'Firebrand' Trevison

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER III

  BEATING A GOOD MAN

  Trevison had not moved. He had watched the movements of the other closely,noting his huge bulk, his lithe motions, the play of his muscles as hebacked across the room to dispose of the pistol. At Corrigan's wordsthough, Trevison's eyes glowed with a sudden fire, his teeth gleamed, hisstraight lips parting in a derisive smile. The other's manner toward himhad twanged the chord of animosity that had been between them since thefirst exchange of glances, and he was as eager as Corrigan for the clashthat must now come. He had known that the first conflict had been anunfinished thing. He laughed in sheer delight, though that delight wastempered with savage determination.

  "Save your boasts," he taunted.

  Corrigan sneered. "You won't look so damned attractive when you leave thisroom." He took off his hat and tossed it into a corner, then turned toTrevison with an ugly grin.

  "Ready?" he said.

  "Quite." Trevison had not accepted Corrigan's suggestion about taking offhis "damned foolish trappings," and he still wore them--cartridge belt,leather chaps, spurs. But now he followed Corrigan's lead and threw hishat from him. Then he crouched and faced Corrigan.

  They circled cautiously, Trevison's spurs jingling musically. ThenTrevison went in swiftly, jabbing with his left, throwing off Corrigan'svicious counter with the elbow, and ripping his right upward. The fist metCorrigan's arm as the latter blocked, and the shock forced both men back astep. Corrigan grinned with malicious interest and crowded forward.

  "That's good," he said; "you're not a novice. I hope you're not a quitter.I've quite a bit to hand you for riding me down."

  Trevison grinned derisively, but made no answer. He knew he must save hiswind for this man. Corrigan was strong, clever; his forearm, which hadblocked Trevison's uppercut, had seemed like a bar of steel.

  Trevison went in again with the grim purpose of discovering just howstrong his antagonist was. Corrigan evaded a stiff left jab intended forhis chin, and his own right cross missed as Trevison ducked into a clinch.With arms locked they strained, legs braced, their lungs heaving as theywrestled, doggedly.

  Corrigan stood like a post, not giving an inch. Vainly Trevison writhed,seeking a position which would betray a weakened muscle, but though heexerted every ounce of his own mighty strength Corrigan held him even.They broke at last, mutually, and Corrigan must have felt the leatheryquality of Trevison's muscles, for his face was set in serious lines. Hiseyes glittered malignantly as he caught a confident smile on Trevison'slips, and he bored in silently, swinging both hands.

  Trevison had been the cool boxer, carefully trying out his opponent. Hehad felt little emotion save that of self-protection. At the beginning ofthe fight he would have apologized to Corrigan--with reservations. Now hewas stirred with the lust of battle. Corrigan's malignance had struck aresponsive passion in him, and the sodden impact of fist on flesh, thematching of strength against strength, the strain of iron muscles, thecontact of their bodies, the sting and burn of blows, had aroused thelatent savage in him. He was still cool, however, but it was the craftycoolness of the trained fighter, and as Corrigan crowded him he whipped inripping blows that sent the big man's head back. Corrigan paid little heedto the blows; he shook them off, grunting. Blood was trickling thinly fromhis lips; he spat bestially over Trevison's shoulder in a clinch, andtried to sweep the latter from his feet.

  The agility of the cow-puncher saved him, and he went dancing out ofharm's way, his spurs jingling. Corrigan was after him with a rush. Aheavy blow caught Trevison on the right side of the neck just below theear and sent him, tottering, against the wall of the building, from whichhe rebounded like a rubber ball, smothering Corrigan with an avalanche ofdeadening straight-arm punches that brought a glassy stare into Corrigan'seyes. The big man's head wabbled, and Trevison crowded in, intent onending the fight quickly, but Corrigan covered instinctively, and whenTrevison in his eagerness missed a blow, the big man clinched with him andhung on doggedly until his befoggled brain could clear. For a few minutesthey rocked around the room, their heels thudding on the bare boards ofthe floor, creating sounds that filtered through the enclosing walls andsmote the silence of the outside world with resonant rumblings.Mercilessly, Trevison hammered at the heavy head that sought a haven onhis shoulder. Corrigan had been stunned and wanted no more long rangework. He tried to lock his big arms around the other's waist in an attemptto wrestle, realizing that in that sort of a contest lay his only hope ofvictory, but Trevison, agile, alert to his danger, slipped elusively fromthe grasping hands and thudded uppercuts to the other's mouth and jawsthat landed with sickening force. But none of the blows landed on a vitalspot, and Corrigan hung grimly on.

