Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) (28 page)

 
          
Even
had the cowpuncher been the man to take it, however, the warning came too late,
for at the same moment Tarman lifted his hand and cried, “Set ‘em up for the
company, Silas.’ Then he looked directly at Green, and added, “
With
one exception, o’ course; I don’t drink with rustlers.’

 
          
No
sooner were the words spoken than Tarman found
himself
standing alone; Green’s companions also fell away; it was entirely the business
of the two principals, and however interested the others might be, none of them
wanted to stop a bullet not intended for him. The cowpuncher did not reply
immediately to the insult, and there was a moment of tense, hard-breathing
silence. Then suddenly he straightened up.

 
          
“Tarman,’
he said slowly, “I hope yu can shoot better than yu can ride.’

 
          
The
big man’s vanity was touched on the raw and his face flushed redly at this
allusion to his downfall. He was about to make an angry reply when the marshal
pushed forward,
gun
in hand.

 
          
“There’ll
be no shootin’ here, gents, ‘less I do it,’ he said. “I’ll bore the first man
that tries to pull a gun. If yu gotta difference, settle it some other way. Yu
got all out-doors to do it in.’

 
          
Green
laughed outright, for he knew now that Tarman had never intended to get into a
gunfight with him, the marshal’s intervention having been carefully arranged.
So that the big man’s protest and the officer’s refusal to consider
it did not surprise him.

 
          
“It
can’t be did, Mr. Tarman,’ Tonk said. “I gotta see the law…’

 
          
“Drop
that gun, marshal; I’ve got yu covered,’ broke in a sharp voice.

 
          
The
marshal’s eyes positively bulged as he saw Green’s right-hand gun, held close
to the hip, was aimed at his heart. How it had come to be drawn he could not
comprehend. He could have sworn he was watching his man, and he had seen no
movement, and a gasp of astonishment from the onlookers proclaimed that they
were equally puzzled. The marshal’s pistol clanked on the floor; he was not
anxious to wear wings. The cowpuncher holstered his own weapon,
then
looked at Tarman.

 
          
“That
lets the marshal out,’ he said. “He’s
spoke
his little
piece an’ obeyed orders. What’s the next move in this frame-up?’

 
          
“I
dunno what yo’re talkin’ about,’ retorted Tarman. “If the marshal hadn’t butted
in I’d have shot it out with you, an’ been damn glad o’ the chance.’

 
          
The
marshal won’t butt again,’ Green reminded.

 
          
“P’raps not, but he’s put in a protest, an’ I have some respect for
the law, if you haven’t.’

 
          
“Reckon
the on’y law yu got any respect for is the law o’ self-preservation,’ the
cowpuncher sneered, and laughed as he saw the taunt sink in. “Well, got any
ideas?’

 
          
“Yes,
I got the idea that yu are a professional killer an’ that yu are scared to face
a man without yore guns,’ said Tarman. “Take off yore belt an’ I’ll kill yu
with my hands, no holds barred. Now what have yu got to say?’

 
          
“Who’ll
guarannee that I get my guns back?’ asked Green, suspicious that this might be
a ruse to catch him unarmed. “I will,’ said Snap promptly. “Give ‘em to me an’
yu’ll have ‘em when yu want ‘em. What’s more, yu git a square deal, or
someone’ll go out in the smoke.’

 
          
“An’
that goes,’ shouted Larry and Dirty together, with a malignant glare at the
Double X faction.

 
          
Green
made no further demur, but handed his belt to Snap, who buckled it above his
own in such a position as to enable him no pull the guns easily. Green threw
aside his coat and vest, removed his spurs, and was ready. The centre of the
room was soon cleared of tables and chairs, and the spectators, cards and
drinks forgotten, stood round in an eager ring. Tarman also shed his coat and
vest, disclosing a mighty pair of shoulders and arms upon which the muscles
stood out in bunches. He moved easily for so big a man, and as he stepped
forward swinging his hands he looked a formidable opponent. He was taller and
heavier than the cowboy, but the latter was in perfect physical condition and
as hard as nails. He smiled confidently as the little gunman whispered: “
Don’t
let him close with yu—he’s too heavy, an’ don’t yu
worry about anythin’ but him; I’ll look after the others.’

 
          
The
cowpuncher nodded, aware that the advice was good. What the outcome of the
fight would be he did not know, but the prospect of hammering the man before
him made his body tingle and filled him with satisfaction. The primal instinct
to fight with Nature’s weapons possessed him, and he was glad it had not come
to a shooting. A word from Snap and the combat was on.

 
          
Neither man knew much of boxing, and
the ethics of pugilism
were little observed in frontier encounters. It was to be a stark fight, with
no respite and no mercy. There were no seconds and no referee, save the
self-appointed, squinting-eyed little gunman who watched grimly, his hands
never far from the butts of his guns.

 
          
For
the first moment or two the men circled warily, watching for an opening. Tarman
was the first to see what he took to be
one,
and rushing
in, he swung a terrific blow at his opponent’s head, which, had it landed, it
might well have finished the battle. But the cowpuncher saw it in time and
ducked, his shoulder taking what was meant for his head. Such was the force of
the impact that he staggered and almost fell. A chorus of yells greeted this
success.

 
          
Two
to one on the big ‘un,’ shouted Blaynes, already visioning the downfall of the
man he hated.

 
          
“Take
yu—one hundred to fifty,’ snapped Lunn.

