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Oneman grabbed the top of the pole, near Jane's mouth. Another reached down andhoisted the bottom end, below her feet. Hefting the weight onto theirshoulders, Jane was carried into the next room, suspended on the spit. The menlay the rod ends into the spit spindle over a six foot wide grill. Waves of heat assaulted Jane's body from the burning flames of the litgrill. Screaming in terror and fresh pain, she squirmed uselessly on the spit.One man came over to her, carrying a small bucket. He flipped a switch and thespindle began to rotate, turning Jane's body slowly over the flames below.Using a wide brush, he dipped into the bucket of warm, melted butter, and beganapplying it thickly to Jane's entire body. As she turned over and over, butteroccasionally would drip off her skin, causing flames to leap up and singe herbody. Her screams were muffled somewhat by the pole filling her throat, but shestill managed to make quite a bit of noise. After 5 minutes or so the cheffinished basting. The gun never made it. Jase had been watching carefully and, in quick reaction, had pulled his own Colt, cocking and firing it in a movement more swift than the blink of an eye.The round took Claus in the middle of his forehead, right above his nose. The entry wound was small and round, but the exit wound took out much of the back of the man's skull in a horrific red spray of brains and bone that made a mess of the horse and the saddle directly behind him. He was dead before he hit the ground, his Colt dropping into the dust beside him.Death comes quick to the unwary, thought Jase, and either he was not wary enough, too slow, or both!Once again, Jase had a dead body, a horse with full tack, and more weapons on his hands.Seems to be somebody on the prod everywhere I go, thought Jase as he started to go through the dead man's pockets. A pair of gold eagles, a pocket knife, lucifers in a watertight wrap, and the usual makings for smokes was the result.No identification was found. Jase.
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