But the banker turned with him, and in the process he gained another step in distance, bringing him almost within striking range. Sliding his left foot forward and dropping his weight, Durant closed the distance and lashed out with a left jab that Tucson didn’t even see coming, and it caught him high on the cheekbone.
Tucson was awed by Durant’s power as the punch knocked him back two paces. Then the banker followed up the jab with a barrage of strikes that came at Tucson from every conceivable angle. Blows rained down on Tucson’s head, shoulders and arms as he tried desperately to block and evade Durant’s charge.
“I’m going to beat you to death, Kid,” Durant snarled, his eyes glowing with cruel joy. “And I’m going to take my time doing it.”
Tucson didn’t have the breath to respond. As he moved back and forth across the floor in a futile attempt to escape Durant’s attack, he faced the stark truth that accepting the banker’s challenge was one of the stupidest moves he had ever made. It was painfully clear to him that his life did indeed hang in the balance.
He knew that he couldn’t survive if he kept trying to box Durant—the banker’s skills were too superior. Taking a chance born of desperation, Tucson let Durant come close, then, as he reached up to grab Tucson by the neck and throw him down, Tucson brought up his knee and struck Durant as hard as he could in the groin.
Durant shrieked with agony and doubled over. Seeing his chance, Tucson hit him square on the nose with his right fist. Durant hurtled backward and Tucson followed him, punching him as hard as he could with both fists. By the time the banker had gotten his guard back up, his face had been chewed to a bloody pulp by Tucson’s knuckles.
But as Durant’s guard came back up, Tucson kicked him in the shin with his right boot then kicked him in the other shin with his left boot. The banker grunted as tears of pain filled his eyes, blurring his vision, and Tucson struck him another power blow square in the face.
With that last punch, Tucson knocked Durant backward and they both hit the double doors to the study with an impact that shook the whole house and ripped them off the frame. In the confusion, both men went down, but Tucson recovered first, and he lashed out with his boot and caught Durant in the face as the banker tried to rise.
Durant was lifted off his feet again, and he landed heavily on the polished floor and slid several feet. His face was a bloody mess as a flood of crimson poured from his crushed nose and broken mouth.
But Durant was tough, and he was no stranger to rough and tumble fighting. When Tucson came at him again, the banker lifted his bare foot, caught Tucson in the chest and threw him back. That gave Durant the space he needed to regain his feet.
By the time Tucson recovered his balance, the banker was swarming all over him. Tucson felt as if he had been thrown into a buzz saw – as before, punches rained down on him from every direction. He covered up as best he could and tried to get away, but Durant seemed to know beforehand just what he was going to do and how he was going to dodge, and was there to meet him with a flurry of strikes.
Tucson felt like he had escaped from hell only to be thrown back into the flames again.
A couple of ribs were cracked, an eye was closing, and Tucson’s head was buzzing like he had a swarm of bees inside his skull. When his leg struck a chair, he scuttled around it then kicked it toward Durant, catching him across the knees and making him stumble.
Seeing his chance, Tucson leaped toward Durant and hit him with a right hand punch to the jaw that had all of his weight behind it. Tucson felt the impact all the way up his arm to his shoulder; it rocked Durant back on his heels, giving Tucson his opportunity to mount his own offense.
Tucson knew he couldn't take much more of the punishment Durant was dishing out. He had to end the fight soon or he was going to be killed. Before Durant had caught his balance, Tucson brought his boot up between the banker's legs and kicked him hard in the groin a second time. Durant couldn’t take another strike to his balls; he sagged to his knees with a strangled sob and Tucson kicked him again in the face.
Durant's already ruined nose disappeared in a spray of blood, and he catapulted backwards to land outstretched on his back on the floor. But the banker was far from through. Even as he hit the floor, he was rolling out of it and coming back to his feet.
Tucson picked up the chair, swung it over his head then brought it down with all his strength across Durant’s shoulders. The banker was driven back down to the floor as two of the chair-legs snapped across his back. This time Durant didn't come out of it so soon, and Tucson lifted the shattered chair again and brought what was left of it down on Durant's head.
