Brown's bunch was ready. Thudding fists, squalls of pain and excitement, and the stamp of booted feet punctuated the battle on the towpath. Tiff surged ahead, getting his own fists up, but the melee made him almost useless. He slugged somebody's back and the man whirled into him. They stood toe-to-toe, swinging from the hips, mostly missing, but taking and giving as well.
Curses rose. Someone toppled into the canal. Roth's bellow came again, and Tiff recognized a Sioux war cry that had to be Chip Shatto's. He started his own whoop, but knuckles beat on his chin. Wildly, Tiff pounded back. He felt solid hits and heard grunts of effort, some were probably his own. Another figure loomed and hit him with a ferocious looping swing. He gave ground, fighting to stay erect, expecting to be stomped viciously if he went down.
Tiff's head rang from impacts and his face was partly numbed. Beyond his two attackers the fight was a writhing pile. Tiff felt an arm pinned. He ducked a shoulder and slammed it up into a chest. The man grunted and staggered but hung on. A pile driven fist punished Tiff's ribs, and in desperation Tiff lunged ahead like a battering ram. His opponent gripped him and, locked together, their feet entangled, they smashed hard against the guardrail, only to bounce away in a wild stagger. Tiff felt them going and strained to land on top. His enemy knew it, too. He squawked once before they struck the black canal water in a mighty splash.
They came up, almost separated, hip deep, and gasping for air. Tiff hungered for the Colt at his hip, but it did not seem to be part of this game. He got in the first wallop and felt it connect solidly, square in the teeth, he thought, his best of the night. Then his second opponent came off the towpath landing on top like a sack of rocks and sinking him until he was pinned flat to the slimy plank bottom.
Feet tried to stomp him, but Tiff got a grip on one and came up for air. A fist, surely made of flint, bounced off his hatless head and reeled his senses.
He thought he heard the roar of a steam engine and wondered, in his nearly punched out condition, how a train could have gotten onto the towpath.
Tiny Doyle had stopped to relieve himself over the towpath rail. When the fight started, Doyle was well behind. By the time he caught up, he had a full head of steam, and his fighting ire blazed like a furnace.
Doyle's bull bellow turned a head or two. His huge fist latched like a power clamp onto the first stranger he saw. Still dazed, Tiff saw one of his enemies plucked from the water, raised high in the air, and slammed like a wet sandbag onto the towpath, so hard the aqueduct shuddered.
Tiff ducked his head below the surface striving to clear his senses. Water shock helped. He surfaced, seeing his remaining enemy looking the wrong way. Tiff swung leadenly, as though wielding a two by four timber and thunked the man's ear with all he had. The figure swayed and began an awkward turn. Tiff's fingers felt broken, but he tried again, and the stunned opponent moved right into it. The blow lacked the crisp spat of a pugilist's punch, but there was weight and desperation behind it. Tiff's clenched fist sledged with sodden impact squarely into his enemy's features. Tiff felt things give, and they were not just his abused knuckles. The victim still did not go down and out. Perhaps some awareness of probable drowning pushed him in slow motion to the canal edge. He hung there, breathing in a tortured rasp, all of his fight gone.
The battle was in its last agonies, and only Tiny Doyle's massive bulk was still erect on the towpath. Tiff saw him raise a weakly resisting figure before pistoning a maul of a fist into its face with a splat that turned Tiff's nerves to jelly.
Tiff stayed where he was, dipping his face into the canal and swishing his battered hands in the cool water.
Tiny was helping Carter Roth from the canal, and Chip was back standing. The Captain was blowing like a whale, pointing and gasping, "Get that one before he sinks, Tiny." Doyle hoisted another sodden and limp body from the water.
Tiff got to the edge and rolled himself onto the towpath. Tiny was there instantly and hauled him erect as easily as he would have a child.
"You all right, Tiff?" It was Chip asking.
Tiff could only wave an exhausted hand.
After a few minutes for recovering, the four got together. Carter Roth's shirt hung to his knees in rags. Someone had clawed him into red ribbons that were visible even in the night light.
