“I ain’t going to tell you again,” said Longarm. “Let go of the woman.”
With a grimace, Coffin released Anna Marie. She stepped back and rubbed her wrist, which bore the marks of Coffin’s fingers. Then she spat on his boots before turning and rushing across the saloon to a door at the end of the bar. She disappeared through it.
“All right,” said Longarm as he lowered the hammer of his Colt and replaced the weapon in its holster. “It’s all over now.”
“The hell it is!” Lazarus Coffin stepped down from the staircase and started toward Longarm. One of the poker tables was in his way, so he grasped it and flung it aside as if it was no more than a piece of kindling. Chips and cards flew every which way, and the men who had been sitting at the table sprawled on the sawdust-littered floor as they flung themselves from their chairs and tried to get out of Coffin’s way.
Longarm tried being reasonable one last time. “No need for any more trouble,” he said with a shake of his head.
Coffin was in range now. He spat an obscene epithet at Longarm and swung a roundhouse punch at the lawman’s head.
The blow might have taken Longarm’s head off if it had connected, but despite the obvious power in Coffin’s body, the man was slow. Longarm ducked under the punch easily. He stepped in and hammered a punch into Coffin’s midsection, hoping to end the fight quickly. He hadn’t wanted this trouble in the first place.
Longarm winced as his fist connected with Coffin’s belly. It was almost like punching a wall. Coffin grunted, just enough to let Longarm know that he had felt the punch, but other than that it didn’t seem to have any effect. And Longarm was close enough so that he couldn’t get out of the way as Coffin swept him into a bear hug.
Son of a bitch! thought Longarm. This was just about the worst possible thing that could have happened. Coffin’s arms closed around him with overpowering strength. Luckily, Longarm had sensed what was about to happen and had quickly caught a deep breath even as Coffin was grabbing him. He had enough air in his lungs to last for a few moments.
Long enough, anyway, for him to lower his head and butt Coffin in the nose. Coffin grunted again and stumbled back a couple of steps. Longarm took advantage of the opportunity to thrust a booted foot between Coffin’s ankles. Coffin tripped and swayed backward, trying desperately to hang on to Longarm and keep his balance at the same time. It was a losing proposition. He fell to the floor with a crash, Longarm landing on top of him.
The impact loosened Coffin’s grip enough for Longarm to tear his right arm free. He slammed his fist into Coffin’s jaw, making the bigger man’s head bounce off the planks of the floor. Longarm was about to strike again when Coffin arched his back and with a furious roar flung Longarm off to the side.
Longarm rolled over a couple of times when he landed, then came up quickly on his hands and knees. Everyone else in the saloon had backed off to the edges of the room, giving the combatants plenty of room. Quite a few of the spectators were shouting encouragement, and Longarm judged them to be divided about equally in their support. It was no surprise that Coffin wasn’t an overwhelming favorite, even though Longarm was a stranger in Del Rio. He figured that Coffin had been running roughshod over folks around there, so that some of them would be glad to see him get his comeuppance.
Longarm just wished he could guarantee that was the way the fight was going to turn out.
Coffin lunged at him again just as Longarm regained his feet. For a long moment, the two men stood there toe to toe, trading punches, each of them absorbing the punishment dealt out by the other. Longarm knew he couldn’t win the fight by this means, but at least he was softening Coffin up a little, he told himself. He tried not to think about the damage Coffin might be doing to him.
Gradually, while they were slugging each other, Longarm worked his way around so that Coffin’s back was turned toward the bar. Then, ducking a punch, Longarm threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Coffin. Taken by surprise, Coffin was forced backward by Longarm’s charge. Summoning up all his remaining strength, Longarm rammed Coffin into the bar, bending him back over the hardwood. Coffin roared in pain and rage.
Longarm straightened and landed an uppercut that rocked Coffin’s head back even more. The man’s throat was exposed below the dark beard, and Longarm chopped at it with the edge of his hand. Coffin gagged and grabbed at his throat. Longarm stepped back to give himself some room, then threw a left and a right that both landed cleanly, snapping Coffin’s head from side to side. Longarm hooked another punch to Coffin’s belly, and this time his fist sunk satisfyingly in the man’s midsection. Coffin doubled over. Longarm clubbed his hands together and brought them sledging down on the back of Coffin’s neck.
Coffin fell, and the floor shivered under Longarm’s feet from the weight of the big man landing so hard on it. Longarm stepped back and dragged a deep breath into his lungs. Practically every muscle in his body was beginning to ache already, and there was a fluttering of exhaustion deep inside him. He had come close, too damn close, to losing this fight.
A groan came from Coffin’s bloodied lips. He tried to push himself up from the floor, failed, and slumped back onto the sawdust-covered planks. All the fight was out of him now.
Movement from the end of the bar caught Longarm’s eye. He looked in that direction and saw Anna Marie peering out through the door, which she had opened a few inches. Longarm raised a hand and crooked a finger, summoning her back out into the main room of the saloon. He leaned over and caught hold of Coffin’s shirt collar with one hand and the man’s belt with the other. With a groan, Longarm hauled Coffin back onto his feet.
Coffin blinked bleary eyes and shook his head, obviously trying to clear away some of the cobwebs that the pounding had left clogging his brain. Longarm gave him a shove that sent him stumbling toward Anna Marie, who drew back in fright.
“Apologize to the lady,” rasped Longarm as he grabbed Coffin’s arm.
“Tell her you’re sorry you said those things to her.”
Ponderously, Coffin shook his head again. “Ain’t goin’ to do it,” he rumbled.
Longarm drew his gun and pressed the barrel into Coffin’s ribs. “The hell you ain’t. I said apologize, and that’s what you’re going to do.”
Coffin glared at him, murder shining in his dark eyes, but finally the man turned his shaggy head toward Anna Marie and mumbled, “Reckon I’m sorry.”
“Ma’am,” Longarm prodded.
“Reckon I’m sorry ... ma’am,” said Coffin. He snarled at Longarm.
“There! You satisfied, you bastard?”
“You push your luck a mite for a man who’s got a gun barrel tickling his ribs,” Longarm said. “But I reckon if the lady’s satisfied, I am too.” He looked to Anna Marie for confirmation, and she nodded shakily. Longarm let go of Coffin’s arm, but not before pushing him against the bar again. Longarm stepped back and holstered his gun.
Coffin reached behind him and pulled his sombrero around where he could see it. He had fallen on top of the hat, and its high-peaked crown was crushed beyond repair. “Aw, hell,” he said. “Look what you did.”
“You brought it on yourself,” Longarm told him. “I said all along I didn’t come in here looking for trouble.” His own hat had been knocked off in the ruckus, and he looked around for it on the floor. He spotted it and bent over to pick it up.
“Well, you got trouble, all right,” said Coffin, his voice a little stronger now. “You got more trouble than you ever dreamed of, mister.”