“Lotsa blood. Yes sir, a good blood trail. But if there’s any justice in this world, you ain’t dead yet. When I take your crown, I want you to feel me ripping your scalp off. Just like my mama and papa when you took their crowns. I want you to scream just like they done.”
His mother and father? Was that the source of his hatred? I caught sight of him in my peripheral vision. He was afoot, carrying his rifle in one hand and a knife in the other. A moment later, he stood over me, his colorless, walled eyes glaring madly in two different directions. One was fixed on me.
“Yep. You ain’t dead. So I get the pleasure of watching you die when I slice you up, Joseph Otter. Joseph. That’s a blasphemy if I ever heard one. Giving a lying, thieving, murdering red belly a Christian name like that is sinful.”