Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four)

by Robert E. Howard

  I come in fast, and figgered on beating him to the punch, but he was too quick for me. He wasn’t so clever, but he moved like a big cat, and the very power of his punches was a swell defense. No man couldst keep his balance under them thundering smashes, even if they didn’t land on no vital spot. Just trying to block ’em numbed my arms.

  Zip! His left whizzed past my jaw like a red-hot brick. Zinggg! His right burned my ear as it went by. I seen a opening and shot my right with everything I had. But I was too eager; my arm looped over his shoulder and he banged his left into my ribs, which I distinctly felt bend almost to the breaking point as my breath went outa me in a explosive grunt.

  I throwed my arms about him in a vain effort to clinch, but he pushed me away and slammed a full-armed right to my jaw. Crash! I felt myself turning a complete somersault in the air, and I landed on my belly with my head sticking out under the ropes and ogling glassily down at the ecstatic customers. One of these riz up and slashed his thigh with his hat and, sticking his face almost into mine, yelled, “Well, you carnival punk, how do you like those?”

  “Like this!” I roared, catching him on the whiskers with a unexpected bash that sunk his nose in the sawdust. I then rolled over on my back and, observing that the referee had rapidly counted up to nine, I ariz and, abandoning my scanty boxing skill, started slugging wild and ferocious in the hope of landing a haymaker.

  But that was Cairn’s game; he blocked my punches for a second or so, then bang! he caught me square on the chin with one of them thunderbolt rights which shot me back into the ropes, and I rebounded from ’em square into a whistling left hook that dropped me face-down in the resin.

  I couldst dimly hear the crowd yelling like wolves. When the average man falls face-first he’s through, but nobody never accused me of being a average man. At nine I was up as usual, reeling, and Cairn approached me with a look of disgust on his brutal face.

  “Will you stay down?” he gritted, and, measuring me with a left, he crashed his right square into my mouth, and I went down like a pole-axed ox.

  “That finishes him!” I heered somebody yelp, and evidently Cairn thought so too, because he give a scornful laugh and started toward his corner where his manager was getting his bathrobe ready. But I got my legs under me and at nine I staggered up, as is my habit.

  “Come back here, you big sissy!” I roared groggily, spitting out fragments of a tooth. “This fight ain’t over by a devil of a ways!”

  The mob screamed with amazement, and Cairn, swearing ferociously, turned and rushed at me like a tiger. But though I reeled on buckling knees, I didn’t go down under his smashing left hooks.

  “Why don’t you get a ax, you big false-alarm?” I sneered, trying to shake the blood outa my eyes. “What you got in them gloves — powder puffs?”

  At that he give a roar which made the ring lights shimmy, and brought one up from the canvas which hung me over the top rope just as the gong sounded. Joe and his merry men untangled my limp carcass and held me on the stool while they worked despairingly over me.

  “Drop it, Steve,” urged Joe. “Cairn will kill you.”

  “How many times was I on the canvas that round?” I asked.

  “How should I know?” he returned, peevishly, wringing the gore out of my towel. “I ain’t no adding machine.”

  “Well, try to keep count, willya?” I requested. “It’s important; I can tell how much he’s weakenin’ if you check up on the knockdowns from round to round.”

  Joe dropped the sponge he was fixing to throw into the ring.

  “Ye gods! Are you figgerin’ on continuin’ the massakree?”

  “He can’t keep this pace all night,” I growled. “Lookit Brelen talkin’ to his baby lamb!”

  Ace was gesticulating purty emphatic, and Cairn was growling back at him and glaring at me and kneading his gloves like he wisht it was my goozle. I knowed that Brelen was telling him this scrap was getting beyond the point of a joke, and that it wasn’t helping his reputation none for me to keep getting up on him, and for him to make it another quick kayo. Ha, ha, thought I grimly, shaking the blood outa my mangled ear, let’s see how quick a kayo Bill Cairn can make where so many other iron-fisted sluggers has failed.

  At the gong I was still dizzy and bleeding copiously, but that’s a old story to me.

  Cairn, infuriated at not having finished me, rushed outa his corner and throwed over a terrible right, which I seen coming like a cannonball, and ducked. His arm looped over my shoulder and his shoulder rammed into my neck with such force that we both crashed to the canvas.

