Hellfire Read Online Free PDF Page B

the horse with his heels. It neighed and shot forward. He’d have to run down the road until he found a place to cross the bayou. Then he’d go cross country back to Lake Providence.
    The sheriff stepped out in front of the horse and stopped, blocking the path up to the road. His dark eyes were fierce. His name was Blake, Nate remembered that.
    Nate’s hand tightened on the reins. He pulled the horse right, but Blake jumped into the path again. Nate would have to run him down to escape. He glared at the sheriff’s dark eyes, firm as wrought iron.
    Nate couldn’t do it. He pulled back on the rein. The horse struggled, stamped sideways, and lurched to a halt.
    A huge hand settled around the back of Nate’s neck. He could feel a thumb poking into his skull while fingers tightened around his throat. They jerked him off the horse and let go, dropping him to the ground. Nate went limp and rolled through the mud.
    When he stopped, he was at the feet of the man with the waxed mustache. Nate couldn’t remember his name. Had he even said it?
    The mustachioed man put a sleek black boot on Nate’s wounded shoulder. Nate hissed at the weight on his stitches. The man then pressed, and Nate screamed.
    He let off Nate. “Are you finished?”
    Nate panted for air. His teeth were gritted against the pain.
    “No?” the man asked. He pressed again.
    Nate squeezed his eyes tight and tried not to scream.
    The pain suddenly went away. Nate opened his eyes to see the sheriff standing over him. His hands were up where he must have shoved the man with the waxed mustache away.
    “Stop it!” the sheriff shouted. “The fight’s out of him already.”
    The mustachioed man stood several feet back. His eyes were narrow, and his hand brushed dust off his coat.
    The sheriff bent down over Nate and extended a hand. Nate coughed a little and then took it with his good arm. The sheriff pulled him up.
    As soon as he was on his feet, the little hunchback clapped shackles around his wrists.
    “What?” was all Nate could ask.
    “You’re not well in the head,” Blake said. “These men are going to take you to get some help.”
    Nate looked up at him. He let his eyes dart back to the dark glass in the leather mask of the hunchback next to him.
    Nate wasn’t entirely sure he was the crazy one here. Couldn’t the sheriff see there was something wrong with those deformed men?
    He flitted his eyes around the edge of the bayou. The hunchbacks had him surrounded from one direction, and the sheriff and the mustachioed man from the other. The deputies were closer to the water. The one Nate had butted in the nose had his handkerchief pressed on his face. His other hand held a revolver. They weren’t going to let him get away again.
    Nate bit his lip. How could he have gotten into a situation where two sets of lawmen were trying to fence him in? Maybe he did need help. He was a stoker, after all. He had been fighting the madness like anyone else. Nate had seen better men than him lose their heads. Maybe the madness really had finally gotten the better of him, and maybe he had wrecked the train.
    Maybe he had done something to Jones. Nate hung his head at the thought. All those miles together, and it took just a twinge of Stoker’s Madness to make him disappear. “All right.”
    The sheriff let out a long breath as if he’d been holding it. “Good choice, son. Is there anyone I should pass along word to?”
    Nate winced. Pass along word that he might be off his rocker? That he had crashed the train and would probably end up fired from the railroad?
    “Any family?” the sheriff asked.
    Nate felt his eyes go wide. Ma and Ann were at home, probably getting his supper ready right now. He didn’t have time to be arrested or carted off to the loony bin outside of town. He needed to get home.
    Nate turned away to break into a run again. Going up the road hadn’t gotten him anywhere, but if he could make it into the bayou—
    A huge hand caught him by his