Green saw the action and recognised that his foe had all the advantages. Tarman, with the girl behind him could not be fired at, while he himself was entirely without cover, and at a range at which a good shot could hardly miss. Nevertheless he rode steadily forward, watching and waiting; he had one chance in a thousand, and he knew it. The girl, bound and helpless, sat huddled upon the horse, watching too, with a cold terror clutching at her heart. When he was little more than a hundred yards away the cowpuncher saw Tarman raise his rifle and take steady aim. As the report rang out the roan reared, and its rider pitched sideways from the saddle, flopping awkwardly to the ground and lying motionless. Tarman stood for some moments, crouched slightly, his gun ready for a second shot. He saw the horse quieten down, pace forward, and sniff inquiringly at the prostrate form.
`Got him, by God!' he exulted.
A cry of despair from the powerless spectator brought a grin of malicious triumph to his lips. `Sudden exit of Mr. Sudden,' he sneered. `Reckon yu will have to put up with me for yore husband--or yore lover--after all. Some day yu will learn that when Joe Tarman goes after a thing, he gets it. I've got yu, the hoss is there, an' if those damn fools don't split about the cattle, I'll get them too.'
Sliding the rifle back into the sheath, he took the lariat from the saddlehorn and led the animal down the slope to where the cowpuncher was lying. He trailed the reins, and drawing a gun stood looking down upon his fallen foe. He could see but little of the face, which, turned downwards, was almost hidden in the curve of the left arm, but the outflung right arm and the sprawling legs told their tale. The rustler raised his weapon.
`Dead as mutton,' he said aloud, `but I reckon I'll waste just one cartridge on yu for luck, my friend.'
He was on the point of pulling the trigger when Noreen's horse began to pitch and he turned to curse it, and her. `Put 'em up, Tarman!'
The harsh command brought the rustler round like a flash and then--his hands shot heavenward. The cowpuncher was still lying prone but now there was a gun in his right hand.
Slowly, and with his eyes fixed on the big man, he got to his feet. Looking into that stark, grim face Tarman could not repress a shiver of fear; the man who could risk such a ruse and lie motionless with a gun trained on him, was to be dreaded. Standing there, one hand holding aloft his pistol and the other the lariat, he waited for the bullet he himself would not have hesitated to fire. But again he had misjudged his man.
Put yore gun back,' came the order, and when he had complied Green holstered his own. `Now Webb, or Tarman, whichever yore name is, I'm going to give yu what yu never gave any man yet--an even break. Pull yore gun as soon as yu want to.'
He waited, his own hands clear of his gun-bunts, but the big man seemed in no hurry to accept the invitation. Instead, his lips curled in a wolfish snarl.
`Even break, eh?' he sneered. `Knowin' damn well that yo're quicker'n I am. Makin' a grand-stand for the girl's sake, eh? Well, it don't go with me.'
`Then I'll take yu back an' hang yu with the other thieves,' retorted the puncher, drawing his gun and stepping forward to disarm his prisoner.
`If that damn hoss had kept still yu would be buzzard-meat by now,' growled Tarman, as he looked malevolently at Noreen. `If I thought--'
`Keep yore thoughts to yoreself an' turn yore back,' ordered the other sharply.
Under the menacing grin, Tarman complied, but instead of making the half-turn he whirled completely round, at the same time slinging the heavy coiled lariat full into the face of the advancing man. Completely taken by surprise and blinded for the moment, Green pulled the trigger, but the shot went wide, and the next instant the weapon was struck from his grasp and his enemy was upon him. A savage blow sent him staggering back and when sight returned to his smarting eyes, Tarman's hands were reaching for his throat. He ducked and drove a fist into the gloating, furious face, but he could not evade the arms which closed round his body like a vice. Swaying, slipping, they reeled to and fro like drunken men. The puncher knew that the other was trying to throw and throntle him and he strove desperately to keep his feet and break the hold by pounding away at Tarman's ribs. That this hammering was beginning to tell he soon learned, for the bigger man's breath was coming in gasps.
Suddenly Tarman changed his tactics. Releasing his opponent, he slung in a terrific blow with his right which, had it landed, might well have proved fatal. But the puncher got his head away just in time and as the massive fist whistled past his ear, he sent in a return which drew a bellow of rage from the big man and brought him rushing blindly forward. The next few moments were a medley of whirling fists with no attempt at defence; both men were obsessed by the brute instinct to hurt, and the fight became one of insensate fury. To the bound girl who was the sole spectator it seemed impossible that such violence could continue. The thud of bone meeting bone or flesh sent a shudder through her and yet, barbarous as the scene was, she could non take her eyes away; they were fighting for her, and the issue meant more than life.
Backwards and forwards the bruised, blood-spattered figures heaved, neither appearing to gain any supremacy. Tarman's bulk gave him an advantage, but it was offset by the puncher's wiry toughness and superior condition. Every muscle in his body pulsed with pain, yet the blows went home and if there was less power behind them he had the satisfaction of knowing that the other man was in no better case. Tarman's gashed and gaping mouth, noisily sucking air into his labouring lungs, told a plain story of distress, and Green, reading it, summoned his remaining strength and again closed. A crashing blow to the jaw which he was too weak to avoid sent the big man headlong, and as he fell, his hand encountered a hard object in the grass. Green remained standing, waiting for the fallen man to rise, glad indeed of a moment's inaction. He failed to read the devilish look of cunning which the prostrate ruffian darted at him.
`Another grand-stand play,' Tarman sneered. `Goin' to let me get up, eh?'
`I don't hit a man when he's down, even if he is a cur an' a coward,' retorted Green.
`Different here; I fight to win, an' take my chances,' the big man said, as he rose painfully to his feet, his right hand slightly behind him. `Come on, yu
He lurched as he spoke, as though from extreme weakness, and the puncher fell into the trap. Refreshed by the respite, he sprang in to finish the fighn. Tarman waited, a wicked light gleaming in his swollen eyes. Though he was still wearing his gun he had been afraid to attempt to use it, for the outlaw's second weapon still hung at his hip, and the rustler knew better than to take the chance! But now Fate had dealt him the winning card, for in falling, he had dropped upon Green's other Colt.
Taking no risk, he waited until Green was upon him before his right hand flashed into view and the gun roared. The impact of the heavy slug stopped the oncoming man like a blow and sent him reeling, but even as he fell his left hand streaked to his side, there came a flash and report from his hip and Tarman, with a choked cry, pitched forward on his face. Head to head the two men lay, while the girl stared at them in horror. Above,a mere speck in the sky, an eagle wheeled in ever-narrowing circles.
`Well, I reckon that was the prettiest scrap I ever seen, an' a right good finish.'
The harsh voice jarred the girl back to consciousness, and looking round, she saw Laban. Leisurely dismounting he walked to the body of his friend, callously turned it over, and snood contemplating it, a satirical grin on his thin lips.
`I reckon yo're good an' dead, Joe,' he said. `Plumb between the eyes, a left-hand shot, an' him plugged too. Sudden shore deserved his reputation. Well, seein' as there ain't no one else, I guess I must be the missin' heir.' He looked malevolently at the girl. `Not that I'm wantin' yu the way Joe was, but I reckon Old Simon'll pay somethin' no get yu back. As for him'--he nodded towards the cowpuncher--`by Gosh! he ain't gone yet --he's breathin'.'