  Cairn untangled hisself with a snarl of irritation, and, assisted by the fair-minded referee, arose, casually kicking me in the face as he done so. I ariz likewise, and, enraged by my constant position on the canvas, looped a whistling left at his head that would of undoubtedly decapitated him hadst it landed — but luck was against me as usual. My foot slipped in a smear of my own blood, my swing was wild, and I run smack into his ripping right.

  I fell into Cairn, ignoring an uppercut which loosened all my lower teeth, and tied him up.

  “Leggo, you tin-eared baboon!” he snarled, heaving and straining. “Try to show me up, wouldja? Try to make a monkey outa me, wouldja?”

  “Nature’s already attended to that, you lily-fingered tap-dancer,” I croaked. “A flapper with a powder-puff couldst do more damage than you can with them chalk-knuckled bread-hooks.”

  “So!” he yelled, jerking away and crashing his right to my jaw with every ounce of his huge frame behind it. I revolved in the air like a spin-wheel, felt the ropes scrape my back, and realized that I was falling through space. Crash! My fall was cushioned by a mass of squirming, cussing fans, else I would of undoubtedly broke my back.

  I looked up, and high above me, it seemed, I seen the referee leaning over the ropes and counting down at me. I began to kick and struggle, trying to get up, and a number of willing hands — and a few hob-nailed boots — hoisted me offa the squawking fans, and I grabbed the ropes and swung up.

  Somebody had a grip on my belt, and I heard a guy growl. “You’re licked, you fool! Take the count. Do you want to get slaughtered?”

  “Leggo!” I roared, kicking out furiously. “I ain’t never licked!”

  I tore loose and crawled through the ropes — it looked like I’d never make it — and hauled myself up just as the referee was lifting his arm to bring it down on “Ten!” Cairn didn’t rush this time; he was scowling, and I noticed that sweat was streaming down his face, and his huge chest was heaving.

  Some of the crowd yelled, “Stop it!” but most of ’em whooped, “Now you got him, Bill. Polish him off!”

  Cairn measured me, and smashed his right into my face. The top-rope snapped as I crashed back against it, but I didn’t fall. Cairn swore in amazement, and drawed back his right again, when the gong sounded. He hesitated, then lemme have it anyway — a pile-driving smash that nearly lifted me offa my feet. And the crowd cheered the big egg. My handlers jostled him aside and, as they pulled me offa the ropes, Cairn sneered and walked slowly to his corner.

  Supported on my stool, I seen Joe pick up a sponge stealthily.

  “Drop that sponge!” I roared, and Joe, seeing the baleful light in my one good eye, done so like it was red-hot.

  “Lemme catch you throwin’ a sponge in for me!” I growled. “Gimme ammonia! Dump that bucket of water over me! Slap the back of my neck with a wet towel! One more round to go, and I gotta save that fifty bucks!”

  Swearing dumfoundedly, my handlers did as they was bid, and I felt better and stronger every second. Even they couldn’t understand how I couldst take such a beating and come back for more. But any slugger which depends on his ruggedness to win his fights understands it. We got to be solid iron — and we are.

  Besides, my recent rough-and-ready life hadst got me into condition such as few men ever gets in, even athaletes. This, coupled with my amazing recuperative powers, made me just about unbeatable. Cairn could
, and had, battered me from pillar to post, knocked me down repeatedly, and had me groggy and glassy-eyed, but he hadn’t sapped the real reservoir of my vitality. Being groggy and being weak is two different things. Cairn hadn’t weakened me. The minute my head cleared under the cold water and ammonia, I was as good as ever. Well, just about, anyhow.

  So I come out for the fourth round raring to go. Cairn didn’t rush as usual. In fact, he looked a little bit sick of his job. He walked out and lashed at my head with his left. He connected solid, but I didn’t go down. And for the first time I landed squarely. Bang. My right smashed under his ear, and his head rocked on his bull’s neck.

  With a roar of fury, he come back with a thundering right to the head, but it only knocked me to my knees, and I was up in a instant. I was out- lasting him! His blows was losing their dynamite! This realization electrified me, and I bored in, slashing with both hands.

