Not So Innocent . . .

Slocum turned his attention to the next lowlife, who hadn’t made much progress in getting the girl to the alley. The man growled and grunted, all the while trying to rip her purse from her arms.

With a quick, short jab to the head, Slocum dizzied the lad enough that he lessened his grip on the girl’s face. Then Slocum set himself up for another punch, this time to the man’s now exposed midsection. Just before he landed it, the kid yowled a blue streak and lurched forward into Slocum’s fist. It caught the kid square in the chest and he spun sideways, and kept spinning as if he were a schoolkid trying to dizzy himself up.

Soon enough he righted himself and took off lurching down the street.

Slocum dropped to a knee and extended his hands to help the girl. “Miss, you okay? Did they hurt—”

But that was all he was able to say because he felt a hot stab of pain in his left side, just below the ribs. “What did you do?” He pulled away his fingers and saw, in the scant light shed from the saloon windows, that his fingertips glistened. “You stabbed me.” He looked at her. “You stabbed me!”

“I . . . I thought you were one of them.”

He straightened up as she approached him, stiffening and turning his good side toward her. “You better think twice before you cut me again. Woman or no, I’ll lay you out cold.”