“Dance monkey boy, dance!” cried Bill spraying bullets at the slave’s feet.
He cackled sadistically as he watched him frantically hop to and fro, hampered by the heavy chains.
Since his arrival in the Wild West of America, Mbassi had passed hands through 3 slave-masters. Bill Tyler was easily the worst. Twice already he’d nearly killed him during their tortuous trek across the rocky plains. His back bore the scars from many a whipping. Angry weeping welts glistened in the fierce sunlight.
They’d paused for brief respite from the mid-day sun and Bill was getting his daily dose of entertainment. The rest of the slaves cowered against the rocks, well away from the action.
“We ain’t done yet!” he said firing a fresh volley before crumpling to the ground.
A bullet had ricocheted off a rock and entered his temple killing him instantly.
Free at last and armed!