Hyram Clay was a big man, slow to anger, but also slow in reactions. The first punch cracked into his jaw despite it being well telegraphed, and he staggered backwards, impressed by the weight of the blow and the size of the black man moving in closer towards him.
“I’ll not stand your insulting anymore,” said Cougan, flexing his shoulders, slamming a right fist into Clay’s ribs. The big man’s breath rushed out from his mouth and the left cross put him down on the floor where he sat on his backside, staring in dazed disbelief at the blood dripping in between the cracks in the wooden boards.
“Darn it, he sure is something,” said Sterling Roose from where he sat, long legs stretched out under the card table. The two men opposite, cards held close to their faces, barely muttered a reply. Aro
