Free A Texas Hill Country Christmas by William W. Johnstone Page A

shouted encouragement to their boss. Seth tried to dart out of the way of the attack, but the mud sucking at his boots slowed him. Normally he would have been quicker on his feet than the lumbering, heavyset rancher, but the weather conditions took away that advantage.
    Seth was able to move enough that the looping punch Dugan aimed at his jaw clipped him on the shoulder instead. Even though it was a glancing blow, it packed enough power to stagger him. He caught himself and jabbed a swift left at Dugan’s face. It landed on the man’s nose with a satisfying pop and rocked Dugan’s head back.
    Dugan was about to learn that just because Seth was a man of God, that didn’t mean he was a pushover in a fight.
    Delta had grabbed Charlie and pulled him away from the battle. She held on to him and called to the two men, “Please stop! Don’t do this!”
    Dugan was too angry to pay any attention to her, and Seth was determined to defend himself. If Dugan wanted a fight, Seth would give him one.
    Grunting with the effort, Dugan swung wild, roundhouse punches at Seth, who managed to avoid them despite being slowed down by the mud. The burly rancher had no technique at all, Seth noted. Either Dugan was used to winning his fights by sheer power, or else his opponents held back because he was a wealthy, influential man.
    Seth didn’t care how much money Dugan had or about his standing in the community. The old wild streak had welled up inside him when he was attacked, and as Dugan flailed away at him, he began to take pleasure in the way he blocked the punches or weaved aside from them, then stepped in to pepper Dugan with hard lefts and rights of his own.
    The thud of fists against flesh and bone felt good, mighty good.
    Dugan’s nose was swollen and blood leaked from it. His mouth was puffy, too, and one of his eyes had started to turn black. Seth didn’t waste time and energy pounding away at Dugan’s torso, sheathed as it was in thick slabs of muscle. Instead he turned his efforts to the rancher’s face and steadily, methodically, chopped it into something resembling raw meat.
    One of the cowboys shouted a curse and said, “He’s handin’ the boss a lickin’! We gotta do somethin’ about this!”
    Another agreed eagerly and profanely with that sentiment.
    Andrews, the man Seth had jerked off his horse and thrown in the mud, held his companions back.
    â€œMr. Dugan said to let him handle this,” Andrews pointed out grimly. “That’s what we got to do.” He paused, then added, “But if he goes down, we’ll hand that preacher man a thrashin’ he’ll never forget!”
    Seth heard that and knew he faced bigger odds than just Dugan. Chances were, this confrontation would end with him taking a whipping from the cowhands, but he didn’t care. In the time he had been in this part of the country, he had seen how Dugan had most folks cowed, and it was past due for somebody to stand up to him.
    Dugan was halfway out on his feet by now. He was still throwing punches, but they were even slower and more clumsy than they had been at first. He didn’t come close to making contact with Seth, who was punching him at will. Finally, with a bit of a shock, Seth realized that both of Dugan’s eyes were swollen nearly closed. The rancher probably couldn’t even see him anymore and was striking out blindly, unable to defend himself.
    Suddenly, a wave of shame washed through Seth. This wasn’t the sort of man he was, or at least the sort he was trying to be. He lowered his fists and stepped back.
    â€œThat’s enough, Dugan,” he said. He was breathing hard. The air rasped a little in his throat. “We don’t need to fight anymore.”
    â€œCome on!” Dugan mumbled. “Come on, you blasted coward!” His speech was thick because of his puffy, bloody lips.
    â€œNo. It’s over.”
    Dugan roared