Riding for the Brand (Ss) (1986) (24 page)

They got into the ring and walked to the center. The Slasher was half a head taller than Shaw and heavier. His wide cheekbones and beetling brows made him look fierce. The back of his head slid down into a thick neck.

Shaw's hair had been cut, and it was black and curly. He looked brown, and when he turned and walked to his corner, there was an unexpected lightness in his step.

The Wyoming Slasher dropped his robe, and there was a gasp from the crowd who looked at the rolling muscles of his mighty shoulders and arms. He was built like a wrestler, but his weight was in his gigantic shoulders and deep chest.

He strode to the scratch, skintight gloves pulled on. The sheriff motioned, the slicker slid from Barney's shoulders, and he turned and came to scratch. His broad shoulders were powerful and tapered to narrow hips and slim, powerful legs. The Slasher put up his hands and Barney hit him, a quick left that tapped the blood at his thin lips. The Slasher lunged, and Barney slid away, rapping a quick right to the body.

The Slasher strode in, and Barney tried a left to the head that missed, and the Slasher grabbed him by the waist and hurled him to the ground.

Shaw lit in a pile of dust, and the sheriff sprang in. "Round"... He shouted.

Shaw walked to his corner.

"He's strong"... He said. He waved away the water bottle.

"Them new Queensbury rules would be better for you"... His second said out of the corner of his mouth. "London Prize Ring rules was never no good. Yuh hurt a man and if he goes down the round is over."

They started again at the call of time, and Barney walked out quickly. The Slasher rushed, and Barney lanced the fellow's lips with another left and then stepped around and jabbed with the left again. There was a mix-up. Then Barney stepped away, and the Slasher hit him.

It was a hard right, and it shook Shaw to his heels, but he stepped away. He was skillfully, carefully feeling the bigger man out. Instinctively he knew it would be a hard fight. The other man was like iron, big and very, very strong. It would take time to down him. Barney was trying each punch, trying to find out what the big man would do.

All fighters develop habits. Certain ways of blocking lefts, ducking or countering. By trying each punch a few times Barney Shaw was learning the pattern of the Slasher's fighting, getting a blueprint in his mind.

When the second round had gone four minutes, he took a glancing left to the head and went down, ending the round.

When the minutes were up, he went out with a rush. The Slasher put up his hands and without even stopping his rush, Barney dropped low and thrust out his left. It caught the Slasher in the midriff and set him back on his heels.

Instantly Barney was upon him. Hitting fast, he struck the Slasher five times in the face with a volley of blows before the bigger man was brought up by the ropes. Then setting himself, he whipped a hard right to the Slasher's ribs!

The crowd was yelling wildly, and the Slasher came off the ropes and swung. Barney went under it and whipped a right to the heart. Then the Slasher's left took him and he rolled over on the ground!

He was badly shaken. In his corner, "Turkey tom"... Ryan, his second, grinned.

"Watch it"... He said. "He can hit, the beggar!"

They had wiped the blood from the Slasher's face, and the big man looked hard. Near the Slasher's corner Barney could see George Clyde.

Barney Shaw went up to scratch and as the Wyoming Slasher rushed he stabbed a left to the mouth, parried a left himself, and hit hard to the body. Inside, he hammered away with both hands. He took a clubbing right to the head that cut his forehead and showered him with blood.

But suddenly he knew that his time had come, and instead of backing away, he set himself and began slugging with everything he had.

The Slasher was caught off balance. He tried to get set, but he was too heavy. He struck several ponderous blows, but Barney was knifing his face with those skintight gloves. Jabbing a left, he turned his fist as it struck and ripped the Slasher's face. Then he stepped in and threw a wicked uppercut to the body. Then another and still another.

The Slasher started to fall, but Shaw caught him under the chin with the heel of his glove and shoved him erect against the ropes. Stepping back, he smashed both hands to the chin.

