his great arms. The puncher, unable to retreat, dodged what blows he could, took the remainder, and fought back doggedly, aiming for the body, which he had already selected as Bartholomew's weak spot. His lips drawn back in a snarling smile, his jaws clenched and narrowed eyes alert, he endured a shower of blows which would have beaten a less agile man to the ground, and every now and then his fists thudded into the bigger man's midriff. The successionofpunches in one place was beginning to have its effect, the Bar B man was breathing gustily, and he winced obviously when Severn gon a hit home.
The Lazy M man, too, was being severely punished; he could not evade all the blows, and presently a whirling right caught and sent him to his knees. Amidst a howlofjubilation from his supporters, Bart jumped forward and aimed a venomous kick at the puncher's head. Severn, on his feet but not upright, twisted aside, caught the big man's ankle and stood up. Thrown off his balance, Bartholomew crashed to the floor and lay there breathless and half stunned. Severn stood wanching him, gladofthe respine. In similar circumstances, the Bar B owner would have stamped the life out of his foe, but the cowboy did not fight that way. A tense silence gripped the spectators as they waited, and then someone said satirically :
'Goo'-night, Bart; pleasant dreams.'
As if electrified, the fallen giant got to his feet and sprang at Severn.
This time, the foreman, insteadofretreating, came to meet him, and the next few minutes were an orgy of sheer ferocity; neither man made any attempt to guard himself, each being intent only on hurting the other. Severn knew that he was mad to do it, but the lust to pound the poisonously puffed faceofthe coward who had tried to kick him when he was down was too strong. In this he had succeeded, for oneofBart's eyes was closing, and the blood was streaming from a cut in his cheek; Severn's face also was bruished and gashed. He felt, too, that he was weakening, his head throbbed, and his arms were like lead, but he knew his opponent was in no better shape. In truth, Bartholomew's fall had shaken him; he was finding it difficult to get air enough into his lungs, his blows no longer had the same elasticity, and he moved more slowly.
'Even money the little 'un,' shouted the man who had wished Bart 'good-night'.
If his purpose was to spur the big fellow to renewed efforts he accomplished it. Amidst the yells and oathsofthe nearly demented audience, who had by now reduced the space for the battle by more than half, Bart closed, and the fight became a medleyofflying fists again, from which came the thudofbone meeting bone, the sobofstarved lungs, and the grunt which toldofa blow successfully given. Suddenly Bartholomew drew himself up and swung his right arm. Severn saw the blow coming and stepped back, only to stumble over an outstretched foot and stagger sideways. The fist whistled harmless over his shoulder, but ere he could recover his balance, two great hands closed on his throat, the thumbs sinking in until they seemed to be crushing the bones. Choking, the lightsofthe saloon and the bestial ringofeager, writhing faces faded out, and he could see only thatofhis foe, a livid, malignant maskofsavagery. With a last effortofexpiring consciousness, he dashed his fist into it. For an instant all went dark, and then he opened his eyes to find Ridge and Callahan supporting him. Awkwardly sprawled on the floor lay the formofBartholomew, breathing stertorously but senseless. Some of the crowd frankly smiled and gave him a cheer; others, if they felt hostile, took care not to show it. Severn grinned feebly; he was all in, and his throat made speech difficult.
'What happened?' he inquired.
'What happened?' repeated Ridge, his face split by a wide smile. 'Oh, nothin' much. Yu just tapped him on the chin an' he lay down to think it over. I reckon he's got his needin's for tonight, anyways. Come along to Bent's an' git cleaned up; yore face looks like an Injun massacre.'
Almost unheeded by the milling throng round the fallen fighter, the three of them left the saloon. One man only watched them covertly--a short, middle-aged cowboy, with a dried-up wizened face, legs badly bowed by constant riding, and two worn, black-handled guns which hung low on his thighs. Severn saw him but took no notice.
'The sonofa gun,' muttered the stranger, with a twisted smile, and went in searchofhis horse.
