Boone finally found the courage to remove himself from the crack.
He kneeled down and grabbed Grotknot's mitt, squeezing tightly. Tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said, looking upon the hairy man. "I'm sorry I got you into this ..."
The light in the man's eyes had gone, replaced by a gray glaze. Boone moved his hand, brushing Grotknot's eyelids down.
"Find peace in the prairie lands ... your death won't be forgotten."
From the man's chest came a faint white glow. Boone's eyebrows furrowed. After a quick pat, and digging through a few pocket, he expelled the object from its hiding place.
The Lightstone, Boone thought, twirling it between two fingertips. It illuminated off of his blue eyes like the sun off water. He placed it in his coat. "I'll use this to remember you by."
He stood to his feet and tiled his hat down, eyeing the path that led to Grotknots murderers. With a pop, the cylinder of his revolver spun open. Boone withdrew the frosty-blue shell from his pocket, slipping it into the chamber. He slapped the revolver closed and was on the pursuit.
The men couldn't have gotten too far. They were headed north towards the pools. Boone remembered seeing them from the tower. How they glistened like jewels even at that distance.
The trail winded while shadows swam through the canyons, spawned by the darkness of the night. Boone stumbled and twisted his ankle, hardly able to see jagged stones beneath his boot.
The night brought the chill and a different smell to the canyon; the day produced muggy, hot air that stuck to the tongue while the night brought a fresh cool like sucking on a peppermint.
Boone was reminded of Lone Creek though the air there was much cooler and fresher. And so clean, it made the lungs feel like they'd been washed on every breath. He took another breath, heart racing with his pace.
Twenty minutes passed, and torchlight sprang from the walls, burning away the nights shadows. Boone looked down the trail, enchanted. Finally able to see where his next step would be.
"We better get paid extra for that Bork." A high voice rang through the canyon.
A second voice thundered. "He was a Bork."
"Makes no difference what he was ... he wasn't an easy kill."
"Says you. I found it an easy purse."
Boone drew his iron to his chest. The bluish glow from the achellet giving away his position. He crept left around a corner, working to locate the two individuals that spoke.
"We don't have to tell Scaleface that." The high voice laughed. "If we both tell him it was difficult-"
There was a thud and a scream.
Boone stopped, panting. He leaned against a wall, peeking around a corner; two shadows dance off the wall. The shorter rubbing its head while the larger stood over him.
A rattle echoed.
"What was that for, you prick?"
"Scaleface has that boy of his ... he'd catch our bluff soon as we opened our mouths. Or have you forgotten?"
The shadow nodded, "didn't think of that ... I guess in order to cut off the snakes head, you need to first snip his hatchlings."
"Which he keeps guarded too heavily - I doubt anybody would ever kill the boy unless for revenge - he's too valuable."
The smaller man hissed, "what if we were to get our hands on him? Use the little brat to do our biddings?"
Boone tiptoed towards a patch of rocks and kneeled.
A rattle echoed in the canyon walls. Boone's nose wrinkled, looking around. Nothing.
"You quiet, up there." The higher-pitched man said. "Don't need you making a ruckus."
"Have you fed her," the second voice boomed.
"Of course. Two rats in fact. You probably rattled her when you smacked me."
"We'll keep her quiet ... you know I don't like her none."
Boone slid along the edge of the wall. They're on the other side. He thought. All you need to do is jump out and fire." Boone slowly cocked his hammer. He whispered, "One. Two."
"Three!"
A man's arm came around the corner and snatched the boy. Boone left his feet, held above the large man's head. His snake skinned hat masking his black eyes.
Boone launched. The earth above and then below him; tumbling through the air then gasping on impact. His gun slid away, spinning.
The two men roared with laughter.
"Looks like we caught ourselves a sneaky little possum."
"Pay up," The large one said. " Waving a hand."
The short one's lip sunk. "Now, look, boy. You lost me good coin."
Boone massaged the dull ache in his tailbone. "Y'all were betting on me?"
"Sure was." The larger one said. "My brother, Brenard here, bet you were too chicken shit to come after us ... and I bet him twenty Rimmy's you were a fool. Turns out you're a fool."
Brenard smacked the large man's chest. "Boyd, let's make the boy dance."
"Ah, hell ..."
"Come on." The man whipped his revolver from his hip. "It always gives me a good laugh."
"We need the ammunition."
"A cylinder each, then we can clip them fingers from his hand. Teach him to draw a gun on a man."
The larger man grimaced, eyes sharp. "You're sick, you know that? Always thought Ma dropped you, making that snake-egged head of yers." He sighed. "One cylinder each. But no clipping of fingers."
The small one turned his small, black eyes on the boy. "You heard the man." He waved the gun. "Get to your feet."
The pain went down his legs as he rose. Boone winced, barring his teeth.
"Oh, are you hurt, boy?" Brenard chuckled. "You're about to hurt worse."
White-flares flickered from their barrels. The canyons wailed with each crack from the guns. Boone's hopped from one foot to the other; bullets whistling and burying at his toes. The boy groaned, his father's hat slipping over his eyes.
Brenard erupted, drooling with laughter. Boyd grimaced.
Suddenly, Boone felt something ease from his pocket. Sliding up and up until it shot out, spinning and hitting the sand. It happened in a flash; a stray bullet met the Lightstone; a blinding white flare blinding the men's eyes. They screamed.