Release of the Wild

“Nooo!” he heard Julep shout, then screams of rage from the woman echoed at him while he gained his feet. Slocum ran toward the struggling pair, a welter of flailing legs, dust, grunting, and screaming. They were too intertwined for him to shoot safely, so he jammed the Navy into his holster and dove onto what looked like the back of a young Apache.

Immediately the man bucked like a bronco and his sweaty skin proved tough to hang on to, but Slocum managed to slip an arm around the brute’s neck. Biting teeth and the clawing fingers of one hand lashed at him, stinging and drawing blood. Slocum felt it well on his skin, and it ignited a dormant urge to shake off the binding wraps of infirmity that had tightened about him for weeks since his unexpected drop into the canyon.

With a mighty bellow of rage, Slocum yanked hard backward, felt things inside the young man’s neck tightening, then slowly giving way to his crushing choke hold.