Jess McCall hung onto the single thought lodged stubbornly in his mind. At least they ain’t killed you yet, son. And while he was still able to breathe he figured he had a chance. So thin as to be transparent, but a chance. His body was aching from being dragged behind a horse and his clothes were starting to shred. There was a egg-sized lump on the back of his skull where the one of his captors had whacked him with his pistol, blood streaking his face from being hit and one idiot was still cackling like an old woman as he went on about how he was considering stringing McCall up and making sure he was dead before they hauled him into town.
McCall’s forward motion stopped. He cracked one eye and looked around. From where he lay he could see the three horses belonging to the men who had brought him down and dragged him.
He tried to make sense of the whole damned thing. It wasn’t easy. Bouncing and rolling on the end of that rope had shaken his senses until coherent thought was difficult. He forced himself to concentrate, ignoring the pain and fought to recall how it had all started…
Then it came back to him.
The burning man.
That was where it started.
A screaming, writhing human form thrashing around on the ground in front of McCall. One minute he had been moving through the Colorado high country, minding his own business as he headed through the timbered slopes, admitting that it was a nice place for a quiet ride. A good day, with the sun slanting through the timber. The air fresh and clean. The brush was thick and green. He could see why anyone would settle here. It was big, spacious, and quiet.
That was until the burning man erupted from the brush just ahead of McCall. He was on fire from head to foot, his body enveloped in flame that ate at his flesh and clothing. For a moment McCall was frozen at the sight as the figure stumbled and crashed to the ground, rolling and squirming as he tried vainly to extinguish the fire. The sound coming from his throat was unnerving. It didn’t even sound human. A sound of pure terror ripped from the man’s very being.
Snapping out of the moment McCall dropped from his horse and yanked at his blanket roll, freeing it from the strings holding it together. He shook it out, moving towards the burning man. He wasn’t even sure if he could do any good but he also knew he had to do something.
He had barely reached the man when he sensed he wasn’t alone any longer. A quick glance and he saw three riders. They came boiling out of the brush, the leader a youngish man with a wild grin on his face. The ones behind him hard looking as they crowded the lead rider.
‘Mister, he don’t need that blanket,’ the man said, his grin widening. ‘Seems to me he’s warm enough.’ He burst into laughter, the sound high and shrill.
McCall ignored him and swung his blanket, ready to drop it over the man on the ground.
‘I said leave him.’ The young man waved a hand at one of his partners. ‘Buck, convince him.’
The one called Buck had already reached for the rope on his saddle. He uncoiled it with a practiced wrist and formed a loop. He pushed his horse forward, swinging the rawhide rope in McCall’s direction. McCall saw the loop dropping towards him and pulled back, letting go the blanket. He was too late. The loop dropped over his shoulders and tightened as the man called Buck snubbed his rope around his saddle horn and gigged his horse back. McCall felt the loop tighten, pinning his arms to his side. He lost his balance and went down, landing hard enough to knock his breath from his body.
McCall felt himself being dragged forward, unable to even reach for his holstered Colt. The rope was kept taut and he knew he wasn’t going to free it anytime soon.
‘Get this hombre on his feet.’
The third rider dismounted and stepped over McCall. He was a big man, wide shouldered, hair down around his collar and a straggling mustache adorning his upper lip. His expression was sullen as he kicked the Texan in his ribs. He reached down and pulled McCall’s Colt from its holster, tucking it behind his belt. Then he took hold of McCall’s shoulder and hauled him upright. No mean feat because McCall was six foot six and solid built.
‘All yours, Perry,’ the man said.
Perry had stepped down, a long barreled Henry rifle in his hand. He was still grinning as he faced McCall.
‘Well, boys, looks like we got our killer here,’ said. ‘Caught in the act. Standing over poor Sturdevant and watching him burn.’
‘You know that’s a damn lie,’ McCall said, understanding what was happening here.
‘Three against one,’ Perry said. ‘That’s the way it is, boy.’
The roper, Meers, leaned forward to spit tobacco juice. ‘Way I see it, Mister Culhane, why there we were riding peaceful like and we come across this feller attacking poor old Sturdevant. Lucky we showed up when we did.’
‘You see that too, Flag?’
‘Sure did.’
‘There you go,’ Perry said. ‘We got you, mister, and that’s how it’ll go when we haul your carcass to town.’
‘Son, you got to get me there first.’
‘Roped. No gun. Seems to me things aren’t going your way.’
The hell they aren’t, McCall decided, and without another thought he hauled off and kicked Perry hard between the legs. There was considerable force in the kick. Perry let out a high squeal, stumbling back. He dropped his rifle, both hands to his groin as he sank to his knees in pure agony.
The moment he delivered the blow McCall knew he was about to pay for it, so he derived all the satisfaction he could from seeing Perry in real pain.
Behind him, Flag snatched his pistol from its holster and used it to club the back of McCall’s skull, driving him down. Dazed by the solid blow McCall decided not to offer any more resistance. Even so that failed to prevent Perry, staggering upright, bunching his fists and punching McCall in the face a couple of times. Blood welled from split lips, spilling down McCall’s chin. He felt more coming from a gash in his cheek and from one over his left eye.
Well, son, you at least got in one good shot.
Knowing that didn’t make him feel any more comfortable.
McCall wasn’t aware of falling face down. Everything got hazy then. When he cleared his mind as much as he could he realized he had his writs roped and he was being dragged along behind one of the horses and managed to wonder if the day could get any worse.
Unfortunately for McCall it could and it did.