The Ranchman Part 17

Therefore, having disposed of Danforth, he grinned at the eager, excited faces that hemmed him about, and wheeled toward Carrington.

He was just in time. For Carrington, not badly hurt by Taylor's blow, which had catapulted him out of the door of the courthouse, had been standing back a little, awaiting an opportunity. The swiftness of Taylor's movements had prevented interference by Carrington; but now, with Danforth down, Carrington saw his chance.

Without a word, Carrington lunged forward. They met with a shock that caused the dry dust to splay and spume upward and outward in thin, minute streaks like the leaping, spraying waters of a fountain. They were lost, momentarily, in a haze, as the dust fell and enveloped them.

They emerged from the blot presently, Carrington staggering, his chin on his chest, his eyes glazed-Taylor crowding him closely. For while they had been lost in the smother of dust, Taylor had landed a deadening uppercut on the big man's chin.

The big man's brain was befogged; and yet he still retained presence of mind enough to s.h.i.+eld his chin from another of those terrific blows. He had crossed his arms over the lower part of his face, fending off Taylor's fists with his elbows.

A Danforth man in the crowd called on Carrington to "wallop" Taylor, and the big man's answering grin indicated that he was not as badly hurt as he seemed.

Almost instantly he demonstrated that, for when Taylor, still following him, momentarily left an opening, Carrington stepped quickly forward and struck-his big arm flas.h.i.+ng out with amazing rapidity.

The heavy fist landed high on Taylor's head above the ear. It was not a blow that would have finished the fight, even had it landed lower, but it served to warn Taylor that his antagonist was still strong, and he went in more warily.

The advantage of the fight was all with Taylor. For Taylor was cool and deliberate, while Carrington, raging over the blows he had received, and in the clutch of a bitter desire to destroy his enemy, wasted much energy in swinging wildly.

The inaccuracy of Carrington's. .h.i.tting amused Taylor; the men in the crowd about him could see his lips writhing in a vicious smile at Carrington's efforts.

Carrington landed some blows. But he had lived luxuriously during the later years of his life; his muscles had deteriorated, and though he was still strong, his strength was not to be compared with that of the out-of-door man whose clean and simple habits had toughened his muscles until they were equal to any emergency.

And so the battle went slowly but surely against Carrington. Fighting desperately, and showing by the expression of his face that he knew his chances were small, he tried to work at close quarters. He kept coming in stubbornly, blocking some blows, taking others; and finally he succeeded in getting his arms around Taylor.

The crowd had by this time become intensely partisan. At first it had been silent, but now it became clamorous. There were some Danforth men, and knowing Danforth to be aligned with Carrington-because, it seemed to them, Carrington was taking Danforth's end of the fight-they howled for the big man to "give it to him!" And they grew bitter when they saw that despite Carrington's best efforts, and their own verbal support of him, Carrington was doomed to defeat.

Taylor's admirers vastly outnumbered Carrington's. They did not find it necessary to shout advice to their champion; but they shouted and roared with approval as Taylor, driving forward, the grin still on his face, striking heavily and blocking deftly, kept his enemy retreating before him.

Carrington, locking his arms around Taylor, hugged him desperately for some seconds-until he recovered his breath, and until his head cleared, and he could fix objects firmly in his vision; and then he heaved mightily, swung Taylor from his feet and tried to throw him. Taylor's feet could get no leverage, but his arms were still free, and with both of them he hammered the big man's head until Carrington, in insane rage, threw Taylor from him.

Taylor landed a little off balance, and before he could set himself, Carrington threw himself forward. He swung malignantly, the blow landing glancingly on Taylor's head, staggering him. His feet struck an obstruction and he went to one knee, Carrington striking at him as he tried to rise.

The blow missed, Carrington turning clear around from the force of the blow and tumbling headlong into the dust near Taylor.

They clambered to their feet at the same instant, and in the next they came together with a shock that made them both reel backward. And then, still grinning, Taylor stepped lightly forward. Paying no attention to Carrington's blows, he shot in several short, terrific, deadening uppercuts that landed fairly on the big man's chin. Carrington's hands dropped to his sides, his knees doubled and he fell limply forward into the dust of the street where he lay, huddled and unconscious, while turmoil raged over him.

