Sudden--At Bay (A Sudden Western #2) (9 page)

‘
Yo’re takin’ it correct,’ Sudden
told him. ‘But yu don’t seem to be takin’ it too hard.’

‘
If yu got them, they musta’ been
fools,’ snarled Cotton.

‘
They worked for yu,’ was the
telling reply. ‘Which don’t point to them bein’ over-bright. All
right, enough jabber. Shuck yore guns —-both o’ yu. An’ mind how yu
do it.’

With a muttered imprecation, Art
Cotton unbuckled his gun-belt and allowed it to fall to the dusty
ground. Helm’s hands moved too, because for a fraction of a second,
Sudden’s eyes had flicked across to watch Cotton step away from his
guns.

In that half-second, Helm’s hands
flashed towards his guns and were on the butts, lifting them level,
when Sudden leaped forward, the barrel of his right hand gun
describing a short, vicious arc. The heavy weapon caught Helm above
the right ear and dropped him to his knees, stunned. He half fell
forward, one gun still in his hand, trying to bring it up to sight
it at the man in front of him. Once again, the barrel of Sudden’s
gun flickered in the sunlight, and Helm went down like a pole axed
steer.

‘
Some fellers is hard to
convince,’ Green remarked casually. He cast a glance about him.
‘Where’s yore brothers, mister?’ he asked the disarmed Art
Cotton.

‘
They ain’t here, damn yore eyes!’
grated Art. ‘Or yu’d be whistlin’ a different tune!’

‘
Had it all worked out, didn’t
yu?’ was the sardonic reply. ‘Helm takes the kid for a short ride,
like the one Norris’ an’ Rodgers took me for. Then yu go back to
rawhidin’ this town. Somebody oughta cut yu
hombres
down to size.’

Art Cotton spat disgustedly. ‘Big
talk when yu got the drop, mister,’ he sneered. ‘Yu wouldn’t talk
so loud if yu wasn’t hidin’ behind that gun.’

His boastful words carried clearly to the knot of
spectators who had appeared on the sidewalk as if they had in some
mysterious way sensed the drama which was taking place in the dusty
street. A thought struck Green.

‘
Billy,’ he snapped. ‘Hop over to
the Sheriff’s house an’ invite him to join us. If he gives yu an
argument, persuade Mm to come anyhow.’ A grin appeared on Billy’s
face, and he wheeled to do
Sudden’s
bidding. In a few moments he was back, herding the discomfited
Parris in front of him. Parris’ face was bloated, his hair
awry.

‘
He was takin’ a nap explained
Billy. ‘Snorin’ like a sheep.’

Cotton looked at the sheriff
disgustedly. ‘Sleeping was yu?’ he raged. ‘This jasper’s treein’
yore town, an’ yu lie there snorin’
yore
thick head off.’

‘
Art, I … I didn’t expect…’
mumbled Parris.

‘
Yu stupid clod!’ hurled Cotton.
‘Yu wouldn’t expect it to
snow in the
winter!’ He turned to face Sudden again. ‘As for yu,
mister, yu better get on yore hoss an’ head for
the hills. Yu beat the game once, but yu ain’t likely to get away
with it a second time.’

Sudden smiled at him, although the smile did not
reach his eyes.

‘
Yo’re forgettin’ I’m the one with
the gun,’ he pointed out.

‘
I ain’t forgettin’ anything,’
snapped Art Cotton. ‘Yu got a tiger by the tail. So, yu got the
drop on me. So, big deal. Now what yu aimin’ to do
—-
shoot me down in the
street?’

‘
Don’t tempt me,’ was the
rejoinder, and the icy words brought
a
startled look to Art Cotton’s face. He countered it with
bluff.

‘
Mister, this is our town. Yu
expect help from these sheep?’ He
gestured
contemptuously towards the knot of watchers. ‘They wouldn’t lift a
finger to help yu.’

‘
I ain’t feelin’ the need o’
help,’ Sudden pointed out. ‘How about yu?’

Cotton shrugged. ‘If yu was half a
man, an’ wasn’t hidin’ be
hind yore gun,
mebbe we could settle this different.’ A malignant
gleam of cunning entered his eyes, which turned to
triumph as Green nodded.

‘
Yu may be right at that,’ said
the puncher. ‘I’m guessin’ that
Cottonwood
needs to see one o’ the Cottons crawl. Mebbe this is as good a time
as any for them to see it.’

