24 hours hanging by my wrists.Boyd appears in the garage.?My,? he says. ?You do look fetching. You?ve gone all sweaty.? ?Boyd ?? I manage to say, weak...y. ?Shut up, let me appreciate this for a while,? he replies. He slowly walks around me, looking me up anddown, openly admiring my oily skin, my taut and stretched body. He remarks on how the muscles of my backand my arms are flattered by the sheen of my sweat. He compliments my lifted ribcage and flattened belly, myelongated legs and. " Leave him alone! He is not big enough to give you a reasonable fight, much less a fair one. Neither am I, but I am armed and can take care of myself! Now, stop beating on that man, or I will blow your stupid fucking head off!"The tough dropped the cook and turned to me. He glared at me for a moment before drawing a bowie knife and running toward me. I had a sudden flash of memory of Mr. Hawthorn's charge at me with that broken beer mug. That was all it took. I drew my revolver and started. More

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