Jericho dropped his hand away from Otis’s throat and lessened the force of the knife blade. “That’s why you hurt so many people. You couldn’t punish the one person who’d inflicted so much pain on you. Your dad. So you had to punish others.”

Otis’s eyes flew open, and the agony there testified to the truth of what Jericho had spoken.

Before Jericho could react, Otis lunged forward, wrapped both hands around Jericho’s neck, and squeezed. His grip was like an iron manacle, unyielding and unmoving.

Jericho tugged at Otis’s fingers in a desperate attempt to loosen them. But the veins in Otis’s forehead bulged, and his cheeks reddened, his fury giving him a burst of strength that defied human capabilities.

Strangely, Otis’s eyes were dull, almost as if he wasn’t present any longer. Maybe he was indeed somewhere in the past, picturing his dad’s face in place of Jericho’s—the dad who had not only failed to love him but, if the reports in the files were true, had treated him worse than a mangy mutt, kicking, beating, and starving him.

No doubt Otis’s hatred and bitterness had fueled his brutal murders of so many others. And if Jericho let his own hatred and bitterness fuel the murder of this man, where would his depravity stop? What kind of man would he become? Certainly not much better than Otis.

Jericho slipped his knife up and cut Otis’s hand, forcing him to release his hold. As the outlaw screamed and dropped his hand, Jericho tore off a strip of his shirt and quickly wrapped it around Otis’s new cut to staunch the bleeding.

As much as Jericho wanted to make the man suffer for all he’d done, he couldn’t let revenge have a greater need inside him than justice. After all, revenge had to do with payback for selfish satisfaction. But justice was about righting wrongs for the good of everyone.

“I’m making a litter for Ivy, and you’re helping me carry her down the mountain.” He fastened a cord around Otis’s hands, binding them together. The man would be weak from his wounds and asthma, but he could brace the poles on his shoulders, at least until Jericho found a horse or a passerby who could assist him.

Otis leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. “Told you to kill me.”

“I’ll be taking you into Denver and to jail so you can stand trial for all you did.” Jericho secured Otis tightly, making sure he wouldn’t be able to get loose. Then he checked him for any hidden weapons.

“They’ll end up hanging me, so might as well get on with it.”

Jericho unsheathed a knife tucked away under Otis’s shirt. “I’m not the judge. I’m just the bounty hunter.” He found another knife in Otis’s boot.