So saying, he holstered his guns
and then unbuckled the twin
belts and
tossed them to one side. Billy voiced a protest as he did
so.

‘
Jim, don’t! It’s just what he
wants you to do.’

‘
Shet yore face, sonny!’ growled
Cotton. ‘I’ll come to yu when
I’ve taken
care o’ yore big-talkin’ friend here.’

‘
First catch yore hare,’ taunted
Green, and without warning
stepped in and
felled Art Cotton with a short, right-armed uppercut which sent the
Cottonwood man reeling backwards
into the
dirt, spitting blood from his broken lips. With a curse that was
almost a scream. Cotton lurched to his feet, and rushed at the slim
man who stood poised before him. Green let him come, almost until
Cotton’s clutching hands had taken hold of him. Then he stepped
swiftly aside and again felled his opponent with a clubbed fist.
Cotton ploughed face down into the dirt once more. He lay there for
a moment, shaking his head, spitting dirt from his
mouth.

‘
By Gawd!’ yelled one bystander,
unable to contain himself and disregarding his ingrained fear of
the Cottons. ‘He’s beat already!’ Cotton scrambled to his feet,
throwing a wicked look at the knot of watchers.

‘
I’ll find the man who said that!’
he snarled. ‘After I’ve showed yu where this jasper steps off when
he ain’t got a gun.’

‘
Yu talk a good fight, Cotton,’
jibed Sudden. ‘Yu ain’t caught yore hare yet.’

Cotton glowered at his opponent for a second.
Dropping his head, he made a sudden plunge at Green, but once again
the puncher was ready. He slipped easily aside and drove a fist
into the thick neck, then stood waiting, a small smile of derision
on his face. Cotton shook his head and charged again. Again Green
stopped him, without so much as suffering a glancing blow. Again
Cotton rushed in, again the other planted a punishing blow and
slipped aside. Cotton growled; these tactics did not suit his style
of fighting at all. The watchers, too, became impatient.

‘
Stand up an’ fight,’ someone
called. ‘This ain’t no dancin’ contest.’

Billy Hornby cocked his gun, and the silence became
intense as the two men shuffled for position.

‘
Next jasper opens his mouth
better have somethin’ to
say
,’
warned
the boy. Nobody met his eye; the watchers were engrossed in the
next stage of the fight, for the puncher, disregarding his own
intuitive knowledge that Cotton preferred to fight close, had
stepped forward after his man, driving Cotton backwards, trading
blow for wicked blow, taking whatever Cotton gave without once
ceasing to land punishment upon the retreating cowman.

The fight became one of blind fury.
Cotton now slithered to one knee, and Green stepped back for a
moment, to reveal the marks that Cotton had put on him. A jagged
cut from which dark blood oozed marked the cowboy’s brow, and there
was a purple lump at the ridge of his jaw. Cotton was in worse
shape, if anything. One eye was swollen, almost completely shut,
and a huge welt the size of half an egg bulged his eyebrow forward.
His lips were torn and bloody, and his face was scratched and
puffed. Sweat and dirt had matted his hair, and white streaks lined
his face where perspiration had channeled downwards through the
dust from the street which darkened his visage. He knelt, panting,
for a moment, one hand flat on the ground for support. Then, in a
blur of movement, he came upwards at Green, his right hand shooting
forward and hurling the dust he had grasped in it straight into the
puncher’s eyes.

Blinded, Green threw up his hands
desperately as the Cottonwood man rushed in, landing murderous,
crashing blows to the puncher’s head. Green reeled backwards, his
legs going from under him, pawing at his streaming eyes, able only
to see a blur of movement as he fell, twisting to avoid the
stomping heel which jarred into the dust where he had been a second
before. Ere he could regain his feet, however, Cotton caught him in
a grip like that of a grizzly bear. Vainly he struggled to free his
trapped arms from the terrible pressure which was crushing his rib
cage. Cotton, his expressionless eyes now alight with murderous,
triumphant rage, teeth bared like those of a wolf, and the fetid
breath exploding from his tattered lips, slowly tightened his hold.
‘Yu got him, Art!’ screeched a voice. ‘Break him in two!’ In that
moment, Sudden’s vision cleared, and he caught a momentary glimpse
of the gloating face of the Sheriff.