  At last, lashing viciously, wriggling, squirming, swinging around in awide circle to get out of Corrigan's clutches, Trevison broke the clinchand stood off, breathing heavily, summoning his reserve strength for afinishing blow. Corrigan had been fearfully punished during the last fewminutes, but he was gradually recovering from his dizziness, and hegrinned hideously at Trevison through his smashed lips. He surged forward,reminding Trevison of a wounded bear, but Trevison retreated warily as hemeasured the distance from which he would drive the blow that would endit

  He was still retreating, describing a wide circle. He swung around towardthe door through which Braman had gone--his back was toward it. He did notsee the door open slightly as he passed; he had not seen Braman's face inthe slight crevice that had been between door and jamb all along. Nor didhe see the banker jab at his legs with the handle of a broom. But he feltthe handle hit his legs. It tripped him, forcing him to lose his balance.As he fell he saw Corrigan's eyes brighten, and he twisted sideways toescape a heavy blow that Corrigan aimed at him. He only partially evadedit--it struck him glancingly, a little to the left of the chin, stunninghim, and he fell awkwardly, his left arm doubling under him. The agonizingpain that shot through the arm as he crumpled to the floor told him thatit had been broken at the wrist. A queer stupor came upon him, duringwhich he neither felt nor saw. Dimly, he sensed that Corrigan was strikingat him; with a sort of vague half-consciousness he felt that the blowswere landing. But they did not hurt, and he laughed at Corrigan's futileefforts. The only feeling he had was a blind rage against Braman, for hewas certain that it had been the banker who had tripped him. Then he sawthe broom on the floor and the crevice in the doorway. He got to his feetsome way, Corrigan hanging to him, raining blows upon him, and he laughedaloud as, his vision clearing a little, he saw Corrigan's mouth, weak,open, drooling blood, and remembered that when Braman had tripped himCorrigan had hardly been in shape to do much effective hitting. Hetottered away from Corrigan, taunting him, though afterwards he could notremember what his words were. Also, he heard Corrigan cursing him, thoughhe could never remember _his_ words, either. He tried to swing his leftarm as Corrigan came within range of it, but found he could not lift it,and so ducked the savage blow that Corrigan aimed at him and slippedsideways, bringing his right into play. Several times as they circled heuppercut Corrigan with the right, he retreating, side-stepping; Corriganfollowing him doggedly, slashing venomously at him, hitting himoccasionally. Corrigan could not hurt him, and he could not resistlaughing at Corrigan's face--it was so hideously repulsive.

  A man came out of the front door of Hanrahan's saloon across the streetfrom the bank building, and stood in the street for a moment, lookingabout him. Had Miss Benham seen the man she would have recognized him asthe one who had previously come out of the saloon to greet the rider with:"Well, if it ain't ol' 'Brand'!" He saw the black horse standing in frontof the bank building, but Trevison was nowhere in sight. The man mumbled:"I don't want him to git away without me seein' him," and crossed thestreet to the bank window and peered inside. He saw Braman peering througha half-open door at the rear of the banking room, and he heardsounds--queer, jarring sounds that made the glass window in front of himrattle and quiver.

  He dove around to the side of the building and looked in a window. Hest
ood for a moment, watching with bulging eyes, half drew a pistol,thought better of the notion and replaced it, and then darted back to thesaloon from which he had emerged, croaking hoarsely: "Fight! fight!"