For the Danforth men in the crowd had yielded to rage over the defeat of their favorites. They had seen Danforth go down under the terrific punishment meted out to him by Taylor; they had seen Carrington suffer the same fate. Several of them drove forward, muttering profane threats.

Norton, pale and watchful, fearing just such a contingency, shoved forward to the center, shouting:

"Hold on, men! None of that! It's a fair fight! Keep off, there-do you hear?"

A score of Taylor men surged forward to Norton's side; the crowd split, forming two sections-one group of men ma.s.sing near Norton, the other congregating around a tall man who seemed to be the leader of their faction. A number of other men-the cautious and faint-hearted element which had no personal animus to spur it to partic.i.p.ation in what seemed to threaten to develop into a riot-retreated a short distance up the street and stood watching, morbidly curious.

But though violence, concerted and deadly, was imminent, it was delayed.

For Taylor had not yet finished, and the crowd was curiously following his movements.

Taylor was a picturesquely ludicrous figure. He was covered with dust from head to foot; his face was streaked with it; his hair was full of it; it had been ground into his cheeks, and where blood from a cut on his forehead had trickled to his right temple, the dust was matted until it resembled crimson mud.

And yet the man was still smiling. It was not a smile at which most men care to look when its owner's attention is definitely centered upon them; it was a smile full of grimly humorous malice and determination; the smile of the fighting man who cares nothing for consequences.

The concerted action which had threatened was, by the tacit consent of the prospective belligerents, postponed for the instant. The gaze of every partisan-and of all the non-partisans-was directed at Taylor.

He had not yet finished. For an instant he stood looking down at Carrington and Danforth-both now beginning to recover from their chastis.e.m.e.nt, and sitting up in the dust gazing dizzily about them-then with a chuckle, grim and malicious, Taylor dove toward the door of the courthouse, where Littlefield was standing.

The judge had been stunned by the ferocity of the action he had witnessed. Whatever judicial dignity had been his had been whelmed by the paralyzing fear that had gripped him, and he stood, holding to the door-jambs, nerveless, motionless.

He saw Taylor start toward him; he saw a certain light leaping in the man's eyes, and he cringed and cried out in dread.

But he had not the power to retreat from the menace that was approaching him. He threw out his hands impotently as Taylor reached him, as though to protest physically. But Taylor ignored the movement, reaching upward, a dusty finger and thumb closing on the judge's right ear.

There was a jerk, a shrill cry of pain from the judge, and then he was led into the street, near where Carrington and Danforth had fallen, and twisted ungently around until he faced the crowd.

"Men," said Taylor, in the silence that greeted him as he stood erect, his finger and thumb still gripping the judge's ear, "Judge Littlefield is going to say a few words to you. He's going to tell you who started this ruckus-so there won't be any nonsense about actions in contempt of court. Deals like this are pulled off better when the court takes the public into its confidence. Who started this thing, judge? Did I?"

"No-o," was Littlefield's hesitating reply.

"Who did start it?"

"Mr. Carrington."

"You saw him?"

"Yes."

"What did he do?"

"He-er-struck at you."

"And Danforth?"

"He attacked you while you were in the street."

"And I'm not to blame?"

"No."

Taylor grinned and released the judge's ear. "That's all, gentlemen," he said; "court is dismissed!"

The judge said nothing as he walked toward the door of the courthouse.

Nor did Carrington and Danforth speak as they followed the judge. Both Carrington and Danforth seemed to have had enough fighting for one day.

The victor looked around at the faces in the crowd that were turned to his, and his grin grew eloquent.

"Looks like we're going to have a mighty peaceable administration, boys!" he said. His grin included Norton, at whom he deliberately winked. Then he turned, mounted his horse-which had stood docilely near by during the excitement, and which whinnied as he approached it-and rode down the street to the Dawes bank, before which he dismounted. Then he went to his rooms on the floor above, washed and changed his clothes, and attended to the bruises on his face. Later, looking out of the window, he saw the crowd slowly dispersing; and still later he opened the door on Neil Norton, who came in, deep concern on his face.

"You've started something, Squint. After you left I went into the _Eagle_ office. The part.i.tion is thin, and I could hear Carrington raising h.e.l.l in there. You look out; he'll try to play some dog's trick on you now! There's going to be the devil to pay in this man's town!"

Taylor laughed. "How long does it take for a sprained ankle to mend, Norton?"