Graysmokes revenge part 2

Zeb woke up the next morning in the cold gray dawn the small fire he built was reduced to a pile of ashes. He stood up slowly and shook his bedroll out his body was stiff and he needed coffee. He needed food as well Since arriving in the desert he had survived on mostly beef jerky and coffee. He was getting lean and his gun belt sagged low on his hips. He drew the pistol and gave it a showy twirl before putting it back in the holster.

He was a fast draw not deadly accurate though at least not with the pistol as an army scout he generally used his rifle more. He started to ease the thong back onto the hammer of the pistol but a subtle sound delayed him. The soft sound of a boot scuffling in sand he turned in the direction the sound came from but saw nothing. he made a slow move to his saddle bag for his spyglass.

His hand went for the gun again before he could draw he heard the crack of a pistol shot. His hand started to burn quickly and the pistol flew from it. It was clear he had been shot warm blood flowed from his hand and down his sleeve. he hardly knew what to do now it seemed to late to act now. In an instant he was surrounded by a dozen rough looking men. Some of them were bigger than him.

Still Zeb thought it better not to show fear he stood with one foot in front of the other for balance. Then he balled his fist and quick as lightning he punched the man nearest to him. Zebs fist made a solid sound as it connected with the man's jaw. The man stood apparently unfazed his cruel eyes flashed with anger. Zeb went to punch him again but the man was ready for it this time. The mans calloused fist caught Zeb on the chin knocking him flat on the ground.

Zeb started to get up he struggled painfully to his knees a boot caught him in the face knocking him back down to the ground. He felt like he was about to pass out still he mustered the strength not too. He wasn't about to let these guys get the upper hand even if they did outnumber him. He didn't like what happened next a hulking man planted his boot on Zebs chest. He leaned down close with his face to Zebs, Zeb could smell the whiskey on his breath.  He smelled rancid Zeb choked at his smell he pushed against the man attempting to get up. Zeb had to resist them or otherwise it would be his last day alive. The man was forcing a coarse rope around his neck.

Zeb was still aware enough to hear the sound of another gunshot. A crimson hole exploded in the mans flannel shirt over his heart. The man keeled over lifeless onto Zeb blood poured profusely from the mans wound onto Zebs own shirt he felt the warm sticky feeling of it. The others undeterred rushed the man who had fired the shot the man shot four more of them where they stood. The rest of them, he fended off with skillful sparring moves until they fled for their horses like frightened chickens.