Read Online Apache Death by George G. Gilman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: George G. Gilman
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of reflection as he studied the man on the bed. Then he tossed the Colt across the room so that it landed with a gentle thud on to the discarded bedclothes.
"It won't be easy," the Englishman said.
"Nothing I ever, got was ever any good," Edge answered as the Englishman released his small double barrel under-and-over and tossed it in the same direction as the Colt.
"Not Queensbury rules, I suppose?" the Englishman asked still sitting on the bed as Edge stepped up to him.
Edge stood before him, clenching and unclenching his fists."What are they?"
"They don't allow certain moves," the Englishman answered and launched himself forward so that the top of his head thudded into Edges stomach. "That, for instance," the Englishman went on as Edge began to double up, hot breath burning through his throat.
"I get it," Edge gasped as he started to fall backward and suddenly accelerated the action and kicked upward with both feet. The toes of his boots found contact with the other man's groin so that the Englishman was lifted bodily from the floor and was forced to let out a roar of agony. "The Bastards' Rules?"
"We both know them," the Englishman croaked as both men climbed to their feet and faced each other, bodies slightly bent to ease their respective pains.
The Englishman came in low and feigned a right cross, sent a left jab hard into Edges already injured portion. The fresh wave of pain only added more power to the uppercut which Edge smashed into the others jaw, knocking him backward across the bed. He sprang forward, hands clawed, and made contact with fingernails on the cheeks of the man beneath them, drawing blood. But a powerful thrust of the Englishman's body, followed by an upward movement of his leg into the American's crotch sent Edge sliding forward to crash into the floor on the far side of the bed. Edge was only halfway to his feet and beginning to turn when the Englishman sprang on to his back and crossed his arms around his throat. Edges legs buckled under the weight and he had to struggle to breathe through his constricted windpipe. But he summoned enough energy to turn and move across the room in an ungainly run, heading for the window. Then he stopped abruptly and bent, sharply so that the forward momentum was enough to somersault the Englishman off his back and feet first through the window in a shower of splintered glass.
Edge stood inside the room, gasping for breath and rubbing his stomach but managing to curl back his lips in a grin, watching carefully as the other man got painfully to his feet. "You had enough, feller?" he called out.
The Englishman, his face running with blood from the wounds opened by Edges fingernails, answered with a gentle smile as, with the arrogance of a victor, he brushed pillow down from his suit. "You haven't got enough time to make me throw in the towel, Edge," he said lightly. "Not if you live to be a hundred."
Carefully, he removed his well-cut jacket and seemed about to drape it over the balcony rail. But in the next moment he had exploded into movement as he pivoted and threw the coat through the window. It wrapped itself around Edge's head and before the American could fight it clear the coat's owner had dived back through the window to land with a mid-air head butt into the stomach. Edge was slammed against the bureau, its comer digging into the small of his back to generate a fresh wave of agony from a different source.
Edge howled with pain and stood swaying for a few moments, seemingly finished, as the Englishman advanced, the look of a killer shining in his eyes. Edge allowed him to close the gap to three feet, then clasped both hands together and swung up his arms in a fast, powerful action so that the two fists merged. into one caught his opponent squarely under the jaw. The Englishman's howl was not bogus as he was lifted clean off his feet and then crumpled to the floor, trying to roll himself into a tight ball. But his back was exposed and Edge landed two
"It won't be easy," the Englishman said.
"Nothing I ever, got was ever any good," Edge answered as the Englishman released his small double barrel under-and-over and tossed it in the same direction as the Colt.
"Not Queensbury rules, I suppose?" the Englishman asked still sitting on the bed as Edge stepped up to him.
Edge stood before him, clenching and unclenching his fists."What are they?"
"They don't allow certain moves," the Englishman answered and launched himself forward so that the top of his head thudded into Edges stomach. "That, for instance," the Englishman went on as Edge began to double up, hot breath burning through his throat.
"I get it," Edge gasped as he started to fall backward and suddenly accelerated the action and kicked upward with both feet. The toes of his boots found contact with the other man's groin so that the Englishman was lifted bodily from the floor and was forced to let out a roar of agony. "The Bastards' Rules?"
"We both know them," the Englishman croaked as both men climbed to their feet and faced each other, bodies slightly bent to ease their respective pains.
The Englishman came in low and feigned a right cross, sent a left jab hard into Edges already injured portion. The fresh wave of pain only added more power to the uppercut which Edge smashed into the others jaw, knocking him backward across the bed. He sprang forward, hands clawed, and made contact with fingernails on the cheeks of the man beneath them, drawing blood. But a powerful thrust of the Englishman's body, followed by an upward movement of his leg into the American's crotch sent Edge sliding forward to crash into the floor on the far side of the bed. Edge was only halfway to his feet and beginning to turn when the Englishman sprang on to his back and crossed his arms around his throat. Edges legs buckled under the weight and he had to struggle to breathe through his constricted windpipe. But he summoned enough energy to turn and move across the room in an ungainly run, heading for the window. Then he stopped abruptly and bent, sharply so that the forward momentum was enough to somersault the Englishman off his back and feet first through the window in a shower of splintered glass.
Edge stood inside the room, gasping for breath and rubbing his stomach but managing to curl back his lips in a grin, watching carefully as the other man got painfully to his feet. "You had enough, feller?" he called out.
The Englishman, his face running with blood from the wounds opened by Edges fingernails, answered with a gentle smile as, with the arrogance of a victor, he brushed pillow down from his suit. "You haven't got enough time to make me throw in the towel, Edge," he said lightly. "Not if you live to be a hundred."
Carefully, he removed his well-cut jacket and seemed about to drape it over the balcony rail. But in the next moment he had exploded into movement as he pivoted and threw the coat through the window. It wrapped itself around Edge's head and before the American could fight it clear the coat's owner had dived back through the window to land with a mid-air head butt into the stomach. Edge was slammed against the bureau, its comer digging into the small of his back to generate a fresh wave of agony from a different source.
Edge howled with pain and stood swaying for a few moments, seemingly finished, as the Englishman advanced, the look of a killer shining in his eyes. Edge allowed him to close the gap to three feet, then clasped both hands together and swung up his arms in a fast, powerful action so that the two fists merged. into one caught his opponent squarely under the jaw. The Englishman's howl was not bogus as he was lifted clean off his feet and then crumpled to the floor, trying to roll himself into a tight ball. But his back was exposed and Edge landed two
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