by John Glasby
With a loud, bull-like roar of triumph, Jeb leapt in, his face alight with a savage exhilaration. It was this belief that the fight was virtually over, which proved to be the other’s undoing. Garth feinted with his right hand, then stepped adroitly to one side, thrusting himself away from the bar with his leg, at the same time, swinging a short left to the man’s body. It struck him in the soft part of the belly, just below the solar plexus. The other’s mouth fell open, wide, air gushing out in a bleat of agony. For a long moment, he stood there, arms falling limply to his sides, body bent in the middle from the numbing force of the blow. His eyes were glazed and he swayed, scarcely aware of the yelling of his companions from the end of the bar.
His face was ashen, all of the blood having drained from it. Before he could recover, Garth drove another blow at his chin, felt it connect a little higher than he had intended, the cartilage of the other’s nose squashing under his knuckles. He felt a sense of exhilaration pass through him as the other yelled hoarsely and staggered back, hands going up to his face.
Jeb growled a strong oath, rubbed the back of his hand across his battered face, stared for a moment at the blood smeared on his skin. The sight of his own blood enraged him, made him forget his pain. The crowd was shouting now, yelling encouragement to him. He squared his shoulders, moved in again, lips drawn back in a bestial snarl. Lowering his head to protect it from another blow, sawing in a big shuddering breath, he charged headlong at Garth. Garth was clear. He stood braced, waiting for the other. His head was clear now from that first hammerfisted blow to the body. Not once looking away from the other, he waited. When Garth did not retreat before his flailing blows, Jeb tried a new tactic. Planting each foot solidly on the floor, he stood in the one spot, swinging with a more accurate style. Then Garth made his second mistake. Punching solidly and then dancing clear before the other could land any really damaging blows, he kept the other just sufficiently off balance to make it difficult for him to carry the fight forward as Jeb clearly wished to do. But now, Jeb anticipated him. Evidently he had learned his lesson from what had happened earlier in the fight. Thrusting his leg forward, he swung heavily from the waist, pivoting at the same time, feinting with his left, then swinging in a low right. The move took Garth completely by surprise. He had expected the other to bore in as he had been doing for the past few minutes, trusting to his superior weight to carry him forward. Throwing up his arm he tried to absorb the punishing impact of the blow, caught it on his upper arm. But the impact sent him staggering backward until he collided with one of the tables at his back. It gave under his weight, collapsing beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor. As he fell, Jeb leapt forward on top of him, crushing down with his weight.
Instinct made Garth bow his neck and twist to one side. In spite of this, all of the wind was knocked from his lungs and he felt the other’s taloned fingers trying for his eyes, nails scratching across his face as he sought to gouge out his eyes from their sockets. He could feel the other’s breath on his face, pantingly close.
Madly, he thrust up with his right knee, tried to heave the other from off him, but Jeb squirmed, wriggled to one side, then heaved himself up and loosened his fingers from Garth’s face, clawing instead for his throat. Locking his fingers around the other’s windpipe, he clamped a grip on his neck, squeezing with all of his strength. Garth felt his eyes bulge in their sockets. Inwardly, he knew that he had to break this murderous hold or it would mean the end. He could see the other’s grinning face through a wavering red mist that floated in front of his vision. Desperately, he struggled to draw air down into his aching, tortured lungs. For a moment, he hammered with his fists at the man’s face, but the other merely twisted his lips into a sardonic smile and squeezed all the harder. The throbbing of blood in Garth’s head was a dull thunder that threatened to drown out every other sound. Abruptly, he relaxed his body completely. For a split second, the move took Jeb by surprise. His hold around Garth’s neck slackened slightly for the briefest fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Garth.
The edge of his right hand moved only six inches before it caught the other on the side of the head just below the ear. The bigger man gasped, fell over on his side. He tried helplessly to get to his feet, eyes bulging, his mouth widely open revealing his broken, stained teeth. Sucking air down into his chest, Garth pushed himself weakly to his feet, stood swaying for a moment, feeling the strength return gradually to his body. Unmindful of the man on the floor at his feet, he stood back, waiting for the other to rise, knowing that as soon as he did, he would hit him again and that this time, it would be the end.
For long moments, Jeb hung there, resting weakly on his hands and knees, his head hanging down limply between his arms, great sobbing gasps shuddering through his body. He seemed utterly spent, unable to move as Garth stood over him, waiting.
Then, abruptly, the other heaved himself forward, not on to his feet as Garth had expected, but forward along the floor, arms outstretched to their fullest extent, fingers clawing for the guns in the belt that lay near the bar. Swinging sharply, Garth saw the other’s fingers close over the butt of one of the guns, jerked it free of the leather, twist it with his wrist, using the minimum of movement as he tried to roll over and bring the weapon to bear on Garth, intending to kill him from where he lay. It was out of the question for Garth to go for his own guns lying on the floor a few feet from where he stood. To try for them would mean instant death, for already the black hole in the end of the other’s gun barrel was lining up on his chest, and Jeb’s finger was tight on the trigger, the knuckle standing out white under the skin with the pressure he was exerting.
