The Flying Bloodhound by Homer Eon Flint

The Flying Bloodhound by Homer Eon Flint
Publisher: Musa Publishing
Genre: Action/Adventure, Historical, Suspense/Mystery
Length: Short Story (13 pgs)
Rating: 4.5 stars
Reviewed by Aloe

When an old prospector is murdered, a sheriff must seek unlikely sources to lead him to the killer–from the air.

Will Bastion has been prospecting for cinnabar–the ore that produces quicksilver–for years. Everyone in the valley knows it and most just think he’s crazy. So when Bastian turns up dead in a deserted old mine, most folks dismiss it as an accident.

Except for Sheriff Rogers, who just can’t shake the feeling that there’s some other reason for the old prospector’s death. So begins a game of cat and mouse between murderer and lawman–a game that would end up in a draw if it weren’t for one strange event the Sheriff noticed from his flying bloodhound–his blue-painted plane.

He’s a good shot. He’s all alone. There are no witnesses. He can kill the miner, hide the body and steal his claim. What could go wrong?

This story is an old-fashioned pulp western mystery written by an author who lived in that day and time. I enjoy reading fiction that is time period authentic and has a ring of truth to it. This story certainly does.

Mr. Flint wrote a short tale but the story is big and the unseen witness creates a very ironic ending. He paints you a picture of the wide open mountain land where hunting (whether animals or minerals) is allowed. It’s the abundance of animals that takes our killer to the mountains. Based on the author’s description of him, you almost think of him as an untamed animal, also.

The unique touch the author adds to this story is The Flying Bloodhound, which is a plane. Planes weren’t common on those days, but this sheriff can fly one and he uses it to get an aerial view of the crime scene. I doubt he would have put together the murder scene if he wasn’t flying above and got a bird’s eye view. There are no wasted words or actions in this story. Both characters are strong and determined.

I was disheartened to see that Mr. Flint died at 36. He has a writing style I can appreciate and would enjoy reading more of his work. There are other stories, but he might have even got around to writing a novel if he lived longer. Why not try this story yourself and see what you think. I’m betting you will not guess who the witness is. If you do, go ahead and brag. Otherwise just tell Mr. Flint mentally: “Good job!”

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