  * * * * *

  Trevison had not had the agility to evade one of Corrigan's heavy blows.It had caught him as he had tried to duck, striking fairly on the point ofthe jaw, and he was badly dazed. But he still grinned mockingly at hisenemy as the latter followed him, tensed, eager, snarling. He evaded otherblows that would have finished him--through instinct, it seemed toCorrigan; and though there was little strength left in him he kept workinghis right fist through Corrigan's guard and into his face, pecking away atit until it seemed to be cut to ribbons.

  Voices came from somewhere in the banking room, voices raised inaltercation. Neither of the two men, raging around the rear room, heardthem--they had become insensate savages oblivious of their surroundings,drunken with passion, with the blood-mania gripping their brains.

  Trevison had brought the last ounce of his remaining strength into playand had landed a crushing blow on Corrigan's chin. The big man waswabbling crazily about in the general direction of Trevison, swinginghis arms wildly, Trevison evading him, snapping home blows that landedsmackingly without doing much damage. They served merely to keepCorrigan in the semi-comatose state in which Trevison's last hard blowhad left him. And that last blow had sapped Trevison's strength; hisspirit alone had survived the drunken orgy of rage and hatred. As thetumult around him increased--the tramp of many feet, scuffling; harsh,discordant voices, curses, yells of protest, threats--not a sound of whichhe heard, so intent was he with his work of battering his adversary, heceased to retreat from Corrigan, and as the latter shuffled toward himhe stiffened and drove his right fist into the big man's face. Corrigancursed and grunted, but lunged forward again. They swung at the sameinstant--Trevison's right just grazing Corrigan's jaw; Corrigan's blow,full and sweeping, thudding against Trevison's left ear. Trevison'shead rolled, his chin sagged to his chest, and his knees doubled likehinges. Corrigan smirked malevolently and drove forward again. But hewas too eager, and his blows missed the reeling target that, with armshanging wearily at his sides, still instinctively kept to his feet,the taunting smile, now becoming bitterly contemptuous, still on hisface. It meant that though exhausted, his arm broken, he felt onlyscorn for Corrigan's prowess as a fighter.

  Fighting off the weariness he lunged forward again, swinging the nowdeadened right arm at the blur Corrigan made in front of him. Somethingcollided with him--a human form--and thinking it was Corrigan, clinchingwith him, he grasped it. The momentum of the object, and his own weakness,carried him back and down, and with the object in his grasp he fell,underneath, to the floor. He saw a face close to his--Braman's--andremembering that the banker had tripped him, he began to work his rightfist into the other's face.

  He would have finished Braman. He did not know that the man who hadgreeted him as "ol' 'Brand'" had smashed the banker in the forehead withthe butt of a pistol when the banker had tried to bar his progress at thedoorway; he was not aware that the force of the blow had hurled Bramanagainst him, and that the latter, half unconscious, was not defendinghimself. He would not have cared had he known these things, for he wasfighting blindly, doggedly, recklessly--fighting two men, he thought. Andthough he sensed that there could be but one end to such a struggle, hehammered away with ferocious malignance, and in the abandon of his passionin this extremity he was recklessly swinging his broken left arm, drivingit at Braman, groaning each time the fist landed.

  He felt hands grasping him, and he fought them off, smashing weakly atfaces that appeared around him as he was dragged to his feet. He heard avoice say: "His arm's bruk," and the voice seemed to clear the atmosphere.He paused, holding back a blow, and the dancing blur of faces assumed aproper aspect and he saw the man who had hit the banker.