There was only one move to make to save his life, and Garth made it. His boot stamped down hard on the other’s hand, pinning it to the floor. Jeb squirmed and threshed in agony as Garth increased the pressure, felt the bones in the man’s wrist crack under his weight. The fingers loosened on the gun and a shrill bleat of agony burst from his lips. Bending, Garth picked up the gun from where it had fallen from the man’s nerveless fingers, opened it and flipped out the shells from the chambers.
Then, watching the rest of the men at the bar out of the corner of his eye, he picked up his own belt and buckled it on. He ignored the injured man on the floor nearby, knowing that all of the fight had been knocked out of him. Turning to the watching bystanders, he said through tightly-clenched teeth: ‘If there is anybody else who wants to make this fight a personal thing then I suggest that he steps outside into the street right now. He’ll get an even chance, which is more than this hombre meant to give me.’
None of the men moved. He could see their tightening faces, but their gaze did not lock with his as he swept his scornful eyes over them. Picking up the glass from the bar, he downed the remainder of his drink in a swift gulp, tossed a coin on to the counter and walked towards the door. Reaching it, he paused, turned: ‘I reckon I can’t say much for the hospitality in this town. I’ve seen better in a dozen other trail towns along the frontier.’ His glance fell to the man on the floor, striving to drag himself up into one of the chairs near the splintered table. ‘Better get him to a doctor, have him take a look at that wrist of his.’
Thrusting open the doors, he stepped out into the street, felt the cool night air on his face, touched the bruises there where the other’s fists had grazed the skin, and winced slightly. The street seemed to be empty, except for a small number of horses tethered to the hitchingrail outside the saloons along the street and the only sound was the hollow echoes of his own footsteps on the plankwalk and the raucous singing from the saloon further along the street.
He had almost drawn level with one of the narrow alleys that ran darkly off the main street to his right when he caught the sudden furtive movement in the dark shadows, whirled instinctively, right hand striking down for the gun at his waist. Then he halted the downward sweep abruptly as a soft voice said:
‘Come over here, mister. I want to talk with you.’
Pee
ring into the shadows, he saw the slender figure standing near the wall of the tall building. Even in the dimness, he recognized the woman who had been singing in the saloon, caught the faint odour of the perfume she wore. Her face was a pale blur in the darkness as he came up to her.
‘What is it, Ma’am?’ he asked quietly, wonderingly.
‘I suppose that you know you’ve made enemies in there after what happened tonight,’ she said softly.
‘That comes as no surprise to me,’ he told her. ‘But why your interest in the matter?’
‘Because I think I know why you’re here.’ She lifted her head and he knew that she was searching his face for something, maybe some sign that her ideas about him were right. ‘They think that you’re working with these outlaws in the hills. They’re afraid. They’re good men really, but when a thing like this happens, they’re inclined to do things their own way and go off half-cocked, do things without stopping to think of the consequences. I know Jeb. Ordinarily, he’d never think of attacking a perfect stranger. He’s been in fights before now, I’ll admit that. But there’s always been some reason for them and — ’
‘You don’t have to apologize for them,’ Garth said. ‘But I have the feeling that you didn’t come out here just to tell me this. You’ve got somethin’ more on your mind.’
She was silent for a moment, then said quietly, her voice very soft. ‘Someone in town sent for you, didn’t they? They think that you might be able to stop these outlaws.’
‘Maybe,’ he said, his tone non-committal. ‘But why do you think that?’
‘You don’t look the sort of man who would throw in his lot with outlaws, and yet you are a man who can handle a gun, and his fists as well. You’ve come up through a hard school and if you didn’t fight against the law, then it seems to me you’re fighting with it.’
‘You’re very observant,’ he said. There was a faint note of admiration in his voice. ‘I only hope that there are not too many in town who are as observant as you are.’
‘Why do you say that? Surely if you let Sheriff Jessup know who you are and why you’re here, he’ll back you.’
‘And once these outlaws discover that, it will make things a hundred times more difficult for me. Don’t you see that I have to work under cover, without anyone knowing who I am? So long as the majority of the townsfolk, includin’ the sheriff, think I may be in cahoots with these killers, it gives me a free hand. If they knew who I really am, then it would impose restrictions on me.’
‘And you don’t want that?’ For a moment there was surprise and — he thought — bitterness in her voice. ‘You’d rather run the risk of being killed, shot down from any shadow in town.’
‘Never mind that,’ he said to her. ‘I know how to take care of myself.’ He glanced around the corner of the alley, back in the direction of the saloon. A handful of men had stepped out, were standing on the boardwalk immediately outside the doors, so that the light fell full on them. One of them, held up by two others, was Jeb. His arm hung by his side and he was holding his wrist in his other hand, his features twisted into a grimace of anger and pain. He seemed to be arguing with the others, but in the end, they got their way and led him along the boardwalk back towards the centre of the town, evidently going along to the doctor’s surgery to get the broken wrist attended to.
‘Get back into the shadows,’ Garth whispered urgently to the girl. One powerful arm swept out and pressed her back into the wall as he stood straight himself. The sound of the approaching men grew louder. Then they were moving past the mouth of the alley, less than ten feet away. None of them glanced round and a moment later, they had stepped up on to the boardwalk on the other side and disappeared from view.
