Free The Rider of Phantom Canyon by Don Bendell Page A

left eye was almost swollen shut, and he winced as he touched his cheekbone.
    â€œWell,” he said, actually trying to access information, “they were awfully tough. Weren’t they?”
    â€œThem?” she said, throwing up her hands. “You almost killed all three of them.”
    Now Joshua was really concerned, and it was driving him crazy trying to figure out a missing piece of his history. Had he nearly killed someone? Did he use a gun, or his knife? What had started it? He made a silent promise to himself to never drink again. It seemed likeevery time he tried to drink, things like this just seemed to happen, even if he just planned on having a cold beer. He also knew he had made himself the same promise before, but now here he was again, wondering what he had done.
    She suddenly pulled him forward, kissing him full on the lips, and the door burst open again.
    A very large and sloppy-looking strawberry-headed deputy walked into the room, saying, “Time’s up, ma’am.”
    She whispered, “Even though they were paying customers, I could not believe how you took exception to them touching me. You were such a gentleman, protecting my honor.”
    Joshua stepped back and sat down hard on his cot.
    He smiled at her feebly, saying, “Sorry. Hangover. Are they okay, ma’am?”
    She headed toward the door, saying, “Don’t know, sweetie. Ask him. Thanks again,” indicating the deputy.
    Joshua gave the deputy a sheepish grin and said, “Did I hurt some men last night?”
    â€œNaw,” the deputy replied, and Joshua felt relief.
    Then the jailer added, “More like half kilt ’em. Ya broke up Bugger Johnson’s face bad, knocked out a lot a the teeth he had left, broke his jaw, smashed his nose. Lessee, Big Ed Thomas, ya snapped his arm like it was firewood. He screamed like a durn banshee. Then poor ole Lucifer Rhames. Took the doc most a the night to get him awake. He cain’t remember what happened, neither.”
    The deputy shuffled toward the door, then stopped and scratched his ample beard stubble, chuckling.
    He added, “In fact, Lucifer cain’t remember any a this week or last, the doc said. His face looks like the walls of Black Canyon out yonder. Phew. Ya gave them lads a whippin’, Injun. You are durned-shore rattler-mean when you git some rotgut in ya. Guess you will be going down to the Territorial Prison down ta Cañon City fer a long visit. Hope ya like eatin’ hog slop.”
    Laughing at his own joke, he exited, leaving Joshua with his confused thoughts.
    What troubled the hungover, mixed-up young man was that this had happened before when he drank. He could not remember at all what happened, and he obviously turned into a monster.
    Joshua got up and paced back and forth across the cell, muttering to himself, “I can’t trust myself. Even if I have a beer this seems to happen. I get drunk and get whiskey-mean.”
    He set his jaw and told himself he must have the red man’s weakness for liquor, and he would never, ever drink again. No sooner had he made this solemn oath to himself than the outer door creaked open again and the strawberry-headed jailer walked in with the keys, followed by a well-dressed, middle-aged man in a tailored businessman’s suit. Joshua could clearly see the handles of the pair of Colt Navy .36’s the man wore under his suit coat.
    It was Lucky, and Joshua moaned out loud, “Damn!”
    The door was opened, and, startled, Joshua walked out unsteady on his feet.
    Lucky waited until Joshua was given his weapons and they had walked out into the blinding sunlight, with Joshua squinting his eyes and not realizing he was moaning out loud.
    â€œThis weel never happen again,” Lucky said with a slight French accent, his face red with anger. “I had to call een a favor with zee judge, and the three men you broke up were happy to get one hundred dollars each for