BLOWN AWAY

Slocum scrambled as the road agent greeted him with repeated shots from his six-gun. Slocum swung about, pulled his rifle, and aimed at the crate of explosives next to the man. His first round missed and whined off into the night. The second hit the dynamite square on. For a moment, nothing happened—then a giant windstorm lifted him and threw him down the hill.

Somewhere along the way he lost his Winchester, but the pain was so intense in his arms and face he hardly noticed. He landed, rolled, and came to a halt as he was pelted with rocks from above. Most were small, but one grazed his forehead and knocked him back. Then the world turned entirely black, as a cloud of choking dust washed over him, and he was buried in a rain of stone. . . .