Take no prisoners, except this here one.

“Jist thought ye should know,” Cody told him, “yer friend is dead.”

Boyd swung the rifle around, first uppercutting Cody under the jaw with it, then cocked it back and cold-cocked him with the butt of the rifle across the nose, knocking him to the ground. He put his boot up against Cody's throat, and when he was sure he had good enough pressure to keep him subdued, quickly using the rope to bind Cody's hands in front of him, tight enough to cause burns on his wrists. Fastening the rope into a knot, and satisfied with his 'handi-work' he let up on Cody's throat so he could breathe again. For good measure, he kicked him in the flank before yanking him to his feet.

"Jist thought ye should know? I ain't got any 'friends'" Boyd said, close enough to get spittle on Cody's face. "But you got a soft spot for your whore, and I'm willin' ta bet she's got one for you too." He unloaded and tossed the rifle aside, picked up Cody's pistol and dropped it into his own holster. He kept the pistol trained on Cody while he fastened the long end of the rope to the horses saddle. He went around and mounted the horse from the "wrong' side, looked down at Cody and chucked.

"Hope you like walkin' smith. If'n you don't? Hope you like being dragged." he nudged Chester with his heels. Chester, being Chester, of course didn't move. "Stupid horse..." Boyd swore, trying again. Chester still balked. so he resorted to slapping the horse's hind quarters with the leather reins. At least that got the beast moving. His pride wounded by the stupid horse's antics, Boyd took his foot from the stirrup to kick his boot to Cody's face.

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