Chapter 9

Damn this rain to hell!  And damn the bastard that had killed Royce.  He'd finally picked up their trail just before all this rain had started to fall.  But that didn't matter.  He'd find them.  And when he did,  he was going to cut that miserable whelp of a mangy bitch up into little pieces.  And he'd make sure that pretty little girl watched it all.  Nobody shot up his gang, took what belonged to him and got away with it.  Nobody made a fool of Harlan Mathis.  When he'd left Doyle and Carl behind to heal up, he'd promised them both he'd make that interfering son of a bitch pay.  And pay he would.  Just like that fellow in the circus who had shot at them while they were riding off with them two girls of his. He had shown him what happens to anybody that messed with his gang.  He'd stripped him naked, tied him to a tree and carved him up like a Christmas goose. He'd took his circus clothes with him as a souvenir.

Both of those little gals had been lookers, too.  Dark and exotic, like gypsies.   Too bad he'd had to let the boys have one of them.  If he could have sold both of them he might not be crouched here under this ledge in the cliffs waiting for the rain to stop and the daylight to start.  If he could have sold both of them, he wouldn't have been so anxious to find another girl to sell and they wouldn't have been in that valley and Royce would still be alive.  But he also wouldn't have found the girl.  This girl was sure to bring his highest price yet.   He knew that from the first moment he'd seen her walking out of the woods towards the stream.  She had the face of an angel and the body of a whore.  She was like peaches in cream.  Sweet and creamy smooth. He could remember the softness of her skin and the smell of her.  It was making his mouth water to think about her.  The man who had her now had better keep his sorry paws off of her.  If he ruined her she wouldn't bring half as much.  But then again if he'd already ruined her it wouldn't matter if he took a turn with her himself.  An evil, sadistic smile split his face, revealing rotten snags that had once been teeth.  So either way he was a winner.  He took his knife out of its sheath and caressed the cold blade.  He loved the feel of the sharp steel in his hands. Guns were so impersonal.  He preferred to be up close and personal when he killed his victims.   He loved the feel of the knife severing the skin and plunging  into the flesh.  When you shot someone, you could only see their reaction.  With a knife, you could actually feel the reaction  as their body endured the first stabbing wounds.  Oh, he was going to have some fun when he finally caught up to them two.  He could hardly wait for the day to break.