CHAPTER XIV--THE FACE OF A FIGHTER
Slouching in his chair, in an attitude of complete dejection, NeilNorton was glumly digesting the dregs of defeat.
The _Eagle_ office adjoined the courthouse. Both were one-story framestructures, flimsy, with one thin wall between them; and to Norton'sears as he sat with his unpleasant thoughts, came the sound of voices,muffled, but resonant. Someone was speaking with force and insistence.Norton attuned his ears to the voice. It was then he discovered therewas only one voice, and that Taylor's.
He sat erect, both hands gripping the arms of his chair. Then he got up,walked to the front door of the _Eagle_ office, and looked out. He wasjust in time to see Carrington tumble out through the door of thecourthouse and land heavily on the sidewalk in front of the building.Immediately afterward he saw Taylor follow.
Norton exclaimed his astonishment, and he saw Taylor turn toward him, abroad, mirthless grin on his face.
"Good Heavens!" breathed Norton, "he's started a ruckus!"
Taylor had not moved. He was looking at Norton when a man leaped fromthe door of the courthouse, straight at him. It was Danforth, his facehideous with rage.
Taylor sensed the movement, wheeled, stumbled, and lost his balance justas Danforth crashed against him. The two men went down in a heap intothe deep dust of the street, rolling over and over.
Danforth's impetus had given him the initial advantage, and he wasmaking the most of it. His fists were working into Taylor's face as theyrolled in the dust, his arms swinging like flails. Taylor, caught almostunprepared, could not get into a position to defend himself. He shieldedhis face somewhat by holding his chin close to his chest and hunchinghis shoulders up; but Danforth landed some blows.
There came an instant, however, when Taylor's surprise over the assaultchanged to resentment over the punishment he was receiving. He hadstruck Carrington in self-defense, and he had not expected the attack byDanforth.
Norton, also surprised, saw that his friend was at a disadvantage, andhe was running forward to help him when he saw Taylor roll on top ofDanforth.
To Norton's astonishment, Taylor did not seem to be in a vicious humor,despite the blows Danforth had landed on him. Taylor came out of thesmother with a grin on his face, wide and exultant, and distinctlyvisible to Norton in spite of the streaks of dust that covered it.Taylor shook his head, his hair erupting a heavy cloud. Then he got up,permitting Danforth to do likewise.
Regaining his feet, Danforth threw himself headlong toward Taylor,cursing, his face working with malignant rage. When Taylor hit him thedust flew from Danforth's clothes as it rolls from a dirty carpet flayedwith a beater. Danforth halted, his knees sagged, his head wabbled. ButTaylor gave him a slight respite, and he came on again.
This time Taylor met him with a smother of sharp, deadening uppercutsthat threw the man backward, his mouth open, his eyes closed. He fell,sagging backward, his knees unjointed, without a sound.
And now Norton was not the only spectator. Far up the street a man hademerged from a doorway. He saw the erupting volcanoes of dust in thestreet, and he ran back, shouting, "Fight! Fight!"
Dawes had seen many fights, and had grown accustomed to them. But thereis always novelty in another, and long before Danforth had received theblows that had rendered him inactive, nearly all the doors of Dawes'sbuildings were vomiting men. They came, seemingly, in endless streams,in groups, in twos and singly, eager, excited, all the streamsconverging at the street in front of the courthouse.
Mindful of the ethics in an affair of this kind, the crowd keptconsiderately at a distance, permitting the fighting men to continue attheir work without interference, with plenty of room for their energeticmovements.
Word ran from lip to lip that Taylor, stung by the knowledge that he hadbeen robbed of the office to which he had been elected, had attackedCarrington and Danforth with the grim purpose of punishing thempersonally for their misdeeds.
Taylor was aware of the gathering crowd. When he had delivered the blowsthat had finished his political rival, he saw the dense mass of men inthe street around him; and he felt that all Dawes had assembled.
There was still no rancor in Taylor's heart; the same savage humor whichhad driven him into the courthouse to acquaint Carrington and the otherswith his knowledge of their designs, still gripped him. He had not meantto force a fight, but neither had he any intention of permittingCarrington and Danforth to inflict physical punishment upon him.
But a malicious devil had seized him. He knew that what he had donewould be magnified and distorted by Carrington, Danforth, and the judge;that they would charge him with the blame for it; that he faced theprobability of a jail sentence for defending himself. And he wasdetermined to complete the work he had started.
