Suddenly he was rolling. Over and over. On his back. Jerked agonisingly onto the side. Scraping bare skin. Till the force of the bend twisted him over on to his front.
Raced around a bend. Bouncing, twisting off the rope. The momentum kept him spinning. Dragged by the rope. Spiralling over and over. On his front .. onto his back again. Joints agonisingly twisting. Jerked onto his front again.
Bodie had nearly passed out. Pain yanked out of his shoulder joints. The shock .. the speed .. his body pounded by rock-hard earth. Head in a gut-wrenching spin.
Blood thudding maddened in his veins. Hardly conscious that the horse had slowed. Moving at walking pace. Becoming aware of growing menace. The deafening sound of pounding hooves were replaced by more inhuman clamour. Howling beasts. Whooping monsters. The sounds amplifying. The threat increasingly louder.
Nervous Bodie tried to peer up along a dust covered arm. But he saw only the rump of a sweat drenched horse. Whatever that menace his ears had heard, it took too much effort to prise up his head. Face down at the earth, being dragged at walking pace .. knees scraping painfully. He made himself catch his breath.
Was that it? Had he survived? Another trial by ordeal to prove he was worthy of being ranked with an Indian brave?
A mountain lion snarled. As if leaping to attack. Bodie called out. Painfully hit across the shoulders. To one side stood a hate filled Indian brave. Raising the shaft of his spear again to beat it across Bodie’s back .. face twisted on a snarl of hatred.
From the other side .. hit hard with a thick strap of hard leather. Stinging across Bodie’s exposed lower back. Knocking the wind out of him.
For the first time the chief’s son twisted around .. to see the hated white eye take a club to his side .. the force making him twist over. Into the path of a cattle whip .. biting down the length of his back. His head was hung down. But with a satisfaction born of hate, the brave heard the White-eye’s throat explode in a shout of raw pain.
Every brave in the tribe was lined up .. a row either side of the horse and its hated load. Slowly walked through this tunnel of death. Bearing the defenceless traitor .. born Indian, switched loyalty to the hated enemy. Every brave thrashing out with all his might. Each strike loaded with hate-fuelled force. Each brave hoping his strike might be the killer blow.
But not yet. The end of the lines was in sight. The chief’s son got ready to dig his heels in. Spur his horse into another race. Another round. Racing this treacherous White-eye around another tortured circuit. Bouncing and beaten, racing him at break-neck speed around the village. Returning him dead-beat to the tunnel of death.
The brave readied himself .. itching to kick the horse on. Another round of torture, dragged behind his horse. For however many circuits it took. Till he was dragging behind a White eye’s corpse.
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