The gunplay was affecting him more than anything else. For all that he’d been something of a roughneck in his youth, Mike had never killed anyone before.
A hand fell on his shoulder, turning him around. He saw Dr. Nichols’ concerned face. “Are you all right?”
Mike nodded. He even managed a wan little smile, and held up his hands. Three of the knuckles were split and bleeding. “Far as I know, Doc, this is all that’s wrong with me.”
Nichols took the hands and examined them, kneading the joints. “Don’t think anything’s broken,” he muttered. The doctor cast a quick glance at the unconscious thug on the dirt floor of the farmhouse. “But as hard as you punch, young fellow, I’d really suggest you use gloves from now on. That bastard looks like somebody took an ax handle to him.”
For a moment, Mike felt a little light-headed. He could sense other miners ranging through the farmhouse, looking for more enemies. But there weren’t any. The blood rushing through his ears blurred the words they were speaking, but Mike could sense from the tone that all danger was past.
He took a deep, almost shuddering breath. Then, with a quick shake of the head, he cleared away the sensation of dizziness. Nichols released his hands.
“Thanks, Doc,” he said softly.
Nichols’ face broke into a sudden smile. “Please—call me