Durant hung there for a second, braced on his hands, his whole body shuddering with the effort to rise while a torrent of blood poured from his ruined face onto the floor. Then he collapsed, face down, and lay still.
Gasping for breath, feeling like he had just been trampled by a stampeding herd of horses, Tucson threw the smashed chair aside and staggered to the desk. Keeping his one good eye on Durant, he felt around in the desk drawers until he found the banker's bottle of whiskey.
Pulling the cork, he up-ended it and poured a long jolt over his cut lips and down his parched throat. Then, feeling somewhat revived, he put the bottle aside, picked up his shirt and began pulling it on over his head.
Just then he heard boots pounding up the front stairs, and he looked up to see Marshal Todd Calloway, Tom McMannus, and Jessup burst into the room. While the three of them stopped to take in the scene, Tucson picked up the rawhide pouch with the gold nugget and slipped it into his pocket.
Then, while he tucked his shirt into his trousers, he mumbled thickly, “Howdy, boys.” To Calloway, he asked, “Is there a problem, Marshal?”
Both Calloway and Tom McMannus stared in astonishment at the still form of Charles Durant, lying face down on the floor in a thickening pool of his own blood.
Jessup rushed to the banker, knelt down on one knee and checked to see if he was still alive.
Calloway stared at Tucson incredulously. “You beat Charles Durant in a hand to hand fight?” he asked.
“No laws were broken, Marshal,” Tucson informed him, slipping into his shoulder harness and picking up his jacket. “We had a little sporting proposition going—and Durant lost.”
Tom McMannus regarded Tucson with a lopsided grin. “You look like holy hell!”
Tucson tried to grin back, but his face hurt too much. “Yeah,” he replied ruefully. “I feel like hell, too.” Running his fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes, he put on his sombrero. Finally, he jerked his thumb at Durant. “Our deal was, if I won, Durant was going to leave town. It looks like Howling Wolf will need a new banker.”
“What...?” Calloway's heavy brows rose in astonishment. “Why in the gawdammed hell would Durant make a deal like that?”
“Ask him,” Tucson responded.
Durant was sitting up by then, braced by Jessup, and was listening to the conversation.
“That's a damned lie!” he mumbled angrily, the words difficult to understand as they passed over his mangled lips. His gaze was murderous as it swung between Tucson and Calloway. “This man is a criminal.” He pointed his finger at Tucson. “He broke into my house and forced me at gunpoint to fight him. I had no desire to fight, Marshal,” he insisted, “but I had no choice. I hoped all along that Jessup would have sense enough to go get you before it was too late.”
Calloway squared his shoulders and looked levelly at Tucson. “Well,” he said quietly, as his right hand moved toward the Colt on his hip, “that puts a different color on things.”
Tucson gazed calmly at the marshal. He knew Calloway was fast with a gun and was just honest enough to take a stand against Tucson even if it cost him his life. But at the moment, after his battle with Durant, there was no way Tucson could stand up to the marshal. Besides, Tucson always tried to stay on the right side of the law, or at least, on the right side of what the law could prove. He knew his best tacti
c just then was to try to talk his way out of the situation.
“Durant has been part of a plot to take the Twin Trees Reservation away from the Comanche,” he said. “He was in it with Prince and Ed Thompson.” He paused to let the information sink in, then added, “Both Ed and Prince are dead. You'll find Thompson's body about five miles outside of town, and Prince should still be at Ed's ranch.”
Calloway was having considerable difficulty comprehending all that had been going on without his even being aware of it. Although Tucson guessed that Tom McMannus had informed him that Ed Thompson and Prince were dead, apparently this was the first that the marshal had heard of the reasons behind it, and he gaped incredulously at Tucson.
With Jessup’s help, Durant dragged himself to his feet. But beneath the blood and the bruises, his face had gone deathly pale with apprehension.
As he watched Calloway sort his way through the events, Tucson renewed his decision not to mention the gold. To do so would destroy any chance the Comanche had of making it work for them. He doubted if Durant would mention it either. Since the banker was trying to shift all the blame onto Tucson, it was clear that he was still hopeful of finding a way to achieve his original goal.
