“But dumb as dirt,” Scratch went on as if the other man hadn’t spoken.
Bo heaved a sigh. If a fight hadn’t been inevitable to start with, it sure as blazes was now. Culley’s face darkened with slow anger, and he started toward the porch steps. He was so muscular that his walk had a peculiar rolling gait to it.
Bo made one final attempt to stave off a ruckus. He stood up, held out a hand, and said, “You boys don’t want to do this.” He looked at Dave. “I’m betting your mother won’t like it if there’s a brawl on her front porch.”
“My mother doesn’t tell me what to do,” Dave shot back. “And you shouldn’t have mouthed off to Angus and Culley.”
“Hey!” Scratch said indignantly as he got to his feet. “I’m the one who mouthed off, and don’t you forget it!”
Culley spoke for the first time, rumbling, “Gonna rip you apart, old man!” He charged up the steps, followed closely by the straw-haired man, whose name was Angus, evidently.
Scratch lifted his right leg, planted his boot heel in Culley’s chest, and shoved. Culley went backward into Angus, knocking him over like a ball in a game of ninepins. Both men sprawled in the dirt in front of the porch, looking surprised. Scratch hadn’t seemed like he was moving very fast. His movements had appeared almost casual.
Dave gaped. “You gonna let that old varmint do that?” he demanded, the slur slipping back into his voice.
“Not hardly,” Angus vowed as he scrambled to his feet. He had to help Culley up, because the muscle-bound man was flailing his arms and legs like a turtle that’s been flipped over onto its back.
Once they were both up, Angus said to his companion, “All right, we’re gonna go at this different. I’ll take the preacher, you handle the fancy Dan in the buckskin jacket.”
Culley nodded. He didn’t have much of a neck, just a thick column of muscle. “Yeah. Gonna bust him to pieces.”
Scratch grinned and said, “Come on, baby bull. You try it.”
Angus and Culley advanced up the steps side by side this time, moving more slowly and more carefully. The Texans split up, Bo going down the porch to the right, Scratch to the left.
“Try not to bust up those rockers,” Bo called to his trail partner. “They’re pretty comfortable. Be a shame if they got broken.”
“Yeah,” Scratch agreed. “Might upset Mrs. Sutherland, too.”
Dave yelled, “You leave my mother out of this, saddle tramp!”
Angus charged, swinging a malletlike fist at Bo’s head. At the same time, Culley barreled toward Scratch.
Bo blocked Angus’s punch with the same sort of effortless ease that Scratch had demonstrated in kicking the two ruffians down the porch steps a few minutes earlier. In a continuation of the same movement, Bo’s right fist shot forward in a short, sharp blow that landed flush on Angus’s nose. Blood spurted under the impact. Angus staggered back with a howl of pain.
He retreated only a couple of steps, though, before he caught himself and attacked again, this time wind-milling punches at the black-clad stranger. Bo blocked the first few blows, but then one of Angus’s knobby fists clipped him on the jaw. Angus might be scrawny, but his punches packed plenty of power. Bo was knocked against the railing that ran along the front of the porch. With a shout of triumph, Angus crowded in on him, trying to seize and hold the advantage.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the porch, Scratch had his hands full with Culley. The pocket-sized titan was slow, but even though Scratch was able to land several sizzling punches, Culley just shrugged them off. He appeared to be able to absorb as much punishment as Scratch wanted to deal out.
At the same time, he swung his tree-trunklike arms in lumbering roundhouse blows that Scratch was able to avoid without much trouble. If one of those big fists ever landed, though, it would be like being hit with a piledriver. Scratch would go down hard.
He didn’t intend to let that happen. He darted in and out, peppering Culley’s face with punches in hopes that sooner or later the fella’s brain would realize how badly he was being pummeled.
To his horror, Scratch suddenly felt Culley’s arms snap closed around his torso like bands of steel, and he knew that he had made the mistake of getting too close. Scratch’s arms were still loose, but Culley just ignored the blows and squeezed. As those brawny arms tightened more and more, Scratch grunted and felt his ribs begin to creak.
While Scratch was trying to deal with that bone-crushing threat, Bo thrust a foot between Angus’s ankles as the straw-haired man tried to crowd him into the railing. Angus lost his balance long enough for Bo to hook a left to his jaw and stagger him. Bo reached out, grabbed the front of Angus’s shirt, and heaved him around in a turn that sent Angus hard into the railing.
The wooden rail was sturdy enough so that it didn’t break under the impact of Angus’s body. Instead, Angus’s momentum caused him to flip over the railing. With a startled cry at this unexpected turn of events, he fell to the ground in front of the porch.
And landed right in those cactus roses.
Bo winced at the sudden screeches of agony that came from Angus as his flesh was pierced by hundreds of the razor-sharp cactus needles. Angus tried to jump up, slipped and fell again, and just made his situation that much worse as he landed in the cactus again. He finally rolled clear of the spiny plants, but continued shrieking in pain.
Some of the roses had been crushed. Bo shook his head in regret at that. The blooms had been mighty pretty.
He turned to see how Scratch was doing, and was alarmed to see that Culley had Scratch trapped in a bear hug. Bo could see Scratch’s face over Culley’s shoulder. It was almost purple from the lack of air, and Scratch’s eyes were open wide in pain and desperation.
Bo palmed out his Colt as his long legs carried him quickly to the other end of the porch. He raised the gun,