  A left to the face staggered but didn’t stop me, and I ripped a terrific left hook under his heart. He grunted and backed away. He wasn’t near as good at taking punishment as he was at handing it out. I slashed both hands to his head, and the blood flew. With a deafening roar, he sunk his right mauler clean outa sight in my belly.

  I thought for a second that my spine was broke, as I curled up on the canvas, gasping. The referee sprang forward and began counting, and I looked for Cairn, expecting to see him standing almost astraddle of me, as usual, waiting to slug me down as I got up. He wasn’t; but was over against the ropes, holding onto ’em with one mitt whilst he wiped the blood and sweat outa his eyes with the other’n. And I seen his great chest heaving, his belly billowing out and in, and his leg muscles quivering.

  Grinning wolfishly, I drawed in great gulps of air and beat the count by a second. Cairn lurched offa the ropes at me, swinging a wide left, but I went under it and crashed my right to his heart. He rolled like a ship in a heavy gale, and I knowed I had him. That last punch which had floored me had been his dying effort. He’d fought hisself clean out on me, as so many a man had didst. Strategy, boy, strategy!

  I went after him like a tiger after a bull, amid a storm of yells and curses and threats. The crowd, at first dumfounded, was now leaping up and down and shaking their fists and busting chairs and threatening me with torture and sudden death if I licked their hero. But I was seeing red. Wait’ll you’ve took the beating I’d took and then get a chance to even it up! I ripped both hands to Cairn’s quivering belly and swaying head, driving him to the ropes, off of which he rolled drunkenly.

  I heered a gong sounding frantically; Brelen hadst knocked the time- keeper stiff with a blackjack and was trying to save his man. Also the referee was grabbing at me, trying to push me away. But I give no heed. A left and right under the heart buckled Cairn’s knees, and a blazing right to the temple glazed his eyes. He reeled, and a trip-hammer left hook to the jaw that packed all my beef sent him crashing to the canvas, just as the crowd come surging into the ring, tearing down the ropes. I seen Joe take it on the run, ducking out under the wall of the tent, and yelling, “Hey, Rube!”

  Then me and the handlers was engulfed. Half a hundred hands grabbed at me, and fists, boots and chairs swung for me. But I ducked, ripping off my gloves, and come up fighting like a wild man.

  I swung my fists like they was topping-mauls, and ribs snapped and noses and jaw-bones cracked, whilst through the melee I caught glimpses of Brelen and his men carrying out their battered gladiator. He was still limp.

  Just as the sheer number of maddened citizens was dragging me down, a gang of frothing razor-backs come through the tent like a whirlwind, swinging pick handles and tent-stakes.

  Well, I ain’t seen many free-for-alls to equal that ‘un! The circus war- whoop of “Hey, Rube!” mingled with the blood-thirsty yells of the customers. The Iron-villians outnumbered us, but we give ’em a bellyful. In about three seconds the ring was tore to pieces and the storm of battle surged into the tent-wall, which collapsed under the impact.

  Knives was flashing and a few guns barking, and all I wonder is that somebody wasn’t kilt. The athaletic tent was literally ripped plumb to ribbons, and the battle surged out onto the grounds and raged around the other tents and booths.

  Then a wild scream went up: “Fire!” And over everything was cast a lurid glow. Somehow or other the main top hadst caught in the melee — or maybe some fool set it on fire. A strong wind was fanning the flames, which mounted higher each second. In a instant the fight was abandoned. Everything was in a tumult, men running and yelling, children squalling, women screaming. The circus-people was running and hauling the cages and wagons outa the animal tent, which was just catching. The critters was bellering and howling in a most hair-raising way, and I remembered Mike in Oswald’s cage. I started for there on the run, when there riz a most fearful scream above all the noise: “The animals are loose!”

  Everybody hollered and tore their hair and ran, and here come the elephants like a avalanche! They crashed over wagons and cages and booths, trumpeting like Judgment Day, and thundered on into the night. How they got loose nobody never exactly knowed. Anything can happen in a fire. But, in stampeding, they’d bumped into and busted open some more cages, letting loose the critters inside.

