| A GHOUL NAMED
GATZ Major
Mortimer Gatz might be an officer--but he didn't even pretend to be a gentleman.
Giving a man a sporting chance wasn't the way he played the game, and a ghoulish grin lit
his face as he watched his squad of soldiers teach Skye Fargo a lesson in pure pain.
By now Fargo was only about to croak through split lips, "Only a coward
lets others do his dirty work."
"Finish him, Private Jenkins," the major commanded.
"My pleasure, sir," the man-mountain of a soldier responded,
and moved forward to deliver the final savage blow as Skye Fargo panted on his hands and
knees, too weak to rise.
"Just kneel there a moment longer and it will all be over,"
Jenkins said as he raised his huge stony fist.
The Trailsman didn't figure it could get worse than this.
He was wrong. |
HARD QUESTION "So this is the feller everyone
jabbers about," said the massive bruiser called Clem to his savage sidekick, Hiram.
"The highfalutin Trailsman." He grinned, holding Skye down beneath
his huge weight. "Downright puny if you ask me."
"This joker ain't no tougher than my nephew--and he's in
diaper's," Hiram agreed, showing his broken, jagged teeth.
"Well, let's earn our pay," Clem said, cocking an arm the
size of a tree trunk. "Any last words, Trailsman?"
"I do have a question," Fargo said.
"A question?" Clem repeated. Sneering, he said,
"Go ahead, puny feller. What you want to know?"
"You ever plan on having kids?" Fargo asked, and as he
uttered the last word, his right knee drove up and in, slamming into the man-mountain's
groin, driving so far in, Skye could have sworn it brushed the bruiser's spine.
Clem was waking up to the fact that the Trailsman was more than a
legend--waking up with a scream.... |
