บท 70: Danger Duel
The two men marched towards each other while a hail of groans and cries explored the ranch. Deputies and Yurks were on the ground, some stiff, others feeling the life draw from them with each passing breath. The last of them stood engaged. Crushing bone, tearing flesh, and spilling blood. Each man with their own purpose to be there. And there own reason to stay upon the earth.
But none of that mattered now..
Jostice only saw the black eyes of the Yurk who approached him. Skin wrinkled though his veins swam beneath his skin like worms. And muscles protruded from his thighs and arms like mounds.
Suddenly steel met stone. Their blades cracking with each swing and parry. Sparks ignited, spinning with anger through the air. The old Yurk swung twice for every swing from the Ace; Jostice stayed crouched, keeping himself on defense for now. He seemed to be expending more energy than the short, savage. His reach greater, but his stamina and speed inferior. Even after all the time in the colosseum, and all the dead he'd tallied with his guns and blades, he grew tired, grunting and parrying, grunting and parrying.
Red strands … Olive Skin … The smell of the prairie. He shook his head. This is not the time for distractions.
Their boots and moccasins pounded the dirt like drums. Boom. Boom. Boom. And they danced in the moonlight; a dance of death to a song of the souls leaving the wounded.
Warfrok spun his arms, lifting the blades overhead. He brought them down together, trying to split the Ace's skull like a coconut. Jostice had seen the move moments prior; he shifted to his right. The Yurk's back arched, blades burying into the dirt. This was the Ace's chance! He saw the exposed abdomen on his foes right, targeted, then threw his blade forward, driving it with all his might, feeling it work through flesh and muscle, halting on the crack of bone.
The Yurk yelled, pulling left, and crouching. He then sprung right, elbow pointed. Jostice nose took the impact and he stumbled backwards, one, two, three steps back. With the blade buried in his meat, Warfrok winced, reeling his right arm across the left side of his body. He whipped his arm forward, releasing his hold. The tomahawk took flight, wheeling sideways through the air, attacking to chop or to stick.
Jostice hadn't recovered quick enough. He leaned left, lifting his right hand as a shield. The blade whipped past him, wind whistling in his ear. His index finger, middle finger, and the Mayor's ring taken with the blade. He groaned and grabbed his hand, blooding streaming between his knuckles. Next he was was on the ground. Fallen over one of the many corpses that rest upon the earth.
Warfrok looked to him with eyes sharp as arrows. He charged. The pain giving him purpose. He was hunched, hurdling bodies. His second tomahawk firmly in his palm ready to strike. Jostice looked to the charging foe, aware that he'd lost the strikers duel. He reached his left hand down and drew his revolver. There was no shame in staying alive at all constant, even at his dignity, he learned that lesson inside the colosseum.
With a tug and a groan, Jostice yanked out the revolver while Warfrok raised his blade. Two wails haunted the ranch. The sharp stone fell and the Yurk collapsed under his weight. Knees shattered like glass. Jostice drove the barrel into the Yurks skull.
"Drop your weapons or this one dies!" He spoke above the clamour of death.
Around him the deputies and Yurks seized their fatal and ferocious swings. Each man frozen at his words. Warfrok swore in his native tongue, grabbing his knees with one hand, and waving an arm with the other. Conducting his men to proceed with the onslaught.
Procknock, the tall, skinny Yurk shook his head at the leader and then dropped his weapon. The others followed. Jostice knew the ranch was his. He stood to his feet and pulled a bandana from his back pocket, tying it around mangled hand.
He glanced down at the ground, no sign of his fingers or the ring. He'll have time enough later to search. Jostice called out to the men, "Bound them and get them ready for transport!" Krix nodded, directing Brugar and the others to the Sheriff's will. Jostice then turned his focus towards the barn afraid of what he might find inside.
Darkness swallowed the barn, leaving imagination left to wonder. There could be more Yurks hiding within the hay that was in straw piles, shaped to the men who laid upon them. A rancid smell was in the air. Not like the butchery in the farmhouse, but the stink of two dozen men bunkered down for weeks without a proper bathe.
Jostice looked around the barn, squinting, while his eyes worked into focus. "Jerocobish?" His voice sounded stern yet weary from his dance. "Are you there—"
"Here!" Called a young, soft voice. A boy peaked from the rear, hair so black only his white in eyes and skin showed between the soot that covered his face. "We're over here…"
Jostice hurried to the boys call, finding him sitting over Jerocobish; he was not the strong, old man who'd been captured on the train, but resembled something else entirely. Skin blotched black, lips torn and black, eyes sunken and with the grayish-glaze of a dead man.
He looked to Quincy, "You, boy, is there a wagon?"
The boy nodded, staring at him intensely. "The Yurks burned one of them, but I have spare."
"Round up a few horses," Jostice said, "I'll get the old man ready." The boy nodded and was off through the shadows. Ace turned his focus on his father, "What happened?"
Jerocobish's hand trembled, outstretching his fingers, guiding them where they made contact with Jostice's cheek. "I was a fool …"
Jostice shook his head, "No … these Yurks are just heartless bastards—"
Jerocobish tilted his head and hacked harsh and weak. "I was a fool for abandoning you when you needed me most." He wheezed. "Forgive me, Jostice. What happened to Reminron was not your fault."
The words made Jostice's heart skip. His throat tightened, reminded of the nightmares that haunted him… Scarlet hair. Olive Skin. The smell of the prairie, He thought, lip quivering while he searched for the right words.
Jostice swallowed, "Don't talk like this is the end … We'll get you to the Stir Doctor's in Sundown City. He'll know how to treat this."
"I was so angry," Jerocobish said, "when you left, I was so angry that I had sent you away." He stroked his cheek softly. "And then, when I saw you in the colosseum … that day you earned your freedom … I never felt more relief in my life … I thought, maybe, just maybe I had the time to fix this." His eyes teared. "Forgive me, my boy … forgive me for being such a fool."
Jostice chest grew tight, and he took the man's hand. "I forgive you, Pappy."
Jerocobish lips twitched, giving a weak, grin. "And take care of Boone … He needs you—"
"Quiet now. you're not dead yet." Jostice said, sliding his arms underneath the man, hoisting him as he rose. "Or have you forgotten? Rigger's are as tough as bricks."
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