange. Alone and unguided, she began her climb to the mountain top estate her father had bequeathed her.
Suddenly, shots rand out, and her borrowed horse bolted and threw her. Bruised and frightened, she stumbled to a nearby cabin where smoke curled from a chimney.
But no warming fire glowed in the hearth. In the deserted cabin, atop a catafalque of boxes, stood a coffin. A "burying stick" was propped in a corner. It was used to measure bodies here in the hill country -- and it was just about her size...
No one was at the station to meet Judy Lange. Alone and unguided, she began her climb to the mountain top estate her father had bequeathed her.
Suddenly, shots rand out, and her borrowed horse bolted and threw her. Bruised and frightened, she stumbled to a nearby cabin where smoke curled from a chimney.
But no warming fire glowed in the hearth. In the deserted cabin, atop a catafalque of boxes, stood a coffin. A "burying stick" was propped in a corner. It was used to measure bodies here in the hill country -- and it was just about her size...