Death In the Lost River by Avram B. Cross

Author:Avram B. Cross
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: best thriller story, new thriller story, new suspense story, new mystery story
Publisher: Mystery & Thriller Publishing
Published: 2022-09-10T00:00:00+00:00

V

DILLON’S arm shot out as the blade flashed down. If he had erred by a fraction of an inch the knife would have reached his body. But his fingers closed around Jerome’s wrist in a grip of steel, his rigid arm turned the thrust aside.

Jerome, his face livid, tried to wrench the knife free, but Dillon hung on like grim death. It meant his finish if Jerome wrested that knife away for a moment. And as Dillon forced the man’s arm down into the weeds he realized that he had given Jerome too much rope, had underestimated the man’s desperation.

Jerome had not been fooled. He knew Dillon had seen that bullet hole in Thalberg’s forehead and recognized it for what it was.

Jerome’s left arm lashed out. He smashed at Dillon’s face with a clenched fist, but the Mounty’s grip did not relax. He hooked his free arm around Jerome’s neck, twisted suddenly aad forced the enemy over on his side. Jerome struggled frantically to get the knife free. They wrestled silently among the bushes.

Dillon struck coolly and savagely at the other man’s face, but with the effort his grip on the wrist slackened and by a violent effort Jerome tore his arm free. The knife flashed again as Dillon flung himself out of the way. The blade ripped the sleeve of his shirt. He doubled up his knees and kicked out as Jerome drew the knife back for another blow.

His boots caught the man fair in the chest. Jerome went sprawling back. Dillon sprang up and plunged at him, risking another knife thrust, but he managed to knock the arm aside, and the force of the blow sent the knife spinning off into the bushes.

They went at it then, hammer and tongs, a savage battle without rules or niceties. Feet, knees, elbows, fists— every trick of rough-and-tumble fighting was called on in that bitter struggle on the hillside. Dillon had the advantage of youth, but Jerome was a powerful man, for all his age, and was evidently no stranger to this sort of combat. He snatched up a rock as they wrestled, plunging, battered it against the side of Dillon’s head.

The Mounty was dazed, but he got a deadly grip on Jerome’s throat and hung on until the other man’s eyes bulged, his face turned blue, his tongue protruded. By a superhuman, convulsive effort Jerome arched his back, flung Dillon over, wrenched himself free. Dillon flew at him again, and Jerome’s fist smashed into his face. He was almost drunk with punishment, but he traded blow for blow until Jerome rolled away, got to his knees and then struggled to his feet.

Dillon got up and they faced each other, swaying, eyes glaring. Dillon stumbled in. Their faces were smeared with blood; their shirts were in tatters. Dillon feinted as he came close. Jerome lashed out with his left, and Dillon dodged the blow, came up under it and drove a vicious smash to the other man’s jaw. Jerome staggered back, his eyes glazed.

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