Suddenly he let his whole body go
limp. The abrupt downward drag took Cotton off guard, and he
stumbled. As they fell, Sudden heaved Cotton up and to the side so
that as they hit the ground they were separated, enabling the
puncher to roll free. He got to one knee as Cotton leapt up and
turned, pivoting on one foot and driving a wicked kick straight at
Sudden’s head. Had it landed, the fight would have been over then
and there, but Green saw it coming, and ducking under it, grasped
Art Cotton’s leg and heaved on it. Cotton went somersaulting over
backwards, landing with a dull thump on his back and shoulders,
raising a small cloud of dust. Green got up, weak still and dizzy,
to stand waiting.

‘
Jim!’ called Billy eagerly.
‘Finish him off!’

Sudden shook his head and managed a lopsided
grin.

‘
I don’t fight that way,’ he
gasped, and the boy cursed his friend’s idea of fair play, knowing
that if the circumstances had been reversed, Cotton would have
tromped him like a sidewinder.

Art Cotton soon recovered. The
shock of the fall, which had stunned him momentarily, was
dissipated, and with a spat curse he clambered to his
feet.

‘
That was a mistake, cowboy!’ he
jeered. Sinking his head, he charged in again, right fist hurtling
forward to deliver a blow which would have dropped an ox. It never
landed. Green swayed to let the murderous punch slide underneath
his arm, and clasping both hands together in a doubled fist,
chopped downwards at Cotton’s exposed neck. Cotton dropped to his
knees, his eyes glazed. Green stooped downward, grabbed the man’s
shirt in his hand and hauled Cotton to his feet. The man stood
tottering as Green chopped him with a right, then a left, then
another right; short, cutting, punishing punches which never
travelled more than six or seven inches but which had every ounce
of his strength behind them. Cotton still stood, tottering, swaying
like a tree in a high wind, blood streaming down his smashed face,
both his eyes closed, his hands groping feebly for his enemy,
trying to stop this blasting hurt. But now Green was merciless.
Again he chopped Cotton to his knees. Again he hauled him up. A
cold, empty light was in his eyes. He once more delivered the
vicious uppercuts, and Art Cotton fell again to the ground, this
time sprawling on his side, head cradled in his arms.

‘
Stop … please.’ His voice was
piteous. ‘Don’t anymore.’

‘
Get up!’ snapped Sudden. ‘Yu
ain’t through yet.’

‘
No —-no, no more, no more!’ The
words were almost a scream. Green lifted the man apparently without
effort by his shirt front. Cotton cringed from the expected blow,
but Sudden merely yanked him around to where the townspeople could
see him.

‘
Here’s yore unbeatable Cottons,’
he told them. ‘Here’s the family that’s been grindin’ yore faces in
the dirt for years.’ He thrust Art Cotton forward. ‘Take a good
look. They ain’t made o’ steel. Yu can hurt them.’ He gave Cotton a
contemptuous shove, and the half-conscious man reeled a few paces
and then stumbled over the prone form of Helm, who lay in the
street where he had fallen, a thin trickle of blood drying on his
face. Cotton slid to the ground beside the gunfighter and lay
there, his body heaving, racked with dry, frustrated
sobs.

Sudden turned to Parris, who quailed as the puncher
bent his frowning attention upon him.

‘
I … I ain’t …it … I didn’t…’ he
faltered.

‘
Get those two on their horses,’
snapped Green. ‘An’ get them out o’ here. Put the one that’s
sleepin’ over there by the jail with
them
an’ take them back where they belong —-they’re smellin’ up the
town.
Move!’

Parris jumped like a startled deer,
and hastened over to where Cotton lay sprawled in the dust. At
Sudden’s bidding, two of the bystanders helped him to get Cotton
into the saddle. Helm was slung face down across his horse’s back,
and the still-dazed Ricky was boosted into the saddle. Someone
brought Parris his placid mount. The Sheriff heaved himself up and
turned helplessly to the watchers.

‘
What am … what shall I tell? What
will Sim say when…?’

‘
Tell him yu beat ’em up yoreself,
Harry!’ yelled a man in the crowd, and Green smiled to himself.
Perhaps there was a chance yet that the townspeople would stand up
against the Cottons.

‘
Tell Sim Cotton what happened,
Parris,’ he told the Sheriff. ‘Tell him how, an’ tell him why. Most
of all, tell him not to come into this town unless he’s prepared to
leave it in a box. Now git!’