Tyler James

About the Book

If I slept any that night I certainly couldn't remember it. Seemed I had stared at the darkness all night, sure I was to be imprisoned or hanged come morning. In less than a month I'd been drug toward California, beset by Indians, whipped soundly, and now jailed; and I was not yet twelve.

Dim came the dawn through the slits about my eyes. Both were now swollen and very sore to the touch. I was sure they were both black and blue. My nose had bled, but it seemed to be where it was. I'd a loose tooth, a cut to my chin and pain just about everywhere.

As I sat the bench in my cell I consoled myself by finding spots on my body that didn't hurt, places they had missed, few there were.

My left ear didn't hurt, my left leg felt normal. That was it; the rest of me had complaint aplenty.

About the Author

L.L. Layman is a Peoria, Ill., police officer and farmer who says he was born a century too late. For more on him and his series of Western novels, go to www.lllayman.com