  And here they come roaring — Sultan, the tiger, and Amir, the leopard, killers both of ‘em. A crowd of screaming children rushed by me, and right after them come that striped devil, Sultan, his eyes blazing. I grabbed up a heavy tent-stake and leaped betweenst him and the kids. He roared and leaped with his talons spread wide, and I braced my feet and met him in mid- air with a desperate smash that had every ounce of my beef behind it. The impact nearly knocked me offa my feet, and the stake splintered in my hand, but Sultan rolled to the ground with a shattered skull.

  And almost simultaneously a terrible cry from the people made me wheel just in time to see Amir racing toward me like a black shadder with balls of fire for eyes. And, just as I turned, he soared from the ground straight at my throat. I didn’t have time to do nothing. He crashed full on my broad breast, and his claws ripped my hide as the impact dashed me to the earth. And at the same instant I felt another shock which knocked him clear of me.

  I scrambled up to see a squat white form tearing and worrying at the limp body of the big cat. Again Mike had saved my worthless life. When Amir hit me, he hit Amir and broke his neck with one crunch of his iron jaws. He’d squoze out between the bars of Oswald’s cage and come looking for me.

  He lolled out his tongue, grinning, and vibrated his stump tail, and all to once I heered my name called in a familiar voice. Looking around, I seen a battered figger crawl out from under the ruins of a band-wagon, and, in the lurid light of the burning tents, I reckernized him.

  “Jerusha!” I said. “The Old Man! What you doin’ under that wagon?”

  “I crawled under there to keep from bein’ trampled by the mob,” he said, working his legs to see if they was broke. “And it was a good idee, too, till a elephant run over the wagon. By gad, if I ever get safe to sea once more I’ll never brave the perils of the land again, I wanta tell ya!”

  “Did you see me lick Bill Cairn?” I asked.

  “I ain’t see nothin’ but a passel of luneyticks,” he snapped. “I arrived just as the free-for-all was ragin’. I don’t mind a rough-house, but when they drags in a fire and a stampede of jungle-critters, I’m ready to weigh anchor! And you!” he added, accusingly. “A merry chase you’ve led me, you big sea-lion! I’ve come clean from Frisco, and it looked for a while like I wouldn’t never find this blame circus.”

  “What you wanta find it for?” I growled, the thought of my wrongs renewing itself.

  “Steve,” said the Old Man, “I done you a injustice! It was the cabin-boy which put that pole-cat in my bunk — I found it out after he jumped ship. Steve, as champeen of the old Sea Girl, I asks you — let bygones be gone-byes! Steve, me and the crew has need of your mallet-like fists. At Seattle, a few weeks ago, I shipped on a fiend in human form by
the name of Monagan, which immediately set hisself up as the bully of the fo’c’le. I had to put in Frisco because of shortage of hands. Even now, Mate O’Donnell, Mushy Hanson and Jack Lynch lies groanin’ in their bunks from his man-handlin’, and he has likewise licked Bill O’Brien, Maxie Heimer and Sven Larsen. He has threatened to hang me on my own bow-sprit by my whiskers. I dast not fire him, for fear of my life. Steve!” the Old Man’s voice trembled with emotion, “I asks you — forgive and forget! Come back to the Sea Girland demonstrate the eternal brotherhood of man by knockin’ the devil outa this demon Monagan before he destroys us all! Show the monster who’s the real champeen of the craft!”

  “Well,” I said, “I got some money comin’ to me from Larney — but let it go. He’ll need it repairin’ his show. Monagan, of Seattle — bah! I hammered him into a pulp in Tony Vitello’s poolroom three years ago, and I can do it again. Calls hisself champeen of the Sea Girl, huh? Well, when I kick his battered carcass onto the wharf, he’ll know who’s champeen of the craft. They never was, and they ain’t now, and they never will be but one champeen of her, and that’s Steve Costigan, A.B. Let’s go! I wasn’t never cut out for no peaceful landlubber’s existence, nohow.”

  * * *

  DARK SHANGHAI; OR, ONE SHANGHAI NIGHT

  First published in Action Stories, January 1932. Also published as “One Shanghai Night”

  THE first man I met, when I stepped offa my ship onto the wharfs of Shanghai, was Bill McGlory of the Dutchman, and I should of took this as a bad omen because that gorilla can get a man into more jams than a Chinese puzzle. He says: “Well, Steve, what do we do for entertainment — beat up some cops or start a free-for-all in a saloon?”