Letting Crow fall and pressing both his mighty hands to his injury, as if he could somehow restore his sight. The shootist rolled clear, hands fumbling for the thong across the hammers of the sawn-off shotgun, drawing and cocking it in a fluid movement. Knowing from that moment on that he was safe. He was going to live and Mavulamanzi was going to die. A scant half minute before and the odds all lay against him, but by ruthless determination, he’d made it.
The massive Negro was outlined against the moon, like a black colossus, swaying to and fro on the brink of the shadowed abyss. Crow leveled the gun, ready to squeeze the triggers. Knowing the sound might bring the Mescalero warriors back after him. Not caring, safe in the knowledge that on his own he could easily outwit them among the maze of ravines.
But, in the end, it wasn’t necessary.
The chief teetered on the edge, his one good eye white and searching. Seeing Crow and the gun. Would have killed you. Would…white man has…I better man than you…Crow…better…Crow!!!’
The last word becoming a cry of anguish as his feet betrayed him and he fell like a stone out of Crow’s seeing. The cry carried on for a long time, and the cracking of his body landing among the trees seemed to reverberate forever.
Then there was a silence.
Crow clicked the hammers back down and holstered the Purdey. Rolling his head on his shoulders and feeling the strain in the muscles. The pain beginning to come from his ribs and spine where Mavulamanzi had come close to ending his life.
He stared down over the sheer drop, seeing the pale figure of the girl, still and broken. And, just visible in the gloom, the white-streaked body of Mavulamanzi. With a grim irony his fall had landed him among the small grove of trees. Breaking the top off one so that his corpse dangled, impaled, the jagged spear of wood driven clean through his chest. The arms and legs still twitched as though there were vestiges of life remaining. Crow didn’t stay and watch the ultimate moment of death. There wasn’t any need.
‘Yeah,’ he said quietly, to the Arizona night ‘Like I said. Talkin’ don’t never get it done.’
Crow will return in
BODYGUARD
The next book in the series
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About the Author
James W Marvin aka Laurence James was a member of the original 'Piccadilly Cowboys'. In 1972 he became a full-time freelance author and journalist and for many years thereafter published short science fiction stories in both Britain and the U.S. In 1974 he published his first novel, Earth Lies Sleeping which introduces galactic secret agent Simon Rack. At around the same time, Laurence published a fantasy saga of Hells Angels under the name 'Mick Norman'. The four books, Angels from Hell, Angel Challenge, Guardian Angels and Angels on my Mind, were later repackaged as The Angel Chronicles by Creation Books. Laurence went on to enjoy a highly prolific career, publishing dozens of novels under his own name as well as various pen names. Today Laurence is best-remembered for his post-apocalyptic Deathlands series, for which he penned more than thirty novels under the name 'James Axler'. He was also a gifted western writer, and among his many western credits are such series as Apache, Herne the Hunter, Caleb Thorn and Gunslinger. His other series work included The Witches as 'James Darke', Wolfshead as by 'Arthur Frazier', The Vikings as 'Neil Langholm', Survival 2000 as 'James McPhee', the Confessions series as 'Jonathan May', The Killers as 'Klaus Netzen' and The Eagles as 'Andrew Quiller', plus two stand-alone novels as 'Richard Haigh'. His frequent collaborators included Terry Harknett, John Harvey, Angus Wells and Kenneth Bulmer.
Simon Rack, Caleb Thorn, Herne the Hunter are available from Piccadilly Publishing
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