Man with No Name- Bone-Breaking Blows

“Pinky, you aren’t near the Indian you thought you were. You’d better work at it some more.”

The gunman hit him twice, once with his right once with his left. Both blows cracked against the jaw, hard enough to break bone. The hunter’s vision swam. He sagged back against the tree. He felt rather than saw, the albino cut the thongs that held him, felt his knees buckling. As he sank to the ground he turned his face up the hill, shook his head again. Then he fell flat.

He felt brown hands pawing at him. He was stripped of his clothes—his boots were yanked off, not gently. He was too stunned to resist.

- A Dollar to Die For, chapter 9