''Bring Me His Ears'' - Clarence E. Mulford (good books to read for women txt) 📗

Tom stared at him for a moment as the words sunk in. "By G-d!" he murmured. "There ain't another like her in th' whole, wide world! Thank you, Mr. Cooper: if you'll be kind enough to stand on one side and keep the affair strictly between myself and that polecat, I'll try not to keep you from your dinner very long. He might have been decent enough to have picked his quarrel in some other way!"

Schoolcraft arose alertly as they entered the little clearing, and watched Tom hand the double-barreled rifle to his companion, slip off his belt and throw his coat over it. The horse-dealer grinned with savage elation as he discarded his own weapons and coat, hardly believing in his good fortune. Not many men along the border cared to meet him unarmed.

Tom stepped forward. "Every time I look at that terbaccer juice a-dribblin' down yer chin, Schoolcraft, it riles me," he said evenly. "I'm a-goin' ter wipe it off," and his open hand struck his enemy's jaw with a resounding whack as he stepped swiftly to one side. "You've allus had a sneakin' grudge ag'in me," he asserted, giving ground before the infuriated horse-dealer, "since I caught ye cheatin' at Independence. You've been tryin' ter work it off ever since we left th' levee. I reckon this belongs to you!"

He stepped in quickly and drove his right fist into Schoolcraft's mouth, avoiding the flailing blows. "If ye'll stand up ter it an' make it a fight," he jeered, "I'll be much obliged to ye, fer I've promised my friend not ter keep him from his dinner." Again he stepped in and struck the bleeding lips. He boxed correctly according to the times, except that he used his feet to good advantage. His education at an eastern university had been well rounded and he never allowed himself to get out of condition.

Schoolcraft, stung to fury, leaped forward to grapple, hoping to make it a rough-and-tumble affair, at which style of fighting he had but few equals. Instead of his adversary stepping to one side, he now stood solidly planted in one spot, his left foot a little advanced, and drove in a series of straight-arm blows that sent the horse-dealer staggering back. The younger man pressed his advantage, moving forward with unswerving determination, his straight punches invariably beating the ill-timed and terrific swings of his bleeding opponent, who showed a vitality and an ability to take punishment not unusual among the men of his breed. The horse-dealer knew that if the fight remained an open affair he would not last long, and he got command over his rage and began to use his head.

Suddenly he dropped to hands and knees under a right-hand blow that was a little short of hurting him, and sprang up under his enemy's guard, and brought exultant ejaculations from his little group of friends. But for the warning conveyed to Tom by the knowledge that he barely had touched the horse-dealer's jaw with that blow, and could not have knocked him down, the trick might have worked; and as it was it succeeded in bringing the two men to close grips. Schoolcraft's right arm slid around his enemy's waist and hugged him close, while the left slipped up between them until the hand went under the younger man's chin and began to push it up and back. It was the horse-dealer's favorite and most deadly trick and he exulted as he arched his back and threw his full strength into the task. Never had it failed to win, for the victim of that hold must either quit or have his neck broken; and the choice did not rest with the victim.

The muscles of Tom's neck stood out as though they would burst, the veins of his forehead and throat swelling into tiny serpents, and his crimson face grew darker and darker, a purplish tint creeping into it. But Schoolcraft found that he was dealing with a man who had studied wrestling as eagerly as its sister science. He also found that there was a counter to his favorite hold, always providing that it had been robbed of its greatest factor: surprise. For it to be deadly effective his whole strength had to be thrown into it instantly and meet no ready, rigid opposition; and in this he had failed because of the subtle warning conveyed to his adversary when he fell before a harmless blow. Almost before he knew it Tom's left arm, circling high in air, jammed in between their heads and forced its way down to Schoolcraft's cheek. At the same instant the right hand dashed down and got a hold inside his left thigh, close up against the crotch; and as the left arm thrust his head sidewise with a power not to be withstood, the right hand lifted suddenly to the right and he struck the ground on his head and shoulder with a shock which rendered him senseless.

The winner staggered back, braced himself and swayed a little on his feet as he sucked in great gulps of air. He wheeled savagely as he heard a shuffling step to one side and slightly behind him, but the precaution was not necessary, for simultaneously with the shuffling came Joe Cooper's snapped warning, cold and deadly.

"Better stop, Stevens! I'm only lookin' for an excuse to blow you open!"

Elias Stevens obeyed, standing irresolute and scowling. "You talk d——d big behind a gun!" he sneered.

"Only half as big as I might, seeing it's a double gun," retorted the older man. "If it don't suit you we can turn, step off ten paces an' fire when we're ready. Might as well make a good job of it while we're about it. I ain't no Mike Fink; but you ain't no Carpenter, so I reckon it's purty even."

