Margaret Brownley by A Vision of Lucy Page A

depended on his deputies to do the dirty work.
    “Is that so?” The sheriff hung his thumbs from his belt. “I have a nice jail cell that might convince you otherwise.”
    Wolf gave the sheriff a look of disdain. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d landed in jail for no other reason than the question of his race. “Out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”
    “My jurisdiction is wherever the good folks of Rocky Creek travel.”
    Slacker signaled to his men and they closed in from both sides.
    Just as those youths had closed in all those years ago .
    Instinctively, Wolf stiffened. The flabby deputy shoved his gun in his holster and grabbed Wolf’s arm. Reacting purely by instinct, Wolf swung his fist into the man’s doughy face and the man dropped his hold. Just as he’d counted on, the man was as slow as he was soft. A second fist and the deputy fell to the ground with a curse. It happened so fast all three men were caught by surprise.
    The second deputy poked the barrel of his gun into Wolf’s side, and with a glance at the sheriff he said, “Hold it right there.”
    Wolf stiffened and raised his hands again. The sheriff walked up to him, handcuffs dangling.
    Just then Shadow came bounding out of the woods. It was just the distraction Wolf needed. Elbowing the younger deputy with lightning speed, Wolf finished the job with a bone-crunching jab. The man fell back, clutching his nose, blood oozing down his chin.
    Wolf twisted around just as the sheriff drew his weapon. Wolf kicked the gun out of the sheriff’s hand. By this time the pudgy deputy was on his feet again. He made a flying leap, knocking Wolf to the ground. The two rolled down a short incline. Wolf reached through the bushes for the sheriff’s gun with one hand and fired a shot. His opponent rolled off him.
    Still on his back, Wolf pointed the sheriff’s Colt revolver and the three men froze as he staggered to his feet. He swung the gun in a sidewise arc and stepped back.
    Pudgy reached for his holster. Wolf fired another warning shot and the man pulled his hand away from his side.
    The deputies looked toward the sheriff, who gave a slight nod. Wolf backed away into the nearby woods. Out of sight of the men, he ran.
    He whistled for Shadow and the horse whinnied back, the sound echoing among the trees. Wolf turned in a circle, trying to determine which way to go. A shot rang out and something exploded in his thigh. It felt like he was hit by a rock. He ducked through the brush, breaking into a full run. A river of warmth ran down his leg, followed by a searing pain that stopped him in his tracks. Wincing, he looked down. One leg of his buckskin pants was covered in blood. Limping now, he forced himself to keep moving but it wasn’t long before his head began to spin. He tried to hold on to the gun but it slipped through his fingers.
    Out of breath, he collapsed to the ground. Shadow approached him slowly, cautiously, and nudged him. Bracing himself against his horse’s leg, Wolf tried to stand but darkness washed over him. He shook his head in an effort to chase away the fog. The horse snorted and jumped back.
    Hands all over him. Rough hands. Powerful. Just as they had been all those years ago. Feet kicking, arms flailing, he fought with what little strength he had left. Fought the three men on top of him. Fought the nightmare that had haunted him all these years.
    In the end, it was no use. Weakened by shock and the loss of blood, he could no longer ward off the darkness that closed in around him.

    Voices.
    A strange smell permeated the air. Wolf opened his eyes but the light blinded him.
    Then another voice, this one close. “Take it easy.”
    Wolf stilled. Some long-ago memory stirred. He had to open his eyes now. Had to put a face to the voice.
    Turning his head away from the light, he forced his lids upward. His vision was blurred and he blinked to clear it.
    A rough brick wall. Where was he? More voices. Bars. He was in a jail cell.