moment, Blue brandishing the knife from side to side, Edge's right hand streaking to the holster. It was empty, the Colt dislodged by his fall from the horse. The animal, with the Winchester rifle in the boot, was looking on with manifest disinterest from several yards away.
Blue grinned with dark evil at Edge. "You don't look so big without a gun, mister," he taunted. .
"I'm versatile," Edge hissed, left hand going to the back of his neck and emerging with fingers clasped around the razor.
They began to circle, like vicious animals looking for an opening. Blue's face was a black blob with the bright glints of his eyes in the shadow of the coat hood. The wind tugged at Edge's shirt and howled its fury at finding no slack. The bulk of his body and additional padding of the paper money plastered the cotton tight to him.
"Miller's boy went to tell Jake Tabor," Blue said, downwind, the words loud and clear.
Edge waited until he was in a similar position. "You should have gone with him."
Blue shouted an answer but the wind wrenched away his voice in the wrong direction. "I said I'd rather have the money than get within a hundred miles of that Quaker killer."
He lunged as he spoke the final word, the knife held out in front of him, his body going into a crouch to get beneath the swing of Edge's razor. Edge leapt to the side, sucking in his stomach and the knife flashed across his middle within a fraction of an inch of the target. He altered the angle of the razor's path at the last moment and cut a long slash across the side of Blue's coat hood. Blue twirled in an instant and with the balance of an experienced knife-fighter put all his weight into another lunge. Again Edge's reflexes enabled him to twist his body away from the knife. But Blue's headlong rush sank hisgood shoulder hard into Edge's stomach. Both men went to the ground with Edge underneath again, his head crashing against the rocky surface, sending pain jangling inside hisskull. His vision blurred and he saw a fuzzy image of Blue's face, bright with triumph. Edge struggled to raise his hands, but his muscles refused to respond. He tried again to throw his opponent clear, with the same negative result. The knife came towards him and he knew it was aimed at his throat. He experienced no fear: merely a deep resentment that he should have to die at the hand of a man he considered an inept moron.
But suddenly Blue was frozen in the act of the kill, his jaw dropped in an attitude of screaming, the sound stolen by the wind. Edge's sight cleared and he blinked at the sudden projection which had appeared in the center of Blue's chest. It was the shape of a spearhead, gleaming with dark moisture. The same dark staining began to spread across the front of Blue's coat, matching the patch at his shoulder. Then hiseyes closed and he started to topple forward, the blood coated point of the spear aiming at Edge's face. His muscles responded now, and Edge found enough strength to toss the dead man from him and leapt to hisfeet in one fluid movement. He had a fleeting impression of Blue's body lying on its side with the wooden shaft of the spear growing from the middle of his back before he lunged toward his horse and snatched the Winchester from the boot. Then he turned and fanned the whole area with the rifle, jerking it into a rock steady position as the barrel pointed at Anatali. He blinked to make sure the crack on the head was not playing tricks on him. It was the only reaction he showed, His voice was soft.
"You sure as hell ain't the one that didn't grow no bigger."
"What you say?"
"The one they put in the Wild West show," Edge answered as the Zulu continued to eye him with mild bewilderment.
The man was enormous. Six feet six inches tall at the least with shoulders that probably meant he had to go through doorways sideways as well as stooped. His chest was a convex of latent power and his stomach bulged, not with the bloatedness offat but the ridges of muscles. His
Blue grinned with dark evil at Edge. "You don't look so big without a gun, mister," he taunted. .
"I'm versatile," Edge hissed, left hand going to the back of his neck and emerging with fingers clasped around the razor.
They began to circle, like vicious animals looking for an opening. Blue's face was a black blob with the bright glints of his eyes in the shadow of the coat hood. The wind tugged at Edge's shirt and howled its fury at finding no slack. The bulk of his body and additional padding of the paper money plastered the cotton tight to him.
"Miller's boy went to tell Jake Tabor," Blue said, downwind, the words loud and clear.
Edge waited until he was in a similar position. "You should have gone with him."
Blue shouted an answer but the wind wrenched away his voice in the wrong direction. "I said I'd rather have the money than get within a hundred miles of that Quaker killer."
He lunged as he spoke the final word, the knife held out in front of him, his body going into a crouch to get beneath the swing of Edge's razor. Edge leapt to the side, sucking in his stomach and the knife flashed across his middle within a fraction of an inch of the target. He altered the angle of the razor's path at the last moment and cut a long slash across the side of Blue's coat hood. Blue twirled in an instant and with the balance of an experienced knife-fighter put all his weight into another lunge. Again Edge's reflexes enabled him to twist his body away from the knife. But Blue's headlong rush sank hisgood shoulder hard into Edge's stomach. Both men went to the ground with Edge underneath again, his head crashing against the rocky surface, sending pain jangling inside hisskull. His vision blurred and he saw a fuzzy image of Blue's face, bright with triumph. Edge struggled to raise his hands, but his muscles refused to respond. He tried again to throw his opponent clear, with the same negative result. The knife came towards him and he knew it was aimed at his throat. He experienced no fear: merely a deep resentment that he should have to die at the hand of a man he considered an inept moron.
But suddenly Blue was frozen in the act of the kill, his jaw dropped in an attitude of screaming, the sound stolen by the wind. Edge's sight cleared and he blinked at the sudden projection which had appeared in the center of Blue's chest. It was the shape of a spearhead, gleaming with dark moisture. The same dark staining began to spread across the front of Blue's coat, matching the patch at his shoulder. Then hiseyes closed and he started to topple forward, the blood coated point of the spear aiming at Edge's face. His muscles responded now, and Edge found enough strength to toss the dead man from him and leapt to hisfeet in one fluid movement. He had a fleeting impression of Blue's body lying on its side with the wooden shaft of the spear growing from the middle of his back before he lunged toward his horse and snatched the Winchester from the boot. Then he turned and fanned the whole area with the rifle, jerking it into a rock steady position as the barrel pointed at Anatali. He blinked to make sure the crack on the head was not playing tricks on him. It was the only reaction he showed, His voice was soft.
"You sure as hell ain't the one that didn't grow no bigger."
"What you say?"
"The one they put in the Wild West show," Edge answered as the Zulu continued to eye him with mild bewilderment.
The man was enormous. Six feet six inches tall at the least with shoulders that probably meant he had to go through doorways sideways as well as stooped. His chest was a convex of latent power and his stomach bulged, not with the bloatedness offat but the ridges of muscles. His
Similar Books
