Hel Morgan

Six

A Trail of Bodies Behind Him! The bold headline took up the top half of the front page and Hel scoffed in disgust, tossing the paper onto the table in front of him, shaking his head. He didn't bother reading the article. Reporters were mighty unhappy folk once crossed, and this one hadn't forgiven him. Greatly exaggerated, his exploits on the way to Georgia would go down in infamy thanks to the newsman's grudge.

A sudden thought tugged a smile across his mouth. He ought to thank the fella, for his return trip had been far less adventurous, and Hel figured it was partly due to the newspapers making him out to be so terrible. Normal folk, even the troublesome ones, just naturally kept out of his path. It made him chuckle as he finished his coffee, putting some coins on the table to pay for his breakfast.

El Paso had been a welcome sight when he'd rode in late last night, and he'd managed to get a hotel room to himself. This morning, he'd paid for a bath and shave before eating, and now felt ready to get down to business. Pushing from the table he was reaching for his hat when the door slammed open, bouncing on its hinges. Automatically, his hand dropped to his gun but Hel didn't touch it. The burly man with the glare wasn't looking at him.

A young couple sitting in the corner, however, had gone white, the girl beginning to silently cry while her companion unsteadily rose. With a snarl, the big man stalked toward them, throwing chairs out of his way.

"Thought you could just run off!" He bellowed. "Stealin' whats mine, are you!"

"Hold it, friend." Hel caught the chair before it could upset his table, firmly putting it upright. "You're causin' a scene an' disturbin' folk."

"Shut yer piehole!" Dark eyes turned on him. "And I ain't your friend! This here is personal!"

"Then do it somewhere private," Hel suggested mildly, moving away from the table while maintaining eye contact. "Or better, just walk away."

"Yer buttin' your nose in where it ain't welcome, buster," ugly, threatening, the big man turned to face Morgan. "I'm thinkin' to learn you some manners."

"Try it."

"Why you-!" a meaty fist lifted.

"Daddy, please!" The cry stopped them, the girl having risen from her chair, facing them trembling. Her beau had a hold of her arm, pale but determined. "Just stop this! Dobbie an' me-!"

"I'll get to you, Arlynn, with the strap! Jest after I get through with this here vermin."

"Daddy-!"

"I take exception to that, old son." Hel's voice dropped, his eyes turning icy. "We were all in here peaceable until you barged in. Why not turn around and walk away, think it over. While you still can."

"I'll break you in half, buster!"

Hel hit him. Hard knuckles smashed into the big man's mouth with a flat, fleshy sound. He'd moved subtly in closer as the big man snarled and threatened, and figured to land the first blow. To his way of thinking, it set the tone and he meant to knock this fella down a peg or two.

With a roar, the big man lunged at him, blood smearing his mouth and chin. Deftly sidestepping, Morgan kicked out a foot, tripping the big man. He hit the floor with a thud and a grunt. Backing up, Hel gave him space to get up.

"You gonna be reasonable, or do I have to," a hard shoulder caught him in the gut, the big man moving with incredible speed and force. They hit the floor writhing and fighting. The girl wrung her hands, screaming for her father to stop. Her lover took a more active approach and ran for the sheriff.

By the time he got back with the disgruntled lawman, Hel's shirt was torn, and both men were battered and bloody, but his opponent was on the floor, gasping. Blinking the sweat from his eyes, Morgan faced the sheriff, opening his mouth to explain when a bellow sounded from behind him. Too late he turned, a sledgehammer fist catching him across the jaw. Hel crashed into a table, knocking over chairs as he hit the floor, out cold.