Big Mamma O’Neil bulled her way past those at the door. “A hundred bucks on Tilden!” she yelled.
“Done!” Louis said.
“Barbaric!” Hunt muttered.
Big Mamma laughed and slapped the lawyer on the back, almost knocking him down. She stepped on past the men at the door and walked to a far wall.
Tilden flicked a right hand toward Smoke, a feeling-out punch. Smoke moved his head slightly, dodging the punch. He jabbed a hard left, catching Tilden in the mouth, snapping the man’s head back.
With a roar, Tilden swung a roundhouse left that caught Smoke on the shoulder. A powerfully thrown punch, it brought a grunt of pain from the smaller man. Smoke countered with a right, hitting Tilden in the belly. It was like hitting a piece of hardwood. Tilden grinned at Smoke and the men went after each other, toe to toe, slugging it out.
Smoke realized that if he was to win this fight, and that was something he had to do, for morale’s sake if nothing else, there was no way he could stand up and match Tilden punch for punch. The man was bigger and stronger, and in excellent physical shape.
Smoke jumped to one side and lashed out with one boot, the toe of the boot catching Tilden on the kneecap. Tilden howled in pain and, for a second, dropped his guard. A second was all that Smoke needed.
Smoke hit the man twice, a left-and-right combination to the jaw. His punches were savage, and they rocked the bigger man, bringing blood from one side of his mouth. Tilden staggered under the combination. Just for a second, his legs buckling.
Smoke hit the man flush on his mouth. Tildern’s lips splattered under the hard-thrown punch, the blood spurting. Tilden grabbed Smoke in a bear hug, holding on until he could recover. Smoke experienced the man’s massive strength as the air was crushed out of him. Tucking his head under Tilden’s jaw, Smoke brought his head up savagely. Tilden’s mouth snapped shut and he squalled in pain as the teeth caught his tongue and more blood was added to the flow from his battered mouth. The big man’s grip eased and Smoke slipped out of the bear hug.
Pivoting, Smoke poured on the steam and hit Tilden in the gut with every ounce of strength he could muster. The right fist caught Tilden just above the belt buckle, and the wind whooshed out of the man as he involuntarily doubled over. Smoke stepped in close and grabbed Tilden’s head and hair with both hands and brought the head down at the same time he was bringing a knee up. The knee caught Tilden smack on the nose and the nose crunched under the impact. Tilden was flung back against the bar.
The big man hung there, his eyes still wild but glazed over. Smoke stepped in close and went to work on the kingpin.
Smoke hammered at the man’s belly and face with work-hardened fists. In seconds, Tilden’s face was swollen and battered and bloody.
Clint stepped in to break up the fight and found himself suddenly lying on the barroom flour, hit on the back of the head by The Apache Kid’s rifle stock. Clint moaned once and then lay still, out cold.
Smoke went to work on Tilden’s belly, concentrating all his punches there, and they were thrown with all his strength. It was a savage, brutal attack on Smoke’s part, but Smoke knew, from having the old Mountain Man Preacher as his teacher, that there was no such thing as a fair fight. There was only a winner, and a loser.
He hammered at Tilden’s mid-section, working like a steam-driven pile-driver.
Twice, Tilden almost slumped to the floor. Twice, Smoke propped him back up and went to work on him. He shifted his attention to Tilden’s face, his punches ruining the man’s once-handsome features. Smoke’s flat-knuckled fists knocked out teeth and loosened others. His fists completely flattened Tilden’s nose. One punch to the side of Tilden’s head ripped loose an ear, almost tearing it off the man’s head. Still Smoke did not let up. His fists smashed into Tilden’s sides and kidneys and belly and face.
Smoke was fighting with a cold, controlled, dark fury. His fists battered the man; this man who had boasted he would take Smoke’s wife; this man who had sworn to run Smoke and the others out of this part of Colorado; this man who dared impose his will on all others.
Then Smoke realized he was battering and smashing an unconscious man. He stopped his assault and stepped back, his chest heaving and his hands hurting. Tilden Franklin, the bully of the valley, the man who would be king, the man who would control the destiny of all those around him, slipped to the floor to lie among the cigarette and cigar butts. His blood stained the trash on the floor.
He was so deep in his unconsciousness he did not even twitch.
“I’d have never believed it,” Big Mamma O’Neil was heard to whisper. “But I seen it. Lord have mercy, did I ever see it.”
“That’s a hundred dollars you owe me, Big Mamma,” Louis said. “You can give it to Billy over there.”
Louis looked at the Tilden riders. “You TF riders can pay Big Mike.”
“I have some medication at the office that will ease those swelling hands, Smoke,” Colton said, “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Smoke leaned against the bar and nodded his head.
“Ain’t you gonna see to Mister Franklin?” a TF rider asked.
“At the office,” Colton said shortly. “I’ll prepare a bed for him.”
Smoke belted his guns around him and began working his fingers, to prevent them from stiffening any worse than he knew they would.
“Drag that cretin from my premises,” Louis said, pointing at the prostrate Tilden Franklin.
Big Mamma O’Neil laid five twenty-dollar gold pieces on the table in front of Billy.
Billy looked up at her with a bit of egg sticking to his upper lip…
