Читать книгу The Long Rifle - Stewart Edward White - Страница 10

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Nor had he time to spare, for the last rays of the sun were lifting from atop the elm trees when he had regained the tavern square. His antagonist, slightly drunk, was parading to and fro at the appointed spot. He had evidently worked himself into a high state of braggadocio and belligerency; and ever and anon he would stop short, flap his elbows, and crow lustily like a cock. Many men surrounded him in a loose group, cheering him on, half laughing, half in earnest. Someone caught sight of the young man approaching and raised a shout, hastily opening a passage. The red-faced man stopped short, and peered evilly from beneath bushy brows.

“So you’ve come to take your licking after all, eh!” he growled.

“If so be you’re of the same mind, which still seems to me a foolishness to fight like dawgs just because dawgs be a-fighting,” replied the youth. “Is it not more befitting sensible men to share a tankard of mine host’s good ale——”

The older man leaned forward and brought the flat of his palm smartly against the stranger’s face.

“Now will ye fight!” he snarled. “Or are ye still too skeered?”

The young man’s steadiness did not waver, nor did he show other sign than a slow darkening of the cheeks.

“That was not needful, suh,” said he mildly. “Nor am I askeered.”

Without further parley the red-faced man lowered his head and made a bull-like rush. The stranger slipped lightly aside in avoidance; at the same time glancing about in surprise.

A tall heavy-set man in a bottle-green topcoat with many small capes stepped forward authoritatively.

“What mean ye!” he cried in resonant tones. “Is this mannerly? Fair play and a proper ring, say I; and hurrah for the best man!”

His interference met with approval.

“Good for you, Squire!” “Fair play!” “We’ll back ye in that!” came to him from many voices.

At this moment also the tavern’s landlord bustled forth, appealing for no brawls before his door.

“The stable yard, gentlemen!” he cried. “It is at hand, and much more seemly!”

“The stable yard it is,” agreed the Squire. “Come ye,” he seized the combatants each by an elbow and marched them away like children, followed by the streaming and excited rabble.

“I thank you, suh,” said the young man. “Methought for a moment that I saw the ruin of my only coat.”

Arrived at the stable yard the Squire, still holding his charges by the elbow, looked about him high-headed, and rapidly named a dozen to form the ring. Back of these appointed provosts the crowd gathered dense; and men clambered rapidly atop wagons and walls, and even swarmed to the stable roof for a better view. When the stir had died the Squire released his charges, shoving each to an opposite side.

“Strip,” he commanded them. It was evident that the Squire was enjoying himself hugely.

The challenger, who was aflame with eagerness—and whiskey—tore his shirt from his back and handed it at random among the spectators, disclosing himself as a heavy gorilla of a man, bull-necked, barrel-chested, thick-armed, with heavy strong muscle bands. The stranger methodically folded his coat, removed and folded his shirt, which he placed atop it. Holding the bundle in his arms he looked from face to face of those about him. He stepped to confront a placid kindly-faced man of middle age.

“Could I ask you to mind these for me, suh?” he asked courteously.

“Gladly,” assented the burgher. He leaned to speak in a lower voice. “Beware of him, lad,” he advised earnestly. “He is an ugly fighter and he will kill you if he can. I am sorry this must be,” he added.

“Thank you, suh, I can but do my best,” rejoined the youth, and turned to the center of the ring.

His torso, now stripped of its garments, was seen to be molded in lines of a smooth slenderness that at first glance contrasted ill with the heavy power of his antagonist. Nevertheless a connoisseur in bodies would have found somewhat to admire in the contrast of the broad spare shoulders and the narrow compact hips, and would have appreciated the whipcord quality of the long muscles and the ripple of their perfect condition beneath the skin. But its force would seem the force more of long endurance than the power necessary to contend successfully with the crushing oaken strength of the man over against him. Here and there in the crowd a few murmured in pitying