Part 4 (1/2)
The mob exploded with laughter. Hank's ”four” was lost amidst his snorts and squeals.
Jack thrashed about in the mud, trying to get up. For a moment, he thought the creek had snared him. Wiggling each foot, he managed to wrench his boots free. Then he stood and ran.
”Five-gittup!”
The earth rumbled behind him.
He's gonna take his medicine.
The land appeared in the glow of Hank's torchlight.
”I see you, Devlin!”
You wanna play?
The hit was like a cannonball between his shoulders. Pain exploded throughout his body as he left the ground and tumbled into the air. He seemed to linger for a moment, hovering like a dragonfly, and then crashed into a thatch of p.r.i.c.kly weed.
The world pitched like a spinning wheel. Hank appeared above him, his face and torch and horse whirling like spokes. ”Pathetic,” he said. ”You didn't even try, Devlin. You don't deserve thish-this-hone-or ... honor ... this...”
The drunk tumbled from his horse and he fell to the ground. The torch fell into the thick, wet gra.s.s. As it hissed and extinguished itself, he saw Hank get to his feet and hobble toward him.
Then the darkness swallowed them both.
”Please,” Jack said, trying to stand. ”Please, Hank, I didn't-”
A fist cracked him on the chin. Jack bit his tongue and blood gushed into his mouth.
”Thish is my town,” Hank said, his breath of rank whiskey on Jack's face. ”My town. You don't come into my town and destroy my prop-ter-tee. Proper-tees. My girls.”
Another punch.
Jack tried to roll away, but Hank fell on him. ”Take your med-s.h.i.+n!” He gripped Jack's head and slammed it onto the ground. Jack grabbed a handful of thistles and swiped blindly at Hank's face, digging into his skin and sending the fat man rolling off him, howling in agony.
He tried to crawl, but Hank caught his ankle.
”Stop it!” Jack cried, twisting onto his back and kicking with his free leg. He connected with bone. Hank let out a strangled growl and was silent.
”Stop it,” Jack screamed at him, the tears hot on his face. ”Stop it!”
”Hank!”
The others were coming, their torches bouncing toward him like giant fireflies. Jack scrambled to his feet and dashed up the rise in the land, scratching and clawing like a fox in the scant lead of a hound pack.
He reached the top and the ground leveled out.
He ran.
Chapter Four.
BAM BAM BAM!.
”Tom.”
BAM BAM BAM!.
”Tom, someone's at the-”
BAM!.
Tracker's eyes opened. Caroline was shaking him. ”Wake up,” she groaned. ”Someone's trying to break down our door. Please make them stop.”
”Devlin,” Tracker said, rolling out of bed.
Something had gone horribly wrong. The boy got out of his cell and Don shot him, or Don shot him while he tried to get out of his cell, or someone came for him and Don shot that someone.
”Don?” Tracker said, still trying to shake off the sleep as he stood.
He pulled open the front door.
It was Liza again.
”Sheriff,” she said. ”Come quick!”
Tracker slipped into his coat as he left the house. He rubbed his hands together and blew into them.
”I didn't know what to do,” Liza said. ”But all h.e.l.l's come down.”
”What happened?”
”They took Jack.”
”Took him?” Tracker said. ”Took him where?”
”To do a rundown behind Hannigan's Tree.”
”He dead?”
”Escaped.”
”How?”
”Hank chased after him, they scuffled, Jack won.”
”Hank rode a horse?” Tracker asked, b.u.t.toning his coat.
”I hardly believed it myself,” Liza said, her voice s.h.i.+vering. ”They took Hank to the Doc's. He's hurt bad.”