Cole could handle himself. He'd once taken on three strapping lumberjacks and left them in a pile on Saloon Row, hoisting one man bodily and using his calks to stomp the others.
"Maybe you didn't hear what I just told Clem Bates," Willie answered evenly, thinking it might well be time not to turn a deaf ear on Cole. Since the election the rancher had gone out of his way to provoke a showdown.
Cole's reply was to toss the rest of the persimmon between the sheriff's feet. It spattered. Then Cole waited, an insolent, calculated dare in his eyes.
Willie had never had the slightest taste for blood, by gun or fists. Like many big men who knew their own power and seldom needed to prove it, he was a gentle person. It took a lot to stir him. Yet, at the same time, when he was finally set loose, he enjoyed it. He fought savagely, with Intent to cripple.
He glanced down at his boots. They were flecked with orange. He said quietly, "I hope that was a slip of hand, Mr. Cole." He emphasized the
mister.
Cole reached for another persimmon. It landed not a half inch from Willie's dusty toe, juice and meat flying.
Willie felt the eyes of the Yavapais on him. They were waiting for the white men to settle their differences. Cole's friends were saddle-resting, arms folded, delighted at the prospect of a fight between the two elephantsâand certain of its outcome. No one had ever whipped Earl Cole.
Willie shrugged. With slow, deliberate movement, trying to estimate the best way to pull Cole off his horse, he unhitched his gun belt, tossed it to Big Eye, and moved toward Cole.
The rancher tossed a thick leg over his pommel and came off the saddle in a vaulting leap, surprising for a man of 250 pounds. Both of his heels caught Willie in the chest, driving him back and down.
Willie felt his shoulders slam the dirt. The back of his skull pounded it. A wave of blackness crossed him. Then reflex, and the fear of Cole's foot ramming his head, caused him to roll.
As he got up, shaking his head to clear it, he saw Cole dropping his gun belt, complete confidence in his eyes. Cole's huge fists came up. The big rancher murmured, "I been waitin' a long time to do this, Sheriff." He stepped forward, throwing a looping right that landed high on the jaw.
A glancing blow, and Willie barely felt it. He stepped inside Cole's left to plant a vicious right hook deep into the rancher's belly. The fist went six inches into rubbery fat and muscle.
With hardly a sound, Cole doubled and seemed to be holding his breath, as if his lungs were ballooning. He was definitely paralyzed: mouth open, face contorted, skin purpling.
Willie grabbed him by the collar at the back of the neck and began running, towing Cole in a bent-over position. A few feet from a wagon bed, he stopped dead, releasing the giant rancher.
Cole catapulted forward, ramming the wagon with his skull. The wagon made a bass drum
boom.
The wagon boards caved in.
Cole crashed backward into the dust, totally out.
Willie stood over him, scarcely able to believe it had been that easy. Then a feeling of deep satisfaction followed. Cole had begged for it. After another look at the prone rancher, Willie walked slowly over to Kumquikit.
The old Indian was grinning widely. "Okay? he said. "Change my mind. Two dollar fifty?
Massaging his chest where the boot heels had caught him, Willie laughed for the first time that day. "Changed mine, too. Three dollars. The taxpayers just got generous."
Kumquikit cackled as Clem Bates and Dobbs swung down off their horses to revive Earl Cole. The other Indians joined in the laughter.
7
HANDS LIMP BY HIS SIDE , the .44s resting in holsters at his hips, Billy regarded the small haul at his feet with a thoughtful frown. Yet it didn't surprise him too much. His newfound friends weren't likely to be over-generous at this point. They were safely at Dunbar's Rocks.
Keeping his voice congenial, Billy said, "Look down, Art. That pile by my feet is a lot smaller than
"Maybe you didn't hear what I just told Clem Bates," Willie answered evenly, thinking it might well be time not to turn a deaf ear on Cole. Since the election the rancher had gone out of his way to provoke a showdown.
Cole's reply was to toss the rest of the persimmon between the sheriff's feet. It spattered. Then Cole waited, an insolent, calculated dare in his eyes.
Willie had never had the slightest taste for blood, by gun or fists. Like many big men who knew their own power and seldom needed to prove it, he was a gentle person. It took a lot to stir him. Yet, at the same time, when he was finally set loose, he enjoyed it. He fought savagely, with Intent to cripple.
He glanced down at his boots. They were flecked with orange. He said quietly, "I hope that was a slip of hand, Mr. Cole." He emphasized the
mister.
Cole reached for another persimmon. It landed not a half inch from Willie's dusty toe, juice and meat flying.
Willie felt the eyes of the Yavapais on him. They were waiting for the white men to settle their differences. Cole's friends were saddle-resting, arms folded, delighted at the prospect of a fight between the two elephantsâand certain of its outcome. No one had ever whipped Earl Cole.
Willie shrugged. With slow, deliberate movement, trying to estimate the best way to pull Cole off his horse, he unhitched his gun belt, tossed it to Big Eye, and moved toward Cole.
The rancher tossed a thick leg over his pommel and came off the saddle in a vaulting leap, surprising for a man of 250 pounds. Both of his heels caught Willie in the chest, driving him back and down.
Willie felt his shoulders slam the dirt. The back of his skull pounded it. A wave of blackness crossed him. Then reflex, and the fear of Cole's foot ramming his head, caused him to roll.
As he got up, shaking his head to clear it, he saw Cole dropping his gun belt, complete confidence in his eyes. Cole's huge fists came up. The big rancher murmured, "I been waitin' a long time to do this, Sheriff." He stepped forward, throwing a looping right that landed high on the jaw.
A glancing blow, and Willie barely felt it. He stepped inside Cole's left to plant a vicious right hook deep into the rancher's belly. The fist went six inches into rubbery fat and muscle.
With hardly a sound, Cole doubled and seemed to be holding his breath, as if his lungs were ballooning. He was definitely paralyzed: mouth open, face contorted, skin purpling.
Willie grabbed him by the collar at the back of the neck and began running, towing Cole in a bent-over position. A few feet from a wagon bed, he stopped dead, releasing the giant rancher.
Cole catapulted forward, ramming the wagon with his skull. The wagon made a bass drum
boom.
The wagon boards caved in.
Cole crashed backward into the dust, totally out.
Willie stood over him, scarcely able to believe it had been that easy. Then a feeling of deep satisfaction followed. Cole had begged for it. After another look at the prone rancher, Willie walked slowly over to Kumquikit.
The old Indian was grinning widely. "Okay? he said. "Change my mind. Two dollar fifty?
Massaging his chest where the boot heels had caught him, Willie laughed for the first time that day. "Changed mine, too. Three dollars. The taxpayers just got generous."
Kumquikit cackled as Clem Bates and Dobbs swung down off their horses to revive Earl Cole. The other Indians joined in the laughter.
7
HANDS LIMP BY HIS SIDE , the .44s resting in holsters at his hips, Billy regarded the small haul at his feet with a thoughtful frown. Yet it didn't surprise him too much. His newfound friends weren't likely to be over-generous at this point. They were safely at Dunbar's Rocks.
Keeping his voice congenial, Billy said, "Look down, Art. That pile by my feet is a lot smaller than
Similar Books
