Radigan (1958) (6 page)

"What was that?" Barbeau asked.

But the moment had passed, and Radigan was eating, ignor
ing
him. Barbeau stared at him, then looked around truculently, hoping for some false move. He was ignored and after a minute he turned his attention again to Radigan. "I wonder if he can fight like he can eat," he asked.

"Maybe somebody should find out," Coker suggested. Radigan was enjoying the meal, as he had not realized how hungry he was. "Hadn't figured I was this hungry," he said, "hut John made some bear sign the other day and I've eaten nothing else for the last two days."

"You want warriors," Hickman said. "You let that get out. You could get more fighting men with bear sign than you could with money, grub being what it is in this country."

He filled his glass. "I've seen cowhands ride sixty, seventy mile for chance at bear sign."

Barbeau took another drink and then turned with his back to the bar. He was spoiling for a fight and did not like being ignored, and the drinks had fired his blood and convinced him he was ready.

At the table Radigan had missed nothing. An old campaigner when it came to brawls, he knew every move that was being made. He glimpsed Coker moving a little toward the door to cut off any retreat, and Bitner had moved toward the rear. Barbeau was a broad, thick man with a coarse beard and the thick hands of' a really powerful man. He had heavy features and a hard jaw set above a short, thick neck.

Low-voiced, Radigan told Hickman, "Stay out of it. This is my fight."

Hickman studied him quizzically. "Three's quite a handful," he commented. Then he added, "He comes right in, slamming with both hands. And he's hard to stop."

Barbeau was getting set.
Radigan needed no map to see how the trail lay, and he sat very still, looking into his cup and mentally cataloguing the room around him and its tactical possibilities.
And then the door opened and Angelina Foley came in.

She came directly to Radigan's table and he got to his feet politely.

"Now look at that!" Barbeau sneered. "A real gent!"

"Mr. Radigan?" Her eyes were even greener than he had remembered. "I heard you were in town and hoped to see you before you left. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was that we are putting you off the land. If we could pay you for your trouble? The offer is still open."

"You're mistaken, Miss Foley. Someone has given you some wrong information again.

I'm not moving."

"Please!" Her finger touched his sleeve and her eyes were very large. "We own the land, and you must go. I am afraid that if you do not go some of my men will want to force you to move. I thought ... well, when I heard you were in town I hoped we might reach an agreement."

"Will you sit down?"

She hesitated an instant, then seated herself. Radigan sat down and as he did so he heard Coker say, "Any minute now, they'll serve tea."

Radigan turned to Downey. "Do you have any tea?" "Tea? Tea! ... Well ... sure, but-"

"Make some, and serve it to us here, will you? But make a lot ... make a gallon of it."

"A gallon? Of tea?" "That's right."

Hickman leaned back in his chair studying Radigan with a curious glint in his eyes, but Radigan turned to Angelina. "You were about to say-?"

"I wish you'd reconsider ... I mean, about moving. And I meant what I said about paying for your improvements.
Naturally, we are as sorry about this as you."

But I'm not sorry." Radigan smiled at her. "I'm not sorry at all. I do regret that you have come so far without checking, without knowing what you were getting into. If you really wish to see how little you have in your favor, just take it to court."

"But the courts are so far away, Mr. Radigan!" Her eyes opened wide. "And they take far too much time! I am sorry, indeed, but Mr. Thorpe and I have more than three thousand head of cattle coming up, and if you won't move, we'll have to move you."

"Know anything about that land, ma'am?"

"I haven't seen it, of course, but Mr. Thorpe has. Why do you ask?"

"Simply this. If I were to move off that ranch and let you have it, you couldn't winter three thousand head of cows up there ... if you had a free hand and no trouble at all, you still couldn't do it. There isn't range enough, there isn't feed enough.

If a man had a good winter he might get through with a thousand head."

She stared at him, taken by his obvious sincerity, but not wanting to believe him.

"But I heard it was the finest grass in the world, and that there was plenty of water."

"It is all of that, but there isn't enough of it. I've hoped to open trails to other valleys where cattle could be kept, but as it is, that's mostly timber country, over half of it stands on edge, and probably the easiest way to be rid of you would be to step out and let you try it. You'd lose cattle, men and horses."

"You seem to have done all right. I can scarcely believe you, Mr. Radigan."

He nodded to indicate the men at the bar, aware they were listening. "Above all, what will you do with your hands?" It was a chance to inject some doubt into their minds. "There isn't work up there for more than two or three men on the few acres you'll have."

"Acres?" she protested. "There are miles, twenty-two square miles, to be exact."

Downey came in with the tea. "Had to use two pots," he explained. "Never had such a big order before."

Radigan took the smallest pot and filled their two cups and then he quietly drew his gun. "Serve the rest of it to them." Radigan indicated the three men at the bar with his gun barrel. "I'll see that they drink it."

Coker's features stiffened and his hand started for his gun but stopped as Radigan's gun muzzle swung to cover him. "Start drinking. You, too, Barbeau."

"I'll be damned if I do!"

Radigan's gun tilted a little. "You asked for a tea party and now you've got it.

Start drinking or I start shooting."

Hickman was grinning widely. Startled, Angelina Foley could only stare from Radigan to her men, astonished and unbelieving. "If you aren't drinking by the time I count three," Radigan said casually, "I'll break an arm for each of you."

He came easily to his feet and moved across the floor toward them, keeping Angelina and the door in his line of vision.

"I'll kill you for this!" Barbeau shouted.

"Maybe-but I can start shortening the odds right here. You wanted tea, now get on with it."

Coker slammed down his cup. "I'll be damned if I will!" he shouted and grabbed at his gun butt.

Radigan's gun barrel slashed right and left and Coker hit the floor as if dropped from a roof. "Get on with the tea drinking," Radigan said calmly, "or I'll pile you three deep."

Angelina Foley was white with anger. "See here!" she pro tested. "You can't do that!"

"I'd hate to hit a woman," he said.

Involuntarily, she sat down. "You ... you wouldn't dare!" "If you play games with men," he replied, "you'll play by men's rules."

He handed his six-gun to Hickman. "Barbeau was hunting a fight," he said. "You just keep them off my back."

Barbeau slammed down his cup and turned sharply around. "Fight?" he yelled. "You'd fight me?"

Radigan hit him.

Barbeau staggered and Radigan stepped in, watching Barbeau's fists, and whipped a wicked left into Barbeau's belly. Barbeau was a talker as well as a fighter-he had expected to do some talking about what he was going to do, and he had been startled by Radigan's willingness to fight, and the savagery of Radigan's attack confused him. He backed away, but Radigan gave him no chance to get set. A left and right to the face shook him up, and desperately he put his head down and charged, swinging.

A wild right staggered Radigan, but the rancher stepped outside of a left and brought his fist down on Barbeau's kidney.

The heavier man gasped and plunged in, grabbing for a clinch. Radigan hit him flush on the chin with a short right that stopped him in his tracks.

Barbeau stared through his raised fists at Radigan. This fight was not going as his fights usually went. The right he had taken was a stunning blow, and Radigan looked cool and easy, not even breathing hard. For the first time Barbeau realized he might be whipped and the thought was maddening. Recklessly he charged, swinging powerful blows with both hands. For a few minutes they fought hard, and Barbeau drove Radigan back across the room. Bitner was cheering, and Barbeau was sure he had Radigan going.

He felt his right land solidly, and automatically he slowed to let Radigan fall.

In the instant he slowed, Radigan struck him in the mouth, splitting his lip and spilling blood over his shirt front.
Astonished, Barbeau saw Radigan standing before him . . . the rancher had taken his best punch and had struck back at almost the same instant.

Barbeau rushed, but the heart was out of him. Wildly, he knew he was not going to win. Never before had he hit a man solidly with his right hand when that man had not fallen, but the punch apparently had left Radigan undisturbed. Radigan had grown up around the camps of Michigan loggers before coming west to Texas, and he had served a postgraduate course in fist-fighting among the freighters and the riverboatmen.

Few cowhands of the seventies knew anything about fist-fighting. Arguments were settled with guns and fists rarely used, hence Barbeau's victories had been won over men to whom fist-fighting was completely foreign. To Radigan fist- and skull-fighting had been a way of life from boyhood into young manhood. He had lost fights, but he had won many more, and Barbeau had none of the rough skill to which he was accustomed.

Barbeau rushed again, trying to grapple with Radigan, but the rancher gave ground suddenly and the overbalanced Barbeau fell forward. Grabbing Barbeau by the collar, Radigan jerked him forward over his own extended leg and hurled him to the floor.

Barbeau lay on his back, staring up at Radigan from dull eyes.

Then slowly lie started to get up, and Radigan backed off to give him room. When Barbeau was on his feet, Radigan walked in, feinted, and hit the heavier man in the belly. Filled with tea, Barbeau backed up, gasping and gulping, overcome with nausea. He backed away, lifting a hand to ward Radigan off. He was battered, bloody and beaten, and he knew it.

Radigan picked up his gun and dropped it into his holster. Coker was sitting on the floor holding his head in both hands. "I don't want trouble," Radigan said, "but I won't run from it.

He turned to face Angelina Foley. Her face was white, her eyes hard with anger.

"I doubt if you realize what that Vache Creek country is like," he said, "but if you want to come up with one man, and I'd suggest Ross Wall, who is a cowman, I'll show it to you. Most of it is over seventy-five hundred feet above sea level, and it is the most beautiful mountain country in the world. It is also one of the roughest, coldest and has the most snow."

Downey was standing near the window. "Stage coming," he said.

Radigan put on his hat and walked outside. His knuckles were split and sore but he felt good. It had been his first fist fight in a long time, and he was suddenly glad he had put in much of the summer splitting rails for fences and cutting wood for winter. Nothing like an ax or a crosscut saw to put a man in shape.

He remembered Thorpe. With him such a fight might be different, for Thorpe was no Barbeau, and despite the fact that he looked the fashionable young man there were shoulders on him, and there was something about the lean savagery of his face that was a warning. Also, when they had first met he had noticed scars on the man's knuckles.

The door closed behind him and he turned to see Angelina Foley looking at him. Her gaze was cool, curious, and, for the first time, almost respectful. "Would you have struck me?" she asked curiously.

He had never struck a woman in his life, but he looked at her as if surprised by the question. "Why, of course," he said. "I meant what I said."

"You're no gentleman, Mr. Radigan!"

He grinned at her. "No gentleman would have a chance, dealing with you. You'd tease, flatter, maybe cry. You'd pet him, lie to him, cheat him. Well, you can cry for me or pet me, but you'll never do the rest. Try cheating me and I'll spank your little bustle."

Her eyes held a challenge. "We may be on opposite sides, but you're a man, and I like you. You may call me Gelina." "You're a beautiful, desirable woman," he said, "but I wouldn't trust you across the street. Before this is over you'll hate me more than you ever hated any man, but seriously, take my advice and leave now. This fight will exhaust everything you've got and leave you nothing."

She smiled. "You have one man working for you, Mr. Radigan. I have thirty. I think I'll win."

He nodded seriously. "But I have something else working for me. The most dangerous ally a man could have-the weather. What will you do with your cattle when the ground is three to six feet deep in snow and no feed anywhere?"

The stage rolled to a stop and the cloud of dust that had pursued it now caught up and drifted over it, settling on the horses and around them.

Radigan watched the driver climb stiffly down from the box, his face red from the chill wind. Hickman had followed him out, and Downey was opening the door to help the passengers down. Radigan shifted his weight and a board creaked under his feet.