Chip asked, "Were you fighting some girl, Roth?"
"Sure as hell felt like it." He glared at the bodies stretched around them. "Every time I got busy, one of these apes clawed at me like he wore grappling irons."
The enemy whose face Tiff had hammered made moves as though to crawl ashore. Tiny's warning growl froze him in place.
They took stock. Their own injuries appeared only painful. One of Brown's men stirred, and Doyle placed a huge boot on his head, discouraging further movement. Tiff wriggled his fingers. They all moved, but pained sharply. Nothing broken probably.
Their opponents had not done as well. Brown was conscious, but cradled an obviously broken forearm. The man Tiny had hurled to the towpath appeared to be breathing, although unconscious. Another lay unmoving; the rest appeared licked, but not seriously hurt.
Roth got a grip on one's hair and raised him a bit. "What was that dance you were going to do on me? I kind of missed seeing that. You ready to try again?" The man had no fight left, and Carter let his head thump onto the towpath planks.
Roth stretched, his clawed hide smarting. "I say we heave them into the river." The man Tiff had punched flailed himself to the far side of the canal.
Tiff was beginning to feel the aches of a thorough drubbing. His head felt swollen and his tongue found a loosened tooth. One eye was swelling shut, and the night air was cold on his soaked body.
Chip said, "Nope, we're done here. So are they." He shook himself a little, probably stiffening up, Tiff thought, and led the way along the towpath, leaving Brown and his crowd to fend for themselves.
Nearly across, Carter was first to speak. "Damn, that hound clawed me too good. I think I'll go back and lick him some more."
"Forget it, Carter. Tinker can put some goose grease on it. Maybe Lily has some of that cream she makes out of horse chestnuts. That'll take the pain out."
"They aren't here, Chip, they're in Duncannon. By tomorrow I'll be all scabbed over, and doctoring won't do any good."
Tiny said, "I know where Miss Hannah has some of that rub on that Miss Lily makes."
"You do?" Carter sounded grateful. "Tiny, you came on like a whole mob back there, just when we needed you most. We owe you for that, old friend."
Even in the dim moon glow, the giant appeared embarrassed by the thanks.
Chip said, "You sure did need help, Roth. Why'd you dive in the canal anyway? I liked it better up on the towpath."
"Dive in? Hell, I was fighting three of them while you and Brown were waltzing around. I'd of licked them quicker if that one hadn't kept scratching at me."
Chip said, "You beat that bruiser's face pretty bad, Tiff. He isn't going to look the same ever again."
Tiff's rejoinder was rueful. "If it hadn't been for Tiny jerking the other one off me, I'd have been the one getting my face changed around."
Tiff found his chuckle twitching uncontrollably into a boyish giggle. "I don't know as I want to spend every Saturday night with you Perry Countians. This kind of carrying on could age a man pretty quickly."
Chip walked a few steps before answering. "Well, I've got to admit I'm going to be stiffer than a poker and wear a few bruises." Then he said, "But now that it's over and we are safe away, it was sort of a good old time at that, wasn't it?"
Tiff found his sore mouth grinning, but he thought, "Never again, as long as I live, do I want to be part of anything like that brawl. But seeing we survived and all, danged if it wasn't something to have experienced."
He recognized a sudden and close camaraderie with his three companions. They had fought like tigers together, and they had won.
By golly, it had been a sort of good old time at that.
But, T
iff resolved, never, ever again.
Chapter 21
Saul Shade woke to the church bells. For the second morning he was without fever. He made a stumbling way to the facilities, thankful for the independence and appreciative of a bright and sunny day. His lack of strength was appalling, but with the illness passing, it should return swiftly. During the night, Saul had experienced a renewal of determination. Tiff Shatto would soon get what he had coming. Today, Saul would eat in the hotel dining room. He would begin questioning; someone might know where Tiff Shatto lived. Why, Shatto could be nearby. Shade felt hatred stir.