 
          
“Good
enough. Anyone else
want
it?’ asked the foreman, his
eyes on Larry and Dirty.

 
          
“Betcha
life; we’ll both take the same,’ was the eager response of the Y Z pair.

 
          
Blaynes
laughed. “Yu boys’ll put in a few months workin’ for nothin’,’ he sneered.

 
          
Meanwhile
the fight went on, Tannan trying to deliver another sledgehammer blow, and
Green keeping him away with savage jabs from a straight left arm and clever
footwork. These tactics, though they did little damage, had the effect of
misleading the big man, and many of the onlookers.

 
          
“Smash
him, Joe, he’s runnin’ away,’ growled Laban.

 
          
Probably
Tarman never heard the advice but he apparently thought the same, for he rushed
blindly in. At once the smaller man ducked and, as the blow whistled harmlessly
over his shoulder, drove his left to the body and his right to the jaw, with a
force which jerked a gasp out of the recipient. Two quick body blows from fists
as hard and heavy as bags of bullets followed, and ere the big man could
retaliate
Green had slipped clear and was waiting for him.

 
          
Again
Tarman rushed in and this time Green met him halfway and fiercely returned blow
for blow. Neither man made much attempt to avoid punishment; each was intent
only on hurting the other. The cowpuncher, deaf to the curses and entreaties of
his friends, yielded to the madness which possessed him, took all that was
coming, and was concerned only with endeavouring to give more than he got. He
was conscious of but one desire—to feel his fist pounding the puffed malignant
face before him. He was hardly aware of the swaying ring of shouting men,
grimed with the dust which rose in clouds from the boards beneath their
stamping feet, but he knew that his strength would not stand the terrific
strain much longer, and that his enemy was still unbeaten.

 
          
Tarman
was weakening too. For months past he had been living an easy life, and the
blows to the body were beginning to tell. After five minutes of straight
slogging, Nature called a halt and the men fell apart, unsteady on their feet
and gasping for breath. Both showed signs of the punishment they had received;
Green’s cheek was gashed and one eye nearly closed, while the big man’s lips
were split, and both eyes badly bruised. The respite did not last a minute, for
Tarman, with a grunt of rage, lurched forward with fists flying. But the
breathing-space, short as it was, enabled the cowboy to regain control of
himself
; his wild burst of anger was sated, and he now
fought warily again.

 
          
Time
after time he slipped agilely away from a furious onslaught, and the task of
following him was doing the bigger man no good. The adherents of the latter saw
this, but Green took no notice of the taunts and jeers his tactics called
forth. All at once, the very thing he had been trying to avoid happened—his
foot slipped, and in an instant Tarman’s mighty arms were round his shoulders.
It was like being hugged by a grizzly. Fortunately for Green, the giant had
caught him a shade too high, so that he was still able to administer a
succession of short-arm jabs to the wind, but the clamp of those iron arms was
slowly but surely crushing the life out of him. The room seemed to be swaying
up and down like the deck of a ship, he saw dimly a row of contorted, bobbing
faces, oaths flew from excited lips, and the swinging lights seemed to be
fading. Then, at the very moment when he felt that all was over, came relief;
Tarman unable to endure the torture of the body-blows another instant, broke
his hold and the pair dropped apart.

 
          
Silence
seized the spectators again as they watched the two men standing there
apparently too exhausted to make another move. Was it to be a drawn battle?
Bruised, battered, drawing their breath in great sobs, neither man looked
capable of striking another blow. The harsh tones of the Y Z foreman, bitter
with hatred, shattered the silence and gave the signal for the renewal of the
combat.

 
          
“Yu
got him beat to a frazzle, Tarman. Go in an’ kill the hound.’

 
          
Like
a drench of cold water the words struck the cowboy, steadied his reeling
senses, and keyed up his weary body. Snap, watching him closely, saw him
straighten, noted how the slack fingers bunched themselves into fists again,
and promptly replied to the
challenge :

 
          
Wantta
double that bet, Blaynes?’ he asked.

 
          
“Shore,’
returned the foreman, “though it’s fair robbin’ yu.’

  
    
 
“Guess yore conscience’ll stand it at that,’
sneered
the other. “Yo’re on.’ And then, in an undertone to
Green, he said, “
Now
, boy, wait for him an’ give him
hell.’

 
          
The
cowpuncher did not have long to wait. Spitting out an oath, Tarman dashed in,
his right arm swinging like a flail, intent on finishing the fight at a blow.
But the smaller man was ready, alert, and watching. Instead of giving way
before the onslaught he stepped to meet it and flinging his left arm upwards
and outwards, knocked the advancing fist aside. The force of the parry swung
the big man half round so that the left point of his jaw was towards his
opponent. Like a flash of light Green’s right fist shot out, with every ounce
of his remaining strength behind it, and landed with a thud on the exposed
spot. Tarman’s head snapped back, his heels left the floor, and he crashed
down. Such was the impetus of the blow that the striker also fell prone on top
of the stricken man.

 
          
Green
was up again at once and stood back, waiting, but Tarman lay there like a log,
breathing heavily, but unconscious; the fight was finished! For a moment the
onlookers gazed in amazed silence at the fallen giant, and then pandemonium
broke loose. Blaynes, furious at the loss of his money and his baulked vengeance,
was excitedly talking to the marshal, a point which Snap at once observed. It
took but a minute to re-invest the victor with his gun-belt and discarded gear,
and then the gunman
whispered :