Return of the Outlaw by C. M. Curtis Read Free Book Online Page B

deposited him in the shed he had to fight to keep from drifting off. But he knew if he did, he wouldn ’t wake up for a long time, and that would be fatal. In the brief discussion the men had had after they stopped kicking him, believing him to be unconscious, Fogarty had made it clear they would kill Jeff after someone named Stewart returned. Fogarty also stated that in his opinion, Jeff would not come around before then. Perhaps that was the reason why they had not left anyone to guard the tool shed, a fact Jeff ascertained by peering through the cracks between the plank walls.
    He knew the shed well. He and Amado had built it. It was solidly constructed and he would not be able to break through the walls. But it had a dirt floor, and if he could find the right implement he might dig his way out. His captors had taken the precaution of removing the tools from the shed before locking him in, but there was a keg of nails in one corner they had not bothered with. When Jeff was satisfied there was no one around, he crawled over to the keg. It had no lid and was three quarters empty. When he tipped it over the exertion brought him a wave of nausea and his vision went dark. 
    He la y on his side until this passed and then he attempted to stand. His first effort brought more nausea and dizziness, but instead of lying down, he held himself in an upright position, kneeling on the dirt floor. After a while he felt better and was able to pull himself to his feet. He leaned for a moment against the wall of the shed, summoning all his strength, pulling in deep breaths of air to clear his clouded brain. Presently, he was able to take a few steps and he found the walking helped his equilibrium. He stood for a moment, taking stock of his injuries—and they were many. He knew he must have a concussion and maybe some cracked ribs. And there would be no way to count the bruises. His face, while not untouched, had not taken the worst of the beating. His attackers had mostly gone for the body, attempting to inflict internal damage. But Jeff’s body was hardened from a life of hard work and riding. He had strong abdominal muscles, which had protected his organs, and hard bones, which had withstood the punishment. He knew he was badly hurt, but overall he counted himself lucky. He was alive, he was conscious, and he was on his feet. If a man had that much, he had a chance.
    He needed an implement for digging, and the only thing in the shed was the nail keg. If he could break it apart he could use one of the staves. He tried kicking the barrel, but his strength was not sufficient to do any damage.  He picked it up and lifted it as high as the low ceiling of the shed permitted and let it fall. The effort and the pain were too much, and when his vision cleared again he found himself on hands and knees. But the keg was damaged. It took another ten minutes but he managed to work free one of the staves.
    He chose a corner of the she d where the dirt was not packed and began digging. The work was slow and painful and he had to fight with all the strength he possessed, against nausea and the overwhelming desire to lie down and rest. Fortunately the dirt in the corner was loose, never having been packed down by the boots of those who had used the shed, and Jeff made good progress. The dirt outside was more solid but was still damp from a recent rain, and soon he had made a shallow tunnel under the shed’s wall.
    Breathing heavily and beginning to suffer from thirst, he lay on his back, and at the expense of exquisite pain from his damaged ribs he squirmed through the hole and was finally outside. He lay on his back for a few moments, looking up at the stars and noting that the moon was too bright for safety. Well, there were things he could change and things he couldn’t. He had no jurisdiction over the moon. He sent a small prayer up to the one who did, and with great effort, hoisted himself to his feet.
    There were sounds coming from the direction