Chapter 1
Pink at Sunset
Early Spring, April 3rd, 1862
After breakfast a few miles northwest of New Madrid, Missouri, on a slight ridge overlooking a ford of St. John’s Bayou
Longshot eased his shoulders back while watching intently over the front sight of his long-barreled rifle. His eyes were focused in the distance. The gun’s recoil was recently passed, yet only faintly noticed. He was aware of the small curl of smoke ebbing from the muzzle of the custom Sharps rifle. He also noticed the pinch in his nose from the burnt powder. He always did.
Nearly a half-mile distant from his hidden position, a uniformed rider turned in his saddle seeking the source of the shot’s report reaching his ears, just in time to present his head and torso directly toward the oncoming projectile. It entered neatly through the man’s chest, passing through and crushing his spine. He was dead instantly. At least Longshot hoped that was the case.
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