Judgment Day (The Lawmen Western #3) by J.B. Dancer

Author:J.B. Dancer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: elmore leonard, zane grey, louis lamour, cormac mccarthy, western ebooks, old west fiction, piccadilly publishing westerns, william m johnstone, ralph compton, johnny legg
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Nine

FISHER HAD MANAGED to move his hobbled body across thirty yards of dry rock. It had taken him a long time.

The ropes that held him bound burned his skin where they touched. Because his arms were pinioned back behind him, his shoulder blades ached and cursed each time he moved. The material of his pants was shredded at the knees and the exposed legs were grazed through almost to the flesh beneath.

There was a bruise on his left hip from where he had tried to hop and fallen heavily sideways.

With each jolt of pain and every incursion into his body Fisher thought of the four men and wished them dead.

Ed.

Roy.

Danny.

?

The boy. He didn’t know the boy’s name. Only the shape of his face, the long dark hair, the silent grace of his body when he moved. He didn’t know his name. But he would. And then he would kill him.

Fisher remembered the laugh on the boy’s lips as he had mounted his horse and looked down at the tied shape they were leaving behind in the middle of a desert of canyons and buttes. Without an animal to ride, without either food to eat or water to drink; with only his life—so that he would be able to appreciate the process of his own dying all the better.

Well, the boy had proved that he was quicker and quieter than Fisher had thought possible. But he had not shown that he was ruthless—and that was one thing Fisher excelled in.

He forced his body backwards, propelling it now with his heels, moving slowly and painfully towards the edge of the circular stretch of rock on which he had been stranded.

At least it was not too hot: not as hot as when the strength of the sun made it impossible to stand on the ground even in boots.

Instead a breeze, no, a wind, swung round the edge of red rock and struck into Fisher’s face, biting at it. Endless tiny particles of sandstone were flung into his eyes like needles. The eye corners stung and smarted: the softer skin of his lips felt almost raw.

Another couple of feet and he would be able to reach; to rub the length of rope holding wrists and ankles together and finally to split the strands.

Fisher rocked backwards and forwards, keeping both eyes shut tight, listening for sounds of anything or anyone approaching—returning.

Thinking all the while, thinking of how it would be.

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