Still, as Tucson studied Durant, he could tell the banker was beside himself with fury. Being beaten by Tucson in a fist fight was bad enough, but seeing the gold about to slip through his grasp was more than he could take. The blood was mounting up his neck, and his swollen eyes were becoming wild.
“This is preposterous!” he burst out angrily. “What in hell would I do with a worthless strip of barren land like the Comanche reservation?”
Calloway had taken his hand away from his gun-butt, but he had hooked his thumb into his belt very close. “It looks to me,” he said slowly, “like I'm gonna have to take you two into custody until all this gets sorted out. Durant,” he eyed the banker bleakly, “I hate to do this, but I'm gonna have to ask you to come along.” He swung back to Tucson. “Kid, I'd like for you to come along peaceful-like. But,” the planes of his face went flat, “one way or the other, I gotta take you in.”
Tucson shrugged, and kept his hand away from his gun. The last thing he needed was to get into a fight with the law. To do so would put him into deeper trouble than even he could get back out of. He swung around the desk and started for the door. “Sure, Marshal,” he said. “I'll cooperate.”
Durant moved toward the desk. “If you'll wait a minute, Marshal,” he said, “I'd like to put these papers back inside my safe. And I need to put on some clothes.”
Calloway and McMannus had turned to follow Tucson. “Well, make it snappy,” the marshal said. “I don't want to be waitin' all mornin’ for you.”
Tucson was almost to the shattered doorway when he felt it coming. He instinctively leaped to the side, turning and reaching for his Colt while he was still in mid-air. But his aching body and his bruised hands slowed him down and he landed on his back on the floor with his gun only half-drawn.
But it put him into position to see it all.
When Durant got to his desk, he reached down into the leg well and came up holding a Colt .45. As Tucson jumped to the side, Durant opened fire on all three of them. Lead plowed into the wall above where Tucson had been; another slug hit Calloway high in the right shoulder and spun him around, while another bullet hit him low in the side and threw him back against the wall, where he slid to the floor.
But it was Tom McMannus who caught Tucson’s attention. Spinning smoothly around in that hail of lead, his eyes were the color of chilled steel as he dropped to one knee and pulled his weapon. Although his hand was only a blur, it seemed as if he were taking his time as the gun came up level with his hip and he fired. His first bullet took Durant in the forehead and hurled him back against the wall where he hung for an instant, just long enough for two more slugs to rip into his chest. Then he slid slowly down until he was sitting on the floor with his legs splayed in front of him, blood from his shattered chest pouring into his lap as his glazed eyes stared sightlessly into space.
“Gawdalmighty!” Calloway breathed in awe, staring at McMannus as if he had never seen him before.
The boy came to his feet, automatically ejecting the spent shells from his Colt and pulling fresh rounds from his gun-belt and reloading. After dropping his gun back into its holster, he turned to Calloway. “How you doin', Marshal?” he asked.
Calloway grunted with disgust as Tucson knelt down beside him and tore his shirt open to examine the wounds.
“They ain’t fatal,” he muttered. Then he groaned disgustedly, “Jeezus, I was caught with my back turned like a gawdamned tenderfoot!”
“Ease up on yourself, Marshal,” Tucson said, smiling. “It happens to the best of us. You had no reason not to trust Durant. He just went rogue, that's all.”
Calloway squinted up at him. “Well, him tryin' to kill us puts the weight o’ the story on your side, Kid. With nobody around to dispute you, I don't see how the judge can see it any other way but yours.”
Tucson finished examining Calloway's wounds. “You're right, Marshal,” he said. “You'll live—that is, as long as you don't get lead poisoning. But you're going to be laid up for quite a while, and the town's going to be minus a marshal.” He jerked his thumb at McMannus. “It seems to me that you’ve got yourself one hell of a deputy in Tom, here. Maybe it's time you gave him a chance.”
Calloway glanced up into McMannus' grinning face. “That was mighty fine gun-work you did there, Tom. I couldn't o’ done it better when I was in my prime. And I thank you for saving my life,” he added. “The least I can do is offer you a job.” He smiled past the pain. “How would you like to be my deputy?”