With the crowd roaring, Shaw leaped away and the Wyoming Slasher rolled off the ropes and fell flat on his face!

Instantly his seconds were over the ropes and swarming over him. Harrington rushed across the ring and seized one of Barney Shaw's hands, shouting something about his fists being loaded.

Turkey tom shoved him away, and Shaw took off the glove and showed him his bare fist. Harrington snarled something, and Shaw slugged him in the ribs. As the big man started to fall, one of his friends stepped up, and instantly the ring was a bedlam of shouting, fighting men.

It was ten minutes before the ring was cleared, and then the Slasher was able to get to the scratch. He rushed immediately, and Shaw ducked, but as he ducked he slipped and the Slasher hit him and knocked him to his knees.

He started to get up, and the Slasher rushed and struck him another ponderous blow. He went down hard. And the round ended.

He was barely on his second's knee when the call of "time"... Came again and, groggy, he went to scratch. The Wyoming Slasher charged. Shaw ducked, went into a clinch, and threw the Slasher with a rolling hiplock. The Slasher went down with a thud.

Still groggy, he came to scratch again, but as they came together, he feinted suddenly. As the Slasher swung, Shaw threw his right, high and hard. It caught the Slasher coming in and knocked him to the ropes. As he rebounded Shaw hit him with a one-two, so fast the two blows landed with almost the same sound.

The Slasher hit the ground all in one piece and rolled over. After ten minutes he was still unable to stand.

As he shoved to his feet and held there, Harrington suddenly shouted. As one man, his thugs charged the ring and began tearing down the posts.

But even as they charged, the four cattlemen leaped into the ring, as did the man with the blue anchors on his hands. In a breath there was a cordon of men with guns drawn around Barney, around the two stakeholders, and around the shouting Turkey tom.

Harrington's thugs broke against the flying wedge formed by the cattlemen and Shaw's friends, and the wedge moved on to the hotel.

Tess met them at the door, her eyes wild with anxiety.

"You're all right? Oh, I was so afraid! I was sure you'd be hurt!"

"You should see the Slasher, ma'am"... Turkey tom said, grinning to show his five gold teeth.

"He don't look so good!"

"We've got the money to pay off now"... Barney told her, smiling. His lips were puffed and there was a blue welt alongside his ear. "We can pay off and start over."

"Yes, and that ain't all"... One of the cattlemen, a big man wearing a black hat, stepped in.

"When yuh wired about the water, I was in Zeb's office. We went to the governor and we got it all fixed up. So I decided it might be a right good idea for me to come up here and get yuh to feed about five hundred whiteface cows for me on shares!"

"She can't"... Snarled a voice behind them. less-than less-than were As one man they turned. George Clyde stood in the doorway, his lips thinned and his face white.

"She can't, because there's mineral on that place, and I've fled a mining claim that takes in the spring and water source!"

His eyes were hard and malicious. Harrington, his face still bloody, loomed behind him. The big man with the anchors on his hands stepped forward and stared hard at Clyde.

"That's him. Sheri"... He said. "The man who killed Rex Tilden!"

George Clyde's face stiffened and went white.

"What do you mean?" He shouted. "I was here that night!"

"You were in Santos that night. You met Rex "less-than backslash Tilden on the road outside of town and shot him. I was up on the hill when it happened and I saw you. You shot him with that Krag Jorgenson rifle! I found one of the shells!"

"He's got one of them Krags"... The sheriff said abruptly. "I seen it! He won it from some Danish feller last year in a game of faro. I never seen another like it!"

Barney Shaw had pulled on his trousers over his fighting trunks and slipped on his shirt. He felt the sag of the heavy pistol in his coat pocket and put on the coat. Half turning, he slid the pistol into his waistband.

"That means"... He said coolly, "that his mineral claim won't be any use to him. I know he hasn't done any assessment work, and without that he can't hold the claim!"

Clyde's eyes narrowed.

