blazing.
'Yo're a foul-minded, dirty liar,' their owner said through his clenched teeth. Wallowing in the dust, Jake was groping for his gun. 'Don't do it, or I'll kill yu an' cheat the rope that's waitin' for yore rotten neck. Take his shootin'-iron, boys.' Despite his struggles and curses, he was soon deprived of his weapon, and allowed to stand up. By this time an eager crowd had collected, questioning and wondering. For days past it had been seen that a clash between the two was inevitable; Jake had made no secret of his enmity, but after the shooting match . .
Mullins, his hot eyes glaring at his opponent, his features twisted in a savage grimace, had something to say:
'Well, you got my gun, so you needn't be afeard to pull yore own on me.' For a single pulsating second it seemed that the taunted man was about to do that very thing, and Jake's heart missed a beat--he was not tired of life. Then he breathed again as first one and then the other weapon was handed to Reddy.
'Which is what yu'd have done,' Sudden said coldly, answering the jeer. 'We're even matched now. Yu have in suited a lady this town admires an' respects. For that yo're gettin' a hidin'--one yu'll remember as long as the world has to put up with yu.' Into the ruffian's eyes came a gleam of satisfaction; this was something different. Though they were about the same height, he was fully a stone heavier, and had experience in the rough-and-tumble form of fighting, in which anything save the use of a weapon was permissible. The marshal's friends were not pleased; they knew the other man's reputation.
'See here, Jim, you don't have to do this,' Nippen expostulated. 'Clap him in the calaboose, an' we'll deal with him.'
'An' tell all the town I'm scared?' Sudden smiled. 'Shucks, you're jokin', Ned.'
'He's one hell of a scrapper,' the saloon-keeper said dubiously. 'If he licks you . . .'
'He was one hell of a shot too,' the marshal reminded. 'This ain't a duty, but a pleasure.' Removing his hat, spectacles, and vest, he stepped into the ring which had been formed. Jake, his rolled-up shirtsleeves displaying hairy, muscular arms, was awaiting him, fists bunched in malignant eagerness. Silence fell on the crowd as the men faced one another.
For a moment they stood motionless, and then Mullins, unable to restrain his passion, rushed forward and flung a furious blow which might have done real damage had it landed. But Sudden swayed away and before the striker could recover his balance, moved in with a straight left which jolted the other's head back and should have taught him a lesson. Dominated, however, by his anger, Jake continued his blind charges, only to encounter that stinging left which stopped him like a brick wall.
The officer, calm, inscrutable, was almost untouched, while Jake was already badly marked, and only exhausting himself with the violence of his efforts to deliver a smashing blow.
'Stan' up an' fight, you white-livered cur,' Jake grated. 'Where are you?' His fist hurtled through the air as he spoke, but Sudden saw it coming, moved his head so that the vengeful knuckles merely grazed his cheek, and drove his left, not to the jaw this time, but just above the belt.
'I'm right here,' he replied grimly.
Jake was incapable of making any retort; the terrible, paralysing punch had driven all the breath from his body, leaving him doubled up, gasping and grunting with pain. Sudden sprang in, his right drawn back for the blow which should end the battle; he had the fellow at his mercy and there was nothing of that in his hard face. Even as he swung to strike, his foot slipped in the churned-up, loose sand of the roadway, and he lost his balance. Instantly Jake saw his opportunity, leapt for the floundering man, and they went down into the dust together. This swift reversal of the situation was all to the liking of the bully's supporters; he might be no match for the marshal with his fists, but when it came to wrestling, biting, and gouging, it was another matter. They yelled encouragement.
'You got him, boy,' cried one. 'Throttle the ' Sloppy, dancing about in a fever of anxiety, appealed to the saloon-keeper. 'That ain't fair scrappin', he's got Jim by the throat,' he protested. 'For a busted nickel '
'Keep outa this,' Nippen said sternly. 'Nobody can't do nothin'--it's their affair. Jim was unlucky, damn it.' Sloppy had reason to be fearful, for his benefactor was truly in a parlous position. The impact of Jake's body had floored him, and before he could prevent it, the claw-like hands had fastened on his neck. Madly he strove to tear them away, to throw off the weight which held him pinned to the ground and wellnigh powerless, but the pitiless thumbs pressing on his windpipe sank deeper and he felt his strength failing. Above him, out of that evil mask, triumphant eyes gloated, and the thin lips were animal-like in their savagery.