Saul examined himself in the oval mirror hung above his washstand. Pounds had melted from his frame. He stooped a mite and his shoulder points stood out square, the way an old man's did. He had not shaved in two weeks. The scraggly beard disguised his gaunt features and the oversized head that balanced precariously on a twig-thin neck. He decided to leave the beard in place.
Sunken cheeked and pasty complexioned, with hollow and glaring eyes, Saul Shade little resembled the proud and powerful rancher of a year earlier. He did not care. He would kill Tiff Shatto as he would stamp on a roach. Then he would head for California to heal. He had an arrest warrant issued by a hack of a town marshal who owed him. It would be enough for the local lawman. A western murderer, shot while resisting arrest, would rouse little interest. Shade would be on a train home within a day.
He lay back on his rumpled bedding, wearied by even the small effort nature had demanded. The bells had ceased, but the usual gossipy men gathered almost beneath his window. Generally Shade ignored them, but since the fever had left, he had listened to their weather predictions and around-the-town happenings.
The night before had apparently been a big one—a large gambling occasion of some sort, and then a half a dozen broken and beaten men had wagoned into town seeking doctors. There was both amazement and hilarity among the loafers, but the details meant nothing to Saul Shade, and he barely listened.
Tiff Shatto was twice mentioned before Shade recognized the name. He sat bolt upright, jerked from lethargy, straining to hear more. Nothing was clear. Saul flung on clothing and wobbled a course to the door. His sudden appearance startled the loafers, who tried to apologize for disturbing him.
Once they recognized Mister Black's interest in the story, words ran easily. It became necessary to start at the beginning and explain in great detail. To the tellers, it was as good as repeating a favorite hunting yarn. The stranger hung on every word. He questioned and asked for descriptions.
Tiff Shatto, the gambler who had won all the money and even the barge, excited most of the stranger's interest.
When they in turn questioned, the obviously still-sick man became evasive, saying only that he was in search of a man, and Tiff Shatto might have been him.
Shade hung on until they were done, but he approached collapse. Regaining his bed, Shade husbanded strength, pleased with the information he had gathered. He had what he needed. The cooperative loafers claimed Shatto and some relatives were laying over. They too were recovering from the fight that had broken the six men seeking doctors. Tiff Shatto was here. The talkers believed it likely he would be at his new barge on the morrow.
Good, Saul needed a day. He would eat strengthening food, and he would rest, storing his strength, and planning what he would say and do.
He believed he would recognize Tiff Shatto, but he had to be sure. Shotgunning the wrong man would ruin it all.
During the afternoon, when he felt a bit stronger, Shade fitted a leather loop around the grip of his shotgun. He hung the gun from his right shoulder muzzle down. His long, split-tailed riding duster hid the shortened weapon, yet he could flip it level in an instant. Unlike Baker, he would have both hammers cocked when he made his play. Shade practiced a few times. Even in his debilitated condition, it was fast, very fast.
They all met at the barge. The money was safe, Haycock was long away, and his bandaged and splinted ex-crew was last seen boarding a train for somewhere.
Tiff was relieved. "I was afraid that hombre Tiny bounced on the towpath might have died."
Carter said, "I didn't see that, but the one he held up and hit in the face did worry me. I'd rather have an anvil dropped on me than Tiny's fist."
Chip made plans for all of them. He figured they would all go home except Tiff and the Long boys. He, Chip, would ride down on Monday and help Tiff and the Longs get the money safely home.
Nobody agreed.
Carter's plan was better. "Where the money goes, I go. So, the Long boys and Tiny will escort the ladies home, and Chip and I will help Tiff with the gold."
Tiff said, "You all can take care of the money. I've got to look after this barge."
Carter showed his surprise. "I thought we were going into the honeymoon business together."
Chip was indignant. "That was just you talking, Roth. Tiff never said a word about it."
Tiff oiled the waters. "Well, we might work out something, Captain, but right now I just want to look everything over, think about things, and of course get the barge moved out of this slip. Somebody will be along with his hand out for slip rent or something."
"I told you, my captain will move the barge and keep it safe for now."
"Leave him alone, Carter, it's his barge, not yours. You are always trying to run things."
