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husky shoulder-strikers moved up to me. "Caffrey will kill you," the Bishop
said, his voice deeper than any I'd ever heard, "but these can rough you up a
little first."
One of them struck at me, and the Tinker's training was instinctive. Grabbing
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his wrist, I busted him over my back into the dust, and he came down hard.
Coming up in a crouch, the other man missed a blow and I saw the glint of
brass
knuckles on his hand. My left hand grabbed his shirt collar in front and took
a
sharp twist that set him to gagging and choking. With the other I grabbed his
hand, forcing his arm up so that everybody within sight could see those brass
knuckles.
Now, like I've said, I was an uncommon strong man before those years in
prison.
My fingers wrapped around his hand just above the wrist and began to squeeze,
squeezing his fingers right up to a point, then I brought his hand down and
let
those knuckle dusters fall into the dust. At the same time I slipped my hand
up
a little further and shut down hard with all my grip.
He screamed, a hoarse, choking scream. And then I put my thumb against the
base
of his fingers and my fingers at his wrist and bent it back sharply. Folks
standing nearby heard it break. Then I walked out to Manuel.
"You ride it clean, kid," I said. I spoke loud enough so all could hear. "If
either of these make a dirty ride, they'll get what he got."
Somebody cheered, and then the pistol was fired. Those horses taken out of
there
at a dead run, most of them cutting horses and expert at starting from a
stand.
My mule, he was left at the post.
They just taken off and went away from there, but Manuel was figuring right.
He
held the mule back, and sure enough, those two riders to right and left
crashed
together. They had risked what I'd do rather than what the Bishop might do.
If
Manuel had been in there, he'd have been hurt, and bad.
Then Manuel let out a shrill whoop and that Bonaparte left out of there like
he
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had some place to go and it was on fire. He was two lengths behind before he
made his first jump, but I'd never realized the length of his legs before. He
had a tremendous stride, and he ran he ran like no horse I'd ever seen.
There was no way for me to see the finish. It was a straightaway course, and
several of them seemed to be bunched up at the end. Suddenly one of the
judges,
a man on a white horse, came galloping back. "That damned mule!" he yelled.
"The
mule won by half a length!"
Back at the Mexicans' cabin nobody had much to say. The Mexican folks who
owned
it stayed out of sight most of the time and Juana stayed with them. I had
made a
bit of money and Halloran cut me in on what he'd made on the race, as well as
giving a bit to Manuel. That I did too.
Those two races had made that boy more money than he and Juana had seen since
Miguel died. Me, I stretched out on the bed and lay there, resting up for the
fight. My stomach felt empty and kind of sick-like, and I began to wonder if
I
was scared. True enough, I'd whipped Caffrey, but he was no fighter then,
just a
big, awkward boy, and I might have been lucky. Now he had been out among men,
he
had proved himself against known fighters, defeating them all, and there's no
escaping the worth of experience.
Between bouts he'd had a plenty of sparring with experienced fighters, and
was
up to all manner of tricks that only a professional can come by. But I
thought
of Jem Mace, who'd taught the Tinker. He had been a master boxer, one of the
great ones. Never weighing more than one hundred and sixty pounds, he had
been
the world's champion, defeating men as much as sixty pounds heavier.
Thinking about it, I dozed off and did not wake up until the Tinker shook me.
"Move around," he advised. "Get the sleep out of you. Get your blood to
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circulating."
O'Flaherty, the Irishman who'd bet on our mule, came to the house. "I've not
seen you with the knuckles," he commented, "but a man with sense enough to
bet
on a mule is a canny one, so I bet my winnings on you."
The Tinker was carrying a pistol, a rare thing for him, and the Irishman had
brought his shotgun. Doc Halloran had bulges under his coat that meant he was
wearing two guns, and I slipped mine into my waistband, too.
We mounted up and started for the ring, but I'd gone no way at all when
someone
called out to me, and when I turned I saw it was a girl in a handsome
carriage.
It was Marsha Deckrow, and she was more beautiful than I would have believed
anybody could be.
Pulling up, I removed my hat "Still the servant's entrance?" I said.
She showed her dimples. "I was a child then, Orlando. I must have sounded
very
snippy."
"You did."
"You're stern!" She laughed at me. "I'm sorry you were in prison. My father
told
me about it."
"I must be going on," I said, though to be honest it was the last thing I
wished
to do.
"You're going to fight that awful man. My father won't let me go, even though
I
promised to sit in the carriage and we needn't be close. There's a knoll a
little way from the corral, and we could keep the carriage there. But I'll
watch. I think I've found a window."
"It is likely to be brutal," I said, "and he may whip me."
"Will I see you afterward, Orlando? After all, we're cousins, aren't we? Or
something like that? Your father married my aunt."
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"Do you see them often?"
"With your father feeling the way he does about Pa? I should say not! In
fact,
we're on our way to Austin now."
I gathered the reins. The Tinker and Doc were waiting impatiently, and the
time
was soon. "You tell your Pa for me," I said, "that he'd better drop that
case.
He'd best forget the whole thing. He was working for Jonas in the beginning,
and
when this is over he won't even be doing that."
Her face hardened. "You're my enemy then?"
"I'm not anybody's enemy," I said, "but I know murder when I see it done. And
betrayal, too."
The look in her eyes there for a minute well, it wasn't what you'd rightly
call
pleasant; but then it was gone and she was all smiles. "After the fight,
Orlando? Win or lose? Will you come? Pa wouldn't approve, not one bit, but if
you'd come to see me ... I'm staying with the Appletons, down at the end of
the
street. They hadn't room for Pa, too, so he won't be there. Do come."
"Well" she was a mighty pretty girl "I'll see."
My stomach felt queasy when I dismounted at the corral, for there were a
sight
of folks sitting atop the corral fence, which had a board nailed on it all
the
way around so's men could look at stock when buying from the corral.
Inside, the yard had been sprinkled and then rolled or tamped until it was
hard-packed. They'd set four posts in the ground and had ropes around them,
running through holes in the posts.
No sooner had I got down than a great yell went op from the crowd, and there
was
Dun Caffrey getting out of a carriage. He wore a striped sweater, and when he
peeled it off, he showed a set of the finest shoulders a man ever did see.
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He was some taller than me, maybe about three inches, and had longer arms. He
would weigh better than me, for I was down to two hundred and six, whilst he
weighed two hundred and thirty, and carrying no fat
Folks crowded around men in buckboards and spring wagons, men a-horseback and
afoot. Caffrey was wearing a pair of dark blue tights and some fancy,
special-made shoes for boxing or handball. I wore moccasins and black
tights these last the Tinker rustled up for me.
"They've got a set of gloves," Doc Halloran said, "and they offer to fight
either way, with or without."
"Take 'em," the Tinker advised. "They protect your hands, and you'll hit even [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]