Amos came awake with a jerk feeling someone’s boot in his ribs. He reached for his shotgun, but it was not leaning against his furs where he left it. It was still dark out, but a faint light from the dying fire showed the outline of three men standing over him.
“Whatcha going n’ kicking me fer? What da ya want?”
All three men were quite tall and from Amos’ vintage point; they all looked young and capable. The biggest of the three pulled his foot back to kick him again, but Amos rolled over and came to his feet in one sweep swinging his fist at the same time. He caught the man square on the jaw and heard something crack as the man fell over backwards. One of the other men swung at Amos, but he ducked and in a crouched position brought his doubled up fist into his stomach just below his rib cage. The second man doubled up with the wind knocked out of him as the third man came at Amos. By this time, Amos was madder’n a wet hen. He wondered where Harvey was, but did not take the time to look as he faced the third man. He knew he had to put him out of commission quickly before the other two recovered, so he swept his hand down grabbing a handful of sand that he threw in the man’s eyes. As the man grabbed for his eyes, Amos hit him first in the stomach and then he threw a punch at the man’s neck right in his Adams apple. The man fell to his knees gasping for air.
Amos swung around getting set for battle with the other two, but the one with the broken jaw was at the pond washing blood out of his mouth, and the middle one just lay on the ground all doubled up groaning, holding his stomach. Amos looked around for his gun and saw it lying on the ground next to his furs. He snatched it up; checked to make sure it was loaded and cocked it. All three men heard the cocking of the shotgun.
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