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That is, until one of the combatants, the local man who had helped start the fight, burst free of his bindings and rushed Asher. Asher stepped to one side and stretched out his leg. The burly man couldn’t stop himself and tripped over the foot which sent him careening face-first into the sand. He came up sputtering curses and debris.
“What is going on here?” a voice shouted, and I turned toward the row of houses that lined the lake.
A group of some dozen men, all dressed in leather jackets with black pants and matching caps atop their heads, marched toward us. I noticed many of them had dark shadows under their eyes, and some of their jackets were scuffed and dirty.
The speaker led the way, and was a man of some forty years old with a black mustache and sharp dark eyes. The but