"I am? How about you, Chip? Why . . ."
The pair moved away, arguing without heat. Tiff took Lily's hand, and they walked out onto the aqueduct.
Tiff said, "Tell you what, Lily. Let's not talk about the gambling or the fight for a minute or two, or the barge either. There's something a lot more important I've got to get going on."
"I know, Tiff. Go ahead."
"You know?" Tiff was not surprised; it just seemed the right thing to say.
"Of course, I know."
"Well, it's about you and me, Lily. We've hardly met by some measures, but I think by our own we've come an astonishing distance and know things about each other that most wouldn't discover in a year."
"That's true."
"I know you want to come with me, Lily."
"Yes, I do."
Tiff felt himself beginning to sweat. He touched gingerly at his swollen eye and ran his tongue around the sensitive tooth. He tried to explain. "The life I lead isn't the best in some lights, Lily. Some of it is like last night with nerves straining and danger lurking."
"But not most of it."
"No, mostly it is just interesting travel, meeting different kinds of people, and seeing other places. It's what I want to do and what I intend to do for a long time. My game won't put down roots for a while. They say "Moss doesn't gather on a rolling stone." There's a risk of growing old and still not having a peg to put your hat on."
"Do you want me with you, Tiff?"
He felt his blood pound. "Yes, Lily, I do. It could never again be complete without you." He smiled shyly. "You know that, too, don't you?"
"Yes, but you had to say it to make me sure."
"Well, I'd like to say it again. I want to marry you, Lily. I want you to be with me from now on."
Tiff cleared his throat and sounded business-like. "I've got investments already. We'll talk about that. I just want you to know that although I like traveling light, I do know that I'll likely change somewhere along the pike, and there will be money waiting then.
Tiff warmed to his subject. "We'll have Uncle Chip invest last night's winnings here in the east, and maybe we can work out a partnership with Captain Roth that can put that fancy barge to use. We can travel, Lily, maybe go to Europe from here. I'd like to try the casinos I've heard about over there. Then . . ."
Tiff hesitated and sagged to a halt. "But you've never actually said . . ."
"That I accept your proposal?"
"That's right."
"You already know my answer, Tiff."
"I know, Lily, but you have to say it."
Lily answered as he knew she would.
&nb
sp; The loafers claimed the Shattos would come to the bank for the gambling winnings. Shade asked how they knew. The men shrugged and looked at each other. No one could answer. Word had just gotten around.
Saul prepared himself. He hung his armor plate around his neck beneath his shirt. The sawed-off shotgun was concealed by the long duster. The bank building was only a block away, but the road sloped a trifle, and managing it taxed Shade's endurance. There were seats in front of the bank, and Saul sank onto one of them. Sitting, the heavy breast plate rested against his belt and thighs and relieved his neck and shoulders. God, but he was puny. Across the square a penny store sold walking canes. He would purchase one for use until his strength returned.
An oldster waited a seat away. When his breathing slowed, Shade sought some answers.
"Bank open?"
"Opened at 8 AM. You new around here?"
"Yep. In from the west."
"You look a might ill. You got that fever that's going around?" The local appeared ready to leave.
"Nope, just the usual winter sickness. About gone now." The oldster relaxed. Half the town came down with something during the cold months.
"Them Shattos come in to pick up their money yet?"
"Nope, but they'll be along directly. I'm down to see that myself. Imagine, winning enough in one evening to last a whole lifetime."
"You know Tiff Shatto?"
"Nope, he's new to me. I'll recognize Chip, though.
Seen him a few times years back/"
Saul felt too poorly to continue the talk. He closed his eyes and let the sun beat on him. He was half asleep when the oldster broke off some endless yarn. "By gum, here they come." Shade came wide awake.
There was a whole army of them. Saul's soul writhed. He couldn't just up and shotgun the man with a half-dozen rifles waiting. He would be shot dead as well.
The riders pulled up, and a pair dismounted. Both were middle-aged. They moved a little delicately, and the oldster slipped closer and spoke excitedly.
Tiff's Game (Perry County Frontier Series) Page 20