“There ain't nothin' in this world that I'd like better!” McMannus answered, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. “The first thing I'm gonna do, though, is get you back to the jail where the doctor can look at you.”
* * * *
Late in the morning, two days later, Tucson and Tom McMannus stepped out of the courthouse and stopped on the sidewalk. Crowds bustled up and down the street, and a long string of mule-driven freight haulers filled the dusty road. Tucson squinted up at the sun, already blistering hot, and fingered his still-swollen eye. Moving stiffly from the bandages wrapped around his cracked ribs, he reached into his pocket and took out his cigar case.
“Thanks for backing up my story to the judge, Tom,” he said, putting a cheroot between his teeth and lighting a match with his thumbnail.
“The judge didn't like seein’ you back so soon,” McMannus said with a chuckle. “But given the evidence, he didn't have much choice but to find you innocent.”
“Yep,” Tucson agreed. “But if it hadn't been for you backing me up, and the written deposition from Calloway, I do believe he would have tried to find some reason to hold me.”
“Well, it's all over now,” McMannus said, looking Tucson over appraisingly. “What’re you gonna do now? Rest up a while longer over at the boardin’ house?”
Tucson drew meditatively on his cheroot for a moment then shook his head. “No, I've lain around the boarding house for the last couple of days. I think I'll mosey on down the trail before Catherine Murry gets tired of having me around.” He blew a long stream of smoke into the air then asked, “How's Marshal Calloway doing?”
“He's turnin' the air blue with his cussin',” McMannus laughed. “He don't like havin’ to lie in a bed in one of his own cells. But he seems to be healin’ pretty good.”
Tucson glanced at the shiny star on McMannus' chest. “Well, he's got a good deputy to keep things in line for him while he mends. That should set his mind at rest.”
McMannus touched the star as if he still couldn't believe it. “Thanks again for puttin’ in that word for me with Calloway. Now I can finally start gettin’ some experience. People around town are already treatin’ me different.”
“All I did was point out the obvious,” Tucson replied. “Calloway would have been a fo
ol not to hire you. Now the way is open for you,” he added. “What you do, and how far you go, is up to you.”
McMannus became serious. “Don't worry. I ain't forgot what you told me. You won’t have to come after me an’ take anythin’ back. I aim to be a good lawman.”
Tucson nodded. “I expect you will, Tom. Just remember, a gun's as good or as bad as the man using it. If you keep going the way you are, you could end up helping to solve some of the problems still plaguing the west.” He squinted again at the sky. “Anyway, I've got to get out of here.” He put out his hand. “Maybe I'll run into you again someday, Tom. Until then, take care of yourself.”
McMannus took Tucson's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “So long, pardner...ride easy...”
* * * *
Tucson stepped inside the boarding house and paused to look around. The blinds were still shut and the interior was cool. No one was behind the check-in counter, and he couldn't hear anyone in the kitchen. Moving stealthily, he went to the door and pushed through into the kitchen. It was empty. He turned quickly to the desk and searched the shelf above until he found Catherine's expense ledger.
He pulled it out and opened it to the last entries. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the beaded rawhide pouch he had found in Charles Durant's safe. He took the gold nugget given to him by Soaring Eagle from his pocket and dropped it inside the pouch with the nugget stolen by Durant. Then he pulled the mouth of the pouch closed and dropped it onto the ledger. Closing it carefully, he returned it to the shelf.
He was moving back through the door into the lobby when he saw Catherine coming down the stairs. Although they had been up most of the night before making love, Catherine still looked fresh and lovely. When she spotted Tucson, she stopped on the stairs and waited for him.
“I thought you might be in the kitchen,” he said, by way of explanation.
“No,” Catherine replied, her face softening as she watched him come toward her. “I took the morning off to get some sleep.”
Tucson stopped on the step below hers and put his arms around her slender waist. Catherine raised her face to his and they kissed. She tasted good, and the warm softness of her body pressed against his made Tucson wonder if he was making a mistake by leaving. Then he gently disengaged himself.
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