An hour later, the foreman, having removed the traces of the combat as far as possible, set out for the Lazy M. Bitterly bruised and aching as he was, his principal feeling was one of deep satisfaction; he had set himself a task and had done it, and the recollectionofthe battered hulk he had left on the saloon floor paid in full for his present pain. About a mile from town his horse whickered, and an indistinct form showed from behind a bush at the side of the trail.
'H'ist 'em,' said a voice, but there was chuckle behind the command.
'H'ist nothin',' the traveller retorted. 'Come outa that, yu ornery little runt, an' explain yoreself.'
The bow-legged puncher who had been in the 'Come Again' stepped into view.
'Orders from the boss,' he grinned.
'So I ain't yore boss no longer, huh?' Severn queried. 'Didn't I say for yu to stay at the YZ?'
'Orders from yore boss. Yessir, Miss Norry--' He paused at the other's laugh, and then resumed, 'Oh, I know she's bin married two-three years, but she's still `Miss Norry' to the outfit, an' allus will be. Well, she says, `Snap, I got a letter from that man o' mine tellin' me everythin' is ca'm an' peaceful, an' things is workin' out fine. It's shore too good to be true; the better he makes it, the wuss it is. Yu fork a cayuse an' mosey along.' Reckon yu overplayed yore hand some.'
The foreman grinned ruefully. 'I'll never understand women,' he said. 'Yu can't fool 'em. If I'd told her things were a bit promiscuous, she'd 'a' sent yu just the same. How's everybody at the old homestead?'
'Fine as silk,' Snap Lunt replied. 'That yearling o' yores gets bigger while yu watch. I misdoubt he'll be a wuss hellion than his daddy. Tried to take my gun off'n me the other day, an' shore raised the roof when he couldn't have it.'
'I'll bet he did--there ain't nothin' the matter with that young fella's lungs,' the foreman agreed with paternal pride. 'When d'yu get here, Snap?'
'Just in time for the show,' Lunt said. 'Yu ain't forgot how to use yore paws, Don.'
'I ain't `Don' around here, Snap; I'm Jim Severn, even whenwe seem to be alone,' the other warned him. 'Yu come near bein' in time for my funeral--I shore thought he'd got me.'
'That last was a daddyofa wallop--me, I'd sooner be kicked by an outlaw hoss,' Lunt told him. 'I'm glad I come; things don't seem so painfully peaceful around here.'
'To tell yu the truth, old-timer, they ain't all Sunday school,' Severn admitted. 'Listen, this is the wayofit.'
As briefly as possible he explained the situation, and the little gunman listened patiently to the end. Then in a rasping tone he said :
'Did I hear yu mention a fella called Shady?'
'Shore, a square-built chap, wide as he is long, pretty nigh. Know him?'
Snap's eyes gleamed. 'His finger's the on'y square thing about him,' he said huskily. 'He bushwhacked a bunkie o' mine for his roll years ago. I'm damned glad I come. What yu want I should do?'
'Hang about in Hope, an' remember yu don't know me for now,' Severn answered. 'Bent, who runs a saloon, is one white man, an' Ridgeofthe XT is another. Yu'll be my ace in the hole, an' I shore got a good one. Better be driftin' now. S'long.'
The newcomer climbed into his saddle and with a waveofhis hand trotted towards town, while Severn went on his way to the ranch.
'Snap an' Larry an' m'self--that's three to draw to insteadofa pair,' he informed the air, and playfully pulled his pony's ears. 'Boy, we'll beat 'em yet, an' it ain't no good yu standin' on one leg; use all four of 'em, yu misfit, an' get agoin'.'
In fact, the unexpected adventofSnap Lunt, the grirn little gunman from his own ranch, the YZ, constituted a notable addition to his forces, and one that Severn, confident as he was in himself, was well content to have.
Chapter XIV
AT breakfast in the bunkhouse next morning, the foreman's battered appearance excited speculation but no comment. Larry, whom he visited later, and whose room he managed to reach without encountering Miss Masters, was not so discreet. The invalid, sitting up in bed with one arm in a sling, was discovering that even a slug from a .45 may have compensations. He regarded his friend with frank amazement.
'Who might yu be?' he inquired truculently.
'I might be nhe President o' the United States, but I ain't,' retorted Severn.