'I've got you where I wanted to, Mister Methodis',' the man panted. 'This is yore farewell, you interferin' houn'.' Sudden's clouding brain was still functioning; where strength could not avail, craft might. He ceased to resist, his form becoming slack, his hands slipping limply to the earth beside him. With a hideous grin of satisfaction, the man on top bent to peer at his victim, only to receive a hand- ful of fine sand full in the eyes. Blinded and smarting, he instinctively recoiled, lessening the pressure, and immediately Sudden's right fist shot up from below and landed just over the heart. It was a fell stroke, one which might well have killed a weaker man, and for the moment, Jake was helpless. Sudden thrust him aside and stood up--waiting.
'Finish him off,' someone urged.
The marshal smiled lopsidedly--that was not his way. Besides, he had some breathing to make up, and his neck felt as though he had been half-hanged. He watched his antagonist stagger to his feet and rub the grit from his bloodshot eyes. The spectators waited too, silent for the most part; they were witnessing something they had never seen before--a man holding back when he had his enemy almost hopelessly beaten. Few of them could comprehend it.
'Well, Mister Mullins, shall we continue our li'l argument or have yu had enough?' Sudden inquired.
'Enough? Not by a damn sight--I ain't started on you yet?' the other growled.
The onlookers closed in as the combatants moved forward. This time Jake made no swift advance; he had learned his lesson, and the pain of his swollen features--the work of that straight left--was a constant reminder. He knew well that but for a nearly fatal slip, he would have been knocked cold, but the brute in his nature buoyed him up with the hope of a similar mischance, and then ... So he held back, letting his foe come to him, tactics which his admirers misunderstood.
'Git yore paws on him,' one advised. 'He can't stand the rough stuff.'
'Who's scrappin'--you or me?' Jake spat over his shoulder.
'Neither of us,' was the disgusted retort, and the crowd laughed.
The pair circled the ring, the marshal following his man and driving a fist home whenever he was within reach, which, owing to his opponent's caution, was seldom.
'It's a runnin' match, an' Jake's got the legs of him,' came another sarcastic comment.
For one second, the taunted man's gaze went in search of the speaker, and Sudden saw his chance. He flashed in, raining blows with both hands to the body and face in such rapid succession that Jake was forced to stand and fight back, and at once the nature of the contest had again changed. Drenched with perspiration, battered, bruised, and blood-smeared, the two men hammered away with beast-like ferocity, taking what punishment came, and with but one conscious thought--to inflict hurt. Slipping, staggering in the treacherous sand, hemmed in by the swaying ring of enthralled spectators who cheered as fists thudded on flesh or bone, they battled on. But the terrific strain was taking toll.
'Jake's weakenin'--his punches ain't got no power,' Shorty muttered. 'He's outa condition--too much liquor.' It was true, and the marshal sensed it. He himself was in little better case; his frame felt as if it had been stretched on a rack for endless hours, and every movement brought a protest from tired muscles. But the spate of fury which had swept him away was past, and again he fought methodically, dourly determined to end the business at the first opportunity.
It came soon. Jake, with the same intention, finding his foe seeming to give way, tried one of his former bull- like charges. Sudden broke ground, avoiding the flailing arm, and darting in, sent an uppercut to the jaw. It was a devastating blow, perfectly timed, coming up from the hip with all the power of the moving body behind it. But once more Jake was lucky, it just missed the vital spot, and though flung to the floor as by a giant hand, he retained his senses. For a moment he lay there, murder in his mad eyes, and then slowly raised himself.
'By God, I'll git you if I hang for it,' he mumbled thickly.
Half-crouching, he lurched to where the marshal, again disdaining to follow up his advantage, was standing, and suddenly straightening, leapt, right arm aloft. Swift as the action was, Sudden had glimpsed the gleam of steel, and catching the descending wrist, wrenched the weapon from his grasp, and struck--with the haft of the knife only; the assassin dropped like a pole-axed steer. The fight was over.