Therefore, having disposed of Danforth, he grinned at the eager, excitedfaces 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 beenstanding back a little, awaiting an opportunity. The swiftness ofTaylor'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 thatcaused the dry dust to splay and spume upward and outward in thin,minute streaks like the leaping, spraying waters of a fountain. Theywere lost, momentarily, in a haze, as the dust fell and enveloped them.
They emerged from the blot presently, Carrington staggering, his chin onhis chest, his eyes glazed--Taylor crowding him closely. For while theyhad been lost in the smother of dust, Taylor had landed a deadeninguppercut on the big man's chin.
The big man's brain was befogged; and yet he still retained presence ofmind enough to shield his chin from another of those terrific blows. Hehad crossed his arms over the lower part of his face, fending offTaylor's fists with his elbows.
A Danforth man in the crowd called on Carrington to "wallop" Taylor, andthe big man's answering grin indicated that he was not as badly hurt ashe seemed.
Almost instantly he demonstrated that, for when Taylor, still followinghim, momentarily left an opening, Carrington stepped quickly forward andstruck--his big arm flashing out with amazing rapidity.
The heavy fist landed high on Taylor's head above the ear. It was not ablow that would have finished the fight, even had it landed lower, butit served to warn Taylor that his antagonist was still strong, and hewent in more warily.
The advantage of the fight was all with Taylor. For Taylor was cool anddeliberate, while Carrington, raging over the blows he had received, andin the clutch of a bitter desire to destroy his enemy, wasted muchenergy in swinging wildly.
The inaccuracy of Carrington's hitting amused Taylor; the men in thecrowd about him could see his lips writhing in a vicious smile atCarrington's efforts.
Carrington landed some blows. But he had lived luxuriously during thelater years of his life; his muscles had deteriorated, and though he wasstill strong, his strength was not to be compared with that of theout-of-door man whose clean and simple habits had toughened his musclesuntil they were equal to any emergency.
And so the battle went slowly but surely against Carrington. Fightingdesperately, and showing by the expression of his face that he knew hischances were small, he tried to work at close quarters. He kept comingin stubbornly, blocking some blows, taking others; and finally hesucceeded in getting his arms around Taylor.
The crowd had by this time become intensely partisan. At first it hadbeen silent, but now it became clamorous. There were some Danforth men,and knowing Danforth to be aligned with Carrington--because, it seemedto them, Carrington was taking Danforth's end of the fight--they howledfor the big man to "give it to him!" And they grew bitter when they sawthat despite Carrington's best efforts, and their own verbal support ofhim, Carrington was doomed to defeat.
Taylor's admirers vastly outnumbered Carrington's. They did not find itnecessary to shout advice to th
eir champion; but they shouted and roaredwith approval as Taylor, driving forward, the grin still on his face,striking heavily and blocking deftly, kept his enemy retreating beforehim.
Carrington, locking his arms around Taylor, hugged him desperately forsome seconds--until he recovered his breath, and until his head cleared,and he could fix objects firmly in his vision; and then he heavedmightily, swung Taylor from his feet and tried to throw him. Taylor'sfeet could get no leverage, but his arms were still free, and with bothof 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 landingglancingly on Taylor's head, staggering him. His feet struck anobstruction and he went to one knee, Carrington striking at him as hetried to rise.
The blow missed, Carrington turning clear around from the force of theblow and tumbling headlong into the dust near Taylor.
They clambered to their feet at the same instant, and in the next theycame together with a shock that made them both reel backward. And then,still grinning, Taylor stepped lightly forward. Paying no attention toCarrington's blows, he shot in several short, terrific, deadeninguppercuts that landed fairly on the big man's chin. Carrington's handsdropped to his sides, his knees doubled and he fell limply forward intothe dust of the street where he lay, huddled and unconscious, whileturmoil raged over him.
For the Danforth men in the crowd had yielded to rage over the defeat oftheir favorites. They had seen Danforth go down under the terrificpunishment meted out to him by Taylor; they had seen Carrington sufferthe same fate. Several of them drove forward, muttering profane threats.
Norton, pale and watchful, fearing just such a contingency, shovedforward to the center, shouting:
"Hold on, men! None of that! It's a fair fight! Keep off, there--do youhear?"
A score of Taylor men surged forward to Norton's side; the crowd split,forming two sections--one group of men massing near Norton, the othercongregating around a tall man who seemed to be the leader of theirfaction. A number of other men--the cautious and faint-hearted elementwhich had no personal animus to spur it to participation in what seemedto threaten to develop into a riot--retreated a short distance up thestreet 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 followinghis movements.
