"Go you," replied the other. "Burdette'll break him in two when he gits holt of him."
"Yeah--when," agreed the smith. "Well, he's a-goin' to have his chanct."
For the puncher was unbuckling his belt and passing it to Yago. The little man's face expressed both anger and concern.
"Yu must be loco, Jim," he whispered. "He's big enough to swaller yu."
"I'll stick my elbows out, amigo," Sudden smiled. "What yu want I should do--run away?"
Bill did not, and said so--ornamentally. "Couldn't yu see they was layin' for yu?" he asked testily.
"Shore, an' they got me," his friend said easily. "Ever hear o' the biter bein' bit?"
Yago apparently had not. "He'll do that if he gits a chanct," he returned seriously. "Everythin' goes, bar weapons, in this sort o' scrap."
Sudden's face assumed a whimsical look of pity. "Bill, did yu ever have a grandmother?" he asked solicitously.
The little man stared at him. "I reckon so. Why?"
"Then I expect yu tried to instruct her in the art of extractin' nutriment from an egg by means o' suction," his foreman said gravely, but his eyes were twinkling. "Now, keep yore hair on, Bill, yu can't afford to lose any."
"This ain't no time for laughin'," Bill snorted.
"Why not ol'-timer? Mebbe my face won't be in no shape for it presently," Sudden grinned.
A harsh, sneering voice stilled all the others. "If yu done dictatin' yore last will an' testyment, what 'bout makin' a start?"
Mart Burdette, eager for the fray, and confident of victory, stood waiting. He had discarded his vest, and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt disclosed a powerful pair of arms in which the knotted muscles stood out as he clenched his fists and squared his shoulders. A stillness succeeded the hubbub as the puncher also removed his vest, slung his hat aside, and stepped forward. The physical disparity between the two men became more apparent as they faced one another in the cleared space.
"Two to one on Goliar," shouted a would-be wit, whose early teaching had not entirely left him.
"Yu can double that an' be safe," the big man boasted. "I'm a-goin' to show yu where this fella steps off when he ain't got a gun."
Dropping his head, he made a sudden plunge at his opponent. If he had hoped to take his man by surprise he was woefully disappointed, for the puncher slipped aside, drove a fist into the thick, corded throat, and stood waiting, a little smile of derision on his lips. Again and again Burdette, with lowered head, rushed in like a charging bull, and each time the other planted a vengeful blow and got away unhurt. These tactics did not suit the bulkier man's backers; they saw that their man was making no progress, and moreover, it was not their idea of a battle. They were not slow to voice disapproval.
"Stand up to him, cowboy; this yer's a fight, not a perishin' foot-race," growled one.
"Shut yore face, keep back, an' give 'em space, or I'll shoot some toes off," Yago snapped, and drew a gun.
"Shucks, they got plenty room to scrap," was the disgusted rejoinder, and despite Bill's threat, the ring closed in.
Partly owing to this, and to the fact that Burdette realized that he could not finish the fight offhand against such a nimble opponent, the character of the contest changed. It was now Mart who held off, and to Yago's utter disgust and despair, Sudden went after his man, giving blow for blow, taking what punishment came, and hurling his fists with venomous ferocity into the gross body. In a few moments the battle had become one of blind fury.
The blood-stained, staggering principals, hemmed in by a circle of sweating, brutal faces eager to see every phase of the fight; the dull slap of fist on flesh and the grunt as a blow went home; the swaying lights, half-obscured hy clouds of tobacco smoke and the dust of stamping, struggling feet; lips dripping profanity as the tide of fortune ebbed and flowed, all formed a picture Hogarth alone could have done justice to.
Sudden knew that he was wrong--that it was sheer madness to disregard his friend's frenzied entreaty to keep out of Burdette's reach, but for once, passion had overcome his patience, and he allowed himself to be dominated by the desire to pay the brute before him in his own coin; the urge of the primitive man was upon him, and he lusted to batter those bestial features. Time after time he took a blow he might have avoided, simply to satisfy this craving, and Yago was rapidly swearing himself to a standstill in consequence.
Then what his friend had feared happened. Sudden's foot slipped on the sanded floor and in an instant he was caught in a grip like that of a grizzy bear. Vainly he struggled to free himself from the vice-like grasp under the pressure of which his ribs were already bending. The giant, his swollen, evil eyes alight with murderous triumph, teeth bared like those of an animal, the hot breath coming in gasps from his bruised lips, slowly tightened his hold. The puncher realized that he could not break away, and suddenly let his whole body go limp.
"Yu got him, Mart. Break his blasted back," croaked a voice from the mist of smoke and dust, and Sudden had a momentary glimpse of the twisted, gloating face of Riley.
The abrupt downward drag of the relaxed body took Burdette by surprise; he stumbled, and they fell together, a quick turn on the part of the under man saving him from the full weight of the other. The fall loosened Burdette's grip, and the puncher was able to breathe again. Twisting, thrashing on the floor, each striving to pin his enemy down, Sudden was conscious of a hand clawing at his face, the questing thumb seeking for an eyeball; the beast was trying to blind him. In a flame of fury he smashed his fist into the thick neck below the chin. Gasping, choking, the big man sprawled sideways, momentarily helpless, his agonized throat well-nigh paralysed. The puncher got up, weak and dizzy, to stand waiting, much to the surprise of the spectators.
"Now's yore chance, boy; beat hell out'n him," cried the blacksmith.
The advice was fully in accordance with the ethics of the time, but the puncher's only reply was a lop-sided grin; he did not fight that way. Yago knew this, and though he inwardly cursed his foreman's ideas of fair play, he said nothing. Mart Burdette soon recovered. The pain of the blow, crippling for the moment, had lessened, and with a rumbled curse he climbed to his feet.
"Damnation, I'll tear yu apart for that," he threatened.
Sinking his head, he rushed in, his right fist shooting forward with the force of a mule's kick--a blow which might well have proved fatal. But Sudden was watching. With a lightning snatch he caught the descending wrist, twisted round, bent his back, and dragged the arm forward and down over his shoulder. As though propelled by a catapult, the big man shot up over the curved shoulders to land full length on the floor with a crash which shook the building. For some moments he lay there, supine, only the great heaving chest showing that life was still in him. Then the swollen eyes opened, he raised himself on one elbow and turned, glaring dazedly at the now silent spectators. Gradually understanding came to him, he realized that he had been beaten, and by the slim, blood-stained, battered man who now stood waiting for him to do something. A fury of hate flamed through his veins. Fumbling at the belt of his pants, he snatched out and levelled a gun.
"I'll git yu anyways, yu" he snarled.
Even as he pulled the trigger, however, Sudden flung himself forward and struck up the barrel; the bullet buried itself in the roof, and an instant later the weapon was wrenched from the assassin's grasp and turned upon him.
"Yu cowardly, white-livered cur," the puncher rasped. "So yu had a gun hid out on me?"
Facing those blazing eyes, with the gleaming steel barrel at his head, and the knowledge that the slightest movement of the finger nudging the trigger would send him into eternity, the bully's courage broke. There would be a jarring thud, a searing pain, and then--what? He shrank back.