'Gettin' rid o' Stevens to make room for Severn didn't do us no good,' the foreman remarked.
'Yo're damn right, it didn't, but who'd 'a' thought Masters would bring in a stranger?' Bartholomew growled. 'We reckoned on his givin' the job to Devint.'
'Masters warn't quite so dumb as we figured,' Penton said as he went out.
Bartholomew's grunt was one of affirmation; he was beginning to realise that he had underrated the late ownerofthe Lazy M.
It was a message from Ridge, conveyed by oneofhis riders, that brought Severn into Hope several days after the shooting. On his way to Bent's, where the XT man had arranged to meet him, the foreman sensed a difference in the attitude of the inhabitants towards himself. Several men to whom he had nodded or spoke before, passed without apparently seeing him. Ridge, who was waiting, soon explained the reason for this.
'Ain't wantin' to make more trouble for yu, but I reckon yu oughta know that it's bein' generally spread around that yu downed Masters,' the rancher said bluntly.
'Bart's men seem to be doin' the talkin',' Bent added. 'Me an' Ridge thought yu might have a word to say about it.' Severn's eyes darkened. 'I have,' he said quietly. 'I'm agoin' up to the `Come Again' right now to say it-- to Mister Bartholomew.'
'Yu ain't goin' alone, neither,' the XT man put in.
'If I could leave here--' the saloon-keeper began, but Severn waved him to silence.
'I'm obliged, but stay put, old-timer,' he said. 'No call for yu to mix in this.'
The big bar-room at the 'Come Again' was well patronised, and had Severn needed confirmationofthe rumour about himself, the fact that only one or two men returned his greeting would have provided it. Bartholomew, Penton, Martin and several others were standing in a group. The Lazy M foreman walked straight up to them.
'Bartholomew,' he said. 'I hear yo're accusin' me o' murderin' Masters.'
The big man was obviously nonplussed for a moment; he had not expected such a direct challenge. But he soon recovered his poise, and with a sneering grin at those about him, retorted :
'Well, s'pos'n it's so; what about it?'
'On'y this,' Severn said coolly. 'Yu will produce any evidence yu got, eat yore words, or--fight.'
'I ain't takin' orders from yu,' Bartholomew replied.
'No? Well, yo're takin' this, yu dirty coward,' Severn flashed back.
With the words, he stepped forward and his open hand slapped the Bar B owner smartly across the cheek. The force of the blow was such that the recipient staggered back, his face livid. With an inarticulate growloffury he snatched at his gun. He had got it half outofthe holster when a drawling voice warned:
'I wouldn't.'
Bartholomew hesitated, glaring. Severn's right hand Colt was covering him, though no man had seen him pull it. A gasp of astonishment came from the onlookers; Black Bart was esteemed the quickest on the draw for miles round, and he had been hopelessly beaten. For perhaps thirty seconds there was a tense heart-stopping silence, and then the man who had the drop spoke :
'Yu went for yore gun, Bartholomew, an' I got every right to down yu, but--stand awful still; a moveofone inch'll land yu plumb in hell.'
The acid in the voice bit into the big man's brain. His hand was still on his gun, but he dared not draw. That crouching figure with the narrowed implacable eyes would not hesitate.
Helpless as a tied steer, Bartholomew stood waiting the willofthe man he hated, beadsofperspiration on his brow, his eyes like live coals.
'I've shown yu how easy it would be for me to kill yu,' Severn said quietly. 'But for reasons o' my own, I'm agoin' to let yu live a bit longer.'
The foreman's pronouncement relaxed the terrific tensionofthe room in some degree, but all knew the incident was not over. The reprieve from what appeared to be certain death brought back a lintle of his habitual insolence to Bartholomew, and he waited with a bitter sneer on his face for the next move. When the foreman spoke again, his voice was low, vibrant.
'I've been told, Bartholomew, that yu are anxious to get yore hands on me,' he stated. 'I'm givin' yu the opportunity now. Shuck yore belt.'
