Read Online The Badger's Revenge by Larry D. Sweazy - Free Book Online

there just waiting for Josiah to arrive. He was less than well scrubbed though, and there was a hole in his boot, large enough for his big toe to be sticking out.
    Truth be told, the cook was probably alarmed by the commotion in the lobby, fidgety as a rabbit to loud noises, uncertain about what violent act was coming his way next, and wondering if the violence, as it probably had in the past, was going to be directed toward him.
    Just as Josiah ran by the Chinaman, not slowing down since he didn’t sense the man as an immediate threat, the short little man shook his head no, put his hand out, and said, “Not that way.”
    Josiah stopped dead in his tracks, trying to catch his breath. “It’s the only way out.”
    â€œThey probably have a man there waiting.”
    â€œWhere then?”
    â€œUpstairs. Go to the end of the hall, jump across the roof.”
    Footsteps rushed closer, pushing through the office just as Josiah’s had. The rumble on the wood floor was like thunder, a coming storm, the ground shaking, but instead of lightning, there were rifles and anger, a score to settle from days long past that could not be solved in a gentlemanly way.
    â€œThen what?” Josiah asked.
    The Chinaman shrugged his shoulders, then walked back into the kitchen. One of the pots was boiling over.
    Josiah decided to take a chance with what was behind the door. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop sounded like certain death to him.
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    The air was cold. Night had not hesitated but had fallen in a thick black curtain, covering everything in its path as if a load of coal dust had fallen unexpectedly from the sky. It was not cold enough to snow—that would have been all too rare, but the glow of light would have been welcome.
    Josiah did not rush headlong out the door.
    He pushed it open slowly, as slowly as he could, looking over his shoulder with sweat pouring from his forehead, the burning in his eyes matching the burning in his calf. He was certain his boot was full of blood.
    He did not have time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but he slipped out of the door, sliding along the outside hotel wall, gripping his weapon, the simple rock, as hard as he could, hoping upon hope that the Chinaman was wrong.
    Maybe there had not been time for the man, or men, to reach the back of the hotel.
    At the moment, Josiah’s gamble seemed to be paying off. But he had to decide quickly what to do next.
    He could make a blind run for it.
    There seemed to be houses in the distance, oil lamps just starting to burn in the windows. There were no other tall buildings behind the hotel. Nor was there an alley as there was behind the saloon. Since he had no idea where he was and had no knowledge of the lay of the land in and around Comanche, running into the darkness seemed to be a huge gamble.
    Or he could find a place to hide and hope he would be safe.
    It only took Josiah a second to decide to run.
    But the decision came a second too late.
    The back door of the hotel pushed open and slammed against the wall with a loud bang. The darkness was immediately cut with bright, intense light, shadows, movement, and the smell of anger and sweat, as well as that of fresh coal oil. A torch had been lit.
    Clarmont pushed out the door, leading with his rifle.
    Without a moment’s hesitation, Josiah swung the rock as hard as he could, smashing it into the man’s skull with as much force as he could muster.
    He didn’t want to maim the man; he wanted to stop him dead in his tracks. It was a life for a life—war had been proclaimed, in Josiah’s mind, the moment his hands had been bound and he’d been taken captive by Big Shirt and Little Shirt.
    Clarmont yelled out in astonishment and pain. His surprise was mixed with the sound of shattering bone, blood escaping his brain through any avenue possible; ears, mouth, and nose.
    The damage done, Josiah let go of the rock, and tackling him with all of