"I'll take care of any objectors, in any fashion," said Tom, facing Stevens and the others. "I'll be ready fer you, Stevens, by th' time you get your weapons an' coat off, if you choose that way. Pickin' on an old man don't go while there's a younger one around; an', besides, it's my quarrel. There it is, in your teeth; take it, and eat it!"

"It war a fair fight," said an onlooker in grudging admiration. He expressed the ethics of the fighting current at that time in that part of the country. Any kind of fighting, be it with hands, feet, nails, teeth or other weapons was fair as long as no outsider took a hand in it. It had been the rule of the keelboatmen and they had carried it up and down the waterways, from New Orleans to the upper Mississippi and from Pittsburg to the Rockies.

Tom nodded. "All right. You can tell him that he won't get in close, next time," he said, glancing at the stirring loser. "Come on, Uncle Joe; your dinner's plumb cold an' ruined."

"I'm hot enough to warm it as I chaw!" snapped his friend. "I was scared for a moment, though; fighting out in this country don't get you nothin' but a tombstone, generally, an' you'll be cussed lucky if you get that. But you did what you started out to do; I couldn't see no tobacco juice on his chin th' last time I looked." He followed his companion down the bank and as they crossed the gangplank he chuckled. "I won't eat no liver for a long time, I reckon: his face near made me sick!"

"I shouldn't 'a' cut him up so," admitted Tom; "but I was forking off a grudge. Next time, I'll kill him." Then he thought of Patience and glowed all over. "There ain't another like her, nowhere!" he muttered.

Uncle Joe glanced sideways at the slightly marked face of his companion, shrewdly noting the expression of reverent awe and adoration.

"Young man," he said, "you're a little mite hasty, but I like 'em that way. I reckon if you took my waggins inter Santa Fe you'd get patience."

At this second play on her name within the last half hour Tom whirled in his tracks and held out his hand. "Uncle Joe, if you think I'm able to handle 'em, I'll take 'em through h—l if I have to, without a blister—" then he faltered and his face grew hard as he shook his head in regret. "I can't do it," he growled. "It wouldn't be fair to bring down Armijo's wrath on your niece and brother. He'd hound them like the savage brute he is. No; you'll have to keep to whatever arrangements you had in mind."

Uncle Joe shook his head. "That's too bad, Tom. I was counting on you keeping an eye on Patience and seeing her through. It's too cussed bad."

Tom's laugh rang out across the water. "Oh I'm going to do that! I'm bound for Santa Fe, either as a free lance or with trade goods of my own; but I am not going with your wagons. I got it pretty well figured out."

"I'm allus gettin' into places where I've got to back out," grumbled Uncle Joe. "Now I reckon I'll have to tell Patience you're too young an' giddy to handle my outfit. An' then mebby I'll have to back out ag'in! Tell you one thing, this here Santa Fe trip may be fine for invalids, but it ain't done my health no good!" While Tom laughed at him he considered. "Huh! I don't reckon it'll be a good thing to let her know that you an' Armijo are as friendly as a Cheyenne an' a Comanche. Cuss it! Oh, well; put away this gun an' come on in an' eat, if there's anything left."

INDIANS AND GAMBLERS

Shortly after noon the wind died down enough to let the packet resume her upstream labors, and expectations ran high that she would make a long, peaceful run. They were not to be realized.

The first unpleasant incident occurred when the boat had been run against a bank at a woodpile to replenish her fuel. The lines were made fast and the first of the wood-carriers had reached the stacked cordwood when from behind it arose a dozen renegade Indians, willing to turn momentarily from their horse-stealing expedition long enough to levy a tribute of firewater on the boat. They refused to allow a stick to be removed without either a fight or a supply of liquor and trade goods, and the leader of the band grappled with the foremost member of the crew and tried to drag him behind the shelter of the pile and so gain a hostage to give additional weight to their demands and to save them from being fired on.

Goaded by despair and fright from the unexpectedness of the attack and what might be in store for him the white man struggled desperately and, with the return of a measure of calmness, worked a neat cross-buttock on his red adversary and threw him sprawling out in plain sight of the boat. Half a dozen plainsmen on board had leaped for their rifles and shouted the alarm; a four pound carronade was wheeled swiftly into position and a charge of canister sent crashing over the woodpile into the brush and trees. The roar of the gun and the racket caused by the charge as it rattled through the branches and brush filled the savages with dismay and, not daring to run from the pile and up the bank under the cannon and the rapidly augmented rifles on the decks of the boat, they raised their hands and slowly emerged from their worthless breastwork.

Captain Newell shouted frantic instructions to his grim and accurate volunteers, ordering and begging in one breath for them not to fire, for he