Against Garth’s rigid arm, he could feel the woman’s heart beating rapidly. Very slowly, he took his arm away, drew up to his full height, glanced along the street after the men. They were still continuing along the boardwalk, still arguing in harsh tones. He let a deep breath sweep into his lungs and then out again.
They’ve gone,’ he said slowly.
She nodded. ‘You’ll have to keep watch every minute you’re in town now,’ she told him warningly. ‘They won’t stop until they’ve killed you and as far as Jeb is concerned, it may not be fair fight.’
‘I’ll be ready for them.’ He licked his lips, rubbed the back of his hand over his check. His throat muscles still pained him where the other had squeezed them in his attempt to throttle him. He felt a stab of pain in his neck every time he swallowed. ‘Is there anythin’ you can tell me about this business? You must hear a lot in the saloon. Any little piece of information, no matter how trivial it seems right now. It might give me a clue.’
‘Well, there was this man who rode in a little while before the stage was held up for the first time,’ she said hesitantly.
‘The man who called himself Smith. What about him?’
‘Well, he said that he wanted to buy a plot of land and settle down here. He put up at the hotel, said he was going to stay for some time until he found a suitable place.’
‘What’s so strange about that?’
‘Nothing really, I suppose. Except that he vanished on the same day that the stage was robbed. The clerk at the hotel says that he went out early that morning and never came back for his breakfast, or to collect his luggage. It’s still in the hotel waiting for him, if he ever comes back to claim it.’
‘I see.’ Garth nodded his head slowly. That was a point that ought to have occurred to him after hearing what Wayne Thorpe had had to say about this man named Smith. Obviously from what he was learning now, it had not been his real name, but in these frontier towns, a great many people lived under names which were not their own, and for a large variety of reasons. Maybe they were honestly trying to live down their past, maybe they were afraid of someone who might be following them, seeking vengeance. There could be several reasons why Smith had not given his real name. But the fact that he had left suddenly, had given no indication where he was going, and had left his luggage there, indicated one of two things to Garth. Either he had been killed that day and his body had never been discovered, or he was part of this outlaw gang and he had supplied them with the vital information they needed to hold up the stage carrying all that gold.
‘There was another thing about him. He didn’t look the sort of man who would settle down in a place like this. He had that maverick look about him, and he’d been in a gunfight somewhere. He had this bandage around his head and he seemed to have something wrong with his left eye.’
‘In what way?’ asked Garth, suddenly interested.
‘It was as if whatever had happened to his head, whether it was a bullet wound or not I don’t know, had affected his sight. He had a strange way of looking at you, as if he couldn’t see clearly out of that eye.’
‘You’re sure of this?’ Garth caught her arm as he spoke, turning her to him.
‘Quite sure.’ She nodded her head emphatically. ‘Does that help you?’
‘I think you’ve told me all I need to know at the moment,’ he said. He loosened his grip on her arm. ‘But you’d better get back to the saloon before you’re missed. If those outlaws do have anyone in town, keepin’ an eye on things, they may notice that you’ve gone and start puttin’ two and two together. And keep what you know about me quiet, won’t you?’
‘I want to see these men brought to justice as much as anyone else,’ she said and for a moment there was a note of intense tightness in her voice that he stared down at her in surprise, but he could see nothing on her face. A moment later, she turned on her heel and moved back into the alley. Then she was gone and there was only the faintest whiff of her perfume on the still air.
He paused there for a moment and then made his way slowly back to the hotel. There was a light burning in the doctor’s surgery as he went by, and he guessed that Jeb was getting his wrist set. Smiling grimly to himself, he continued on, entered the lobby of the hotel, took his key from the clerk and start
ed for the stairs. At the bottom he paused, turned and went back to the desk.
‘Excuse me,’ he said quietly. ‘I understand that you had a Mr Smith registered here a month or so ago. He pulled out quite suddenly.’
The other’s brows went up for a moment, then he swallowed his surprise, nodded his head. ‘That’s right, mister,’ he affirmed. ‘He left most of his luggage in his room. We still keep the room for him, just in case he does come back. He didn’t pay for it for a period like this, but we have so few people staying here that I guess we can do that without any trouble. He may return and — well, he would then have to pay for the room during the past month, wouldn’t he, and with business being so slack and all that. Well…’
‘I understand.’ Garth gave a faint smile. Everyone seemed to be after the last dollar they could lay their hands on. Still, it helped as far as he was concerned, so long as he did not arouse the other’s suspicions too much. ‘Which room did he have, do you know?’
The clerk glanced at the register on the desk. ‘Why, the room next to yours, Mr Martinue.’
‘I see.’ Garth gave a brief nod, climbed the creaking stairs and made his way along the corridor to his own room, unlocking the door, then stepping inside. Locking the door after him, he went over to the window and glanced out, not lighting the lamp, but feeling his way forward in the darkness. As he had hoped, there was a narrow veranda around the outside of the building and with a little luck, it would be possible for him to climb over on to the part outside the next window and get inside that room.