For an instant the rancher stared in surprise, and then a gleamofunholy joy shone in his eyes. There was no man in the Territory who could live with him in a rough and tumble encounter; the lamb had come willingly to the slaughter. His astonishment was shared by the others in the room, allofwhom knew the big man's reputation. Ridge's expression betrayed deep concern.
'Yu must be loco, Severn,' he whispered. 'They say he killed a fella with his bare hands in Desert Edge.'
'Don't yu worry, old-timer,' was the quiet reply.
Both men removed their vests, belts and spurs, while eager hands pushed aside tables and chairs, clearing a space round which Muger's customers, drinks and games forgotten, ranged themselves in close-pressed ranks. Every moment the door opened to admit newcomers as the tidings of the impending battle spread, until nearly the entire male population was congregated around the arena. A clamourofarguing voices had succeeded the silence.
Amidst it all stood Severn, watching his man, a surgeofsatisfaction in his heart. He knew that he was taking a great risk--his opponent was bigger-built, heavier, and though older, still in the primeoflife--but he did not care.
To the onlookers the contest seemed almost unfair. They saw the great bulkofthe rancher, whose every movement brought the muscles rippling into ridges beneath his shirt, and contrasted it with the slim, wiry figureofthe puncher. Fewofthem had any doubt as to the issue. It would be brute force against brains.
'Bart'll eat him, without salt,' said one.
'He'll find him a tough mouthful,' retorted his neighbour, who had been eyeing the puncher closely. 'Barb- wire an' rawhide is what that fella's made of, an' he's fit.'
'Allasame, I'm layin' two to one on the big 'un,' the first speaker said loudly.
'Take that--to fifty,' snapped Ridge instantly.
One or two otherofSevern's friends supported him, but they were few, and Bartholomew laughed when the odds were increased and still there were no takers.
'Too bad yu can't get no bets, boys, for it's goin' to be easy money,' he called out. 'I'll break every bone in his body.'
'Chatter is cheap,' Severn retorted. 'Come an' do it, Mister --Mask.'
He had not raised his voice, and probably few, if any,ofthe jostling, excited crowd caught the epithet. But Bartholomew heard it, was guiltyofa little startofsurprise, and swore when he saw the foreman's grin of comprehension.
For a short moment the two men faced one another, and then Severn, determined to get in the first punch, darted in like lightning, drove a right and left just above Bartholomew's belt-line and was out of reach before the other had recovered his breath. With a bellow of rage--for he had figured on commencing the combat--the rancher rushed in, swinging his formidable fists, dealing blows which had they landed might well have ended the battle then and there. But the foreman was wary; he knew that at close quarters he would be at a disadvantage; his only hope was to keep his opponent on the move, jumping in when opportunity offered to strike. Bartholomewfell into the trap; believing that his man was afraid, he went after him eagerly, only to find that the light, quick-footed puncher was somewhere else. The tactics irritated not only the rancher but his friends, and shouts of derision, mingled with entreaties to 'stand an' fight like a man' came from the spectators.
Severn took no notice; he knew perfectly well what he was about; it was not the firsn time he had fought a bigger man than himself. Time after time he darted in, slammed one fist and then the other into his opponent's body, and got away laughing. The shouting crowd, thrusting and squirming to get a good view, swayed back and forth, gradually narrowing the space cleared for the combatants. Dust rose in clouds from the boards under the stamping, scuffling feetoffighters and followers. Tobacco smoke hung like a haze over the room; the smell of kerosene, and an intolerable heat added to the discomfort. Shouts of encouragement, mostly for Bartholomew, mingled with the cursesofthose unfortunate enough to get hurt in the melee.
Despite all that Ridge and one or two others could do, the ring soon grew smaller again, and Severn found himself forced into close quarters winh the big man who, quick to see his advantage, rushed in, flailing the air with
