The man turned and walked inside and Mosely watched him go, hating his guts.
A small man makes for a light body, the mud was slick and the youngster had no trouble dragging the old man into the pines. Mosely stumbled on the foundation of an old stone cabin that probably predated the Lawson’s establishment by twenty years, half-hidden by bunch grass and brush. It looked like the place had been built with a base of rough cut sandstone topped by logs. Over the decades the logs had rotted and most of the blocks had loosened and fallen, unless Apaches had attacked the cabin and deliberately pulled them down.
Whatever had happened, Josiah Mosely had found a fitting resting place for Professor Purdon. He would bury the old hero under a mausoleum of red stone.
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