  "Hello Mullarky!" he grinned, reeling drunkenly in the arms of hisfriends. "Come to see the picnic? Where's my--"

  He saw Corrigan leaning against a wall of the room and lurched toward him.A dozen hands held him back--the room was full of men; and as his braincleared he recognized some of them. He heard threats, mutterings, againstCorrigan, and he laughed, bidding the men to hold their peace, that it wasa "fair fight." Corrigan was unmoved by the threats--as he was unmoved byTrevison's words. He leaned against the wall, weak, his arms hanging athis sides, his face macerated, grinning contemptuously. And then, despitehis objections, Trevison was dragged away by Mullarky and the others,leaving Braman stretched out on the floor, and Corrigan, his kneessagging, his chin almost on his chest, standing near the wall. Trevisonturned as he was forced out of the door, and grinned tauntingly at histired enemy. Corrigan spat at him.

  Half an hour later, his damaged arm bandaged, and some marks of the battleremoved, Trevison was in the banking room. He had forbidden any of hisfriends to accompany him, but Mullarky and several others stood outsidethe door and watched him.

  A bandage around his head, Braman leaned on the counter behind the wirenetting, pale, shaking. In a chair at the desk sat Corrigan, glowering atTrevison. The big man's face had been attended to, but it was swollenfrightfully, and his smashed lips were in a horrible pout. Trevisongrinned at him, but it was to the banker that he spoke.

  "I want my gun, Braman," he said, shortly.

  The banker took it out of a drawer and silently shoved it across thecounter and through a little opening in the wire netting. The bankerwatched, fearingly, as Trevison shoved the weapon into its holster.Corrigan stolidly followed his movements.

  The gun in its holster, Trevison leaned toward the banker.

  "I always knew you weren't straight, Braman. But we won't quarrel aboutthat now. I just want you to know that when this arm of mine is rightagain, we'll try to square things between us. Broom handles will be barredthat day."

  Braman was silent and uneasy as he watched Trevison reach into a pocketand withdraw a leather bill-book. From this he took a paper and tossed itin through the opening of the wire netting.

  "Cash it," he directed. "It's about the matter we were discussing when wewere interrupted by our bloodthirsty friend, there."

  He looked at Corrigan while Braman examined the paper, his eyes alightwith the mocking, unfearing gleam that had been in them during the fight.Corrigan scowled and Trevison grinned at him--the indomitable, mirthlessgrin of the reckless fighting man; and Corrigan filled his lungs slowly,watching him with half-closed eyes. It was as though both knew that adistant day would bring another clash between them.

  Braman fingered the paper uncertainly, and looked at Corrigan.

  "I suppose this is all regular?" he said. "You ought to know somethingabout it--it's a check from the railroad company for the right-of-waythrough Mr. Trevison's land."

  Corrigan's eyes brightened as he examined the check. They filled with ahard, sinister light.

  "No," he said; "it isn't regular." He took the check from Braman anddeliberately tore it into small pieces, scattering them on the floor athis feet. He smiled vindictively, settling back into his chair. "'Brand'Trevison, eh?" he said. "Well, Mr. Trevison, the railroad company isn'tready to close with you."

  Trevison had watched the destruction of the check without the quiver of aneyelash. A faint, ironic smile curved the corners of his mouth as Corriganconcluded.

  "I see," he said quietly. "You were not man enough to beat me a littlewhile ago--even with the help of Braman's broom. You're going to take itout on me through the railroad; you're going to sneak and scheme. Well,you're in good company--anything that you don't know about skinning peopleBraman will tell you. But I'm letting you know this: The railroadcompany's option on my land expired last night, and it won't be renewed.If it's fight you're looking for, I'll do my best to accommodate you."

  Corrigan grunted, and idly drummed with the fingers of one hand on the topof the desk, watching Trevison steadily. The latter opened his lips tospeak, changed his mind,
grinned and went out. Corrigan and Braman watchedhim as he stopped for a moment outside to talk with his friends, and theirgaze followed him until he mounted Nigger and rode out of town. Then thebanker looked at Corrigan, his brows wrinkling.

  "You know your business, Jeff," he said; "but you've picked a tough man inTrevison."

  Corrigan did not answer. He was glowering at the pieces of the check thatlay on the floor at his feet.