Taylor was a picturesquely ludicrous figure. He was covered with dustfrom head to foot; his face was streaked with it; his hair was full ofit; it had been ground into his cheeks, and where blood from a cut onhis forehead had trickled to his right temple, the dust was matted untilit resembled crimson mud.
And yet the man was still smiling. It was not a smile at which most mencare to look when its owner's attention is definitely centered uponthem; 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 ofthe prospective belligerents, postponed for the instant. The gaze ofevery partisan--and of all the non-partisans--was directed at Taylor.
He had not yet finished. For an instant he stood looking down atCarrington and Danforth--both now beginning to recover from theirchastisement, and sitting up in the dust gazing dizzily about them--thenwith a chuckle, grim and malicious, Taylor dove toward the door of thecourthouse, where Littlefield was standing.
The judge had been stunned by the ferocity of the action he hadwitnessed. Whatever judicial dignity had been his had been whelmed bythe paralyzing fear that had gripped him, and he stood, holding to thedoor-jambs, nerveless, motionless.
He saw Taylor start toward him; he saw a certain light leaping in theman's eyes, and he cringed and cried out in dread.
But he had not the power to retreat from the menace that was approachinghim. He threw out his hands impotently as Taylor reached him, as thoughto 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 wasled into the street, near where Carrington and Danforth had fallen, andtwisted 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 Littlefieldis going to say a few words to you. He's going to tell you who startedthis ruckus--so there won't be any nonsense about actions in contempt ofcourt. Deals like this are pulled off better when the court takes thepublic 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," hesaid; "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. BothCarrington and Danforth seemed to have had enough fighting for one day.
The victor looked around at the faces in the crowd that were turned tohis, 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 deliberatelywinked. Then he turned, mounted his horse--which had stood docilely nearby during the excitement, and which whinnied as he approached it--androde down the street to the Dawes bank, before which he dismounted. Thenhe 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 thewindow, he saw the crowd slowly dispersing; and still later he openedthe 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 partition is thin, and I could hear Carringtonraising hell in there. You look out; he'll try to play some dog's trickon 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?"
Norton looked sharply at Taylor's feet.
"You sprain one of yours?" he asked.
"Lord, no!" denied Taylor. "I was just wondering. How long?" heinsisted.
"About two weeks. Say, Squint, your brain wasn't injured in that ruckus,was it?" he asked solicitously.
"It's as good as it ever was."
"I don't believe it!" declared Norton. "Here you've started somethingserious, and you go to rambling about sprained ankles."
"Norton," said Taylor slowly, "a sprained ankle is a mighty seriousthing--when you've forgotten which one it was!"
"What in----"
"And," resumed Taylor, "when you don't know but that she took particularpains to make a mental note of it. If I'd wrap the left one up, now, andshe knew it was the right one that had been hurt--or if I'd wrap up theright one, and she knew it was the wrong one, why she'd likely----"
_"She?"_ groaned Norton, looking at his friend with bulging eyes thatwere haunted by a fear that Taylor's brain _had_ cracked under thestrain of the excitement he had undergone. He remembered now, thatTaylor _had_ acted in a peculiar manner during the fight; that he hadgrinned all through it when he should have been in deadly earnest.
"Plumb loco!" he muttered.
And then he saw Taylor grinning broadly at him; and he was suddenlystruck with the conviction that Taylor was not insane; that he was inpossession of some secret that he was trying to confide to his friend,and that he had begun obliquely. Norton drew a deep breath of relief.
"Lord!" he sighed, "you sure had me go
ing. And you don't know whichankle you sprained?"
"I've clean forgot. And now she'll find out that I've lied to her."
"_She?_" said Norton significantly.
"Marion Harlan," grinned Taylor.
Norton caught his breath with a gasp. "You mean you've fallen in lovewith her? And that you've made her--Oh, Lord! What a situation! Don'tyou know her uncle and Carrington are in cahoots in this deal?"
"It's my recollection that I told you about that the day I got back,"Taylor reminded him. And then Taylor told him the story of the bandagedankle.
When Taylor concluded, Norton lay back in his chair and regarded hisfriend blankly.
"And you mean to tell me that all the time you were fighting Carringtonand Danforth you were thinking about that ankle?"
"Mostly all the time," Taylor admitted.
Norton made a gesture of impotence. "Well," he said, "if a man can keephis mind on a girl while two men are trying to knock hell out of him,he's sure got a bad case. And all I've got to say is that you're goingto have a lovely ruckus!"
The Ranchman Page 14