"You"... He snarled. "If you'd stayed out of this I'd have made it work. You'll never see me die!

And you will never see me arrested!"

Suddenly his hand dropped for his gun, but even as his hand swept down, Barney Shaw stepped through the crowd, drew, and fired!

Clyde staggered, half turned, and pitched over on his face. Harrington had started to reach, but suddenly he jerked his hand away from his gun as though it were afire.

"I had nothin' to do with no killin'"... He said, whining. "I never done nothin'!"

When the sheriff had taken Harrington away, ori-iev Shaw took Tess by the arm.

"Tess"... He asked hesitantly, -- auc""....** , deal still go?"

She looked up, her eyes misty and suddenly tender.

"Yes, Barney, for as long as you want it!"

"Then"... He said quietly, "it will be for always!"

*

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Frank Collinson, writing of buffalo hunter Jim White, whom he knew: "White was a fine shot, the best I ever knew ... I once knew him to kill 46 buffalo on Duck Creek with 47 shots."

At another point he quotes White as saying:

"I can hit a half-dollar at fifty yards."

Frank Collinson, from Yorkshire, England, began his western experiences in 1872, as a cowboy, buffalo hunter and rancher. He died in Texas in 1943.

*

Man Riding West.

Three men were hunkered down by the fire when Jim Gary walked his buckskin up to their camp in the lee of the cliff. The big man across the fire had a shotgun lying beside him. It was the shotgun that made Gary uneasy, for cowhands do not carry shotguns, especially when on a trail drive, as these men obviously were.

Early as it was, the cattle were already bedded down for the night in the meadow alongside the stream, and from their looks they had come far and fast. It was still light, but the clouds were low and swollen with rain.

"How's for some coffee?" Jim asked as he drew up. "I'm ridin' through, an' I'm sure hungry an' tuckered."

Somewhere off in the mountains, thunder rolled and grumbled. The fire crackled, and the leaves on the willows hung still in the lifeless air.

There were three saddled horses nearby, and among the gear was an old Mother Hubbard style saddle with a wide skirt.

"Light an' set up."... The man who spoke was lean jawed and sandy haired. "Never liked to ride on an empty stomach, m'self."

More than ever, Gary felt uneasy. Neither of the others spoke. All were tough-looking men, unshaven and dirty, but it was their hard-eyed suspicion that made Jim wonder. However, he swung down and loosened his saddle girth and then slipped the saddle off and laid it well back under the overhang of the cliff. As he did so he glanced again at the old saddle that lay there.

The overhang of the cliff was deep where the fire was built for shelter from the impending rain. Jim dropped to an ancient log, gray and stripped of bark, and handed his tin plate over to the man who reached for it. The cook slapped two thick slabs of beef on the plate and some frying-pan bread liberally touched with the beef fryings. Gary was hungry and he dove in without comment, and the small man filled his cup.

"Headed west?" The sandy-haired man asked, after a few minutes.

"Yeah, headed down below the rim. Pleasant Valley way."

The men all turned their heads toward him but none spoke. Jim could feel their eyes on his tied-down guns. There was a sheep and cattle war in the valley.

"They call me Red Slagle. These hombres are Tobe Langer and Jeeter Dirksen. We're drivin' to Salt Creek."

Langer would be the big one. "My name's Gary"... Jim replied. "Jim Gary. I'm from points yonder. Mostly Dodge an' Santa Fe."

"Hear they are hirin' warriors in Pleasant Valley."

"Reckon."... Jim refused to be drawn, although he had the feeling they had warmed to him since he mentioned heading for the valley.

I "Ridin' thataway ourselves"... Red suggested.

"Want to make a few dollars drivin' cattle?

We're shorthanded."

"Might"... Gary admitted. "The grub's good."

"Give you forty to drive to Salt Creek.

We'll need he'p. From hereabouts the country is plumb rough, an' she's fixin' to storm."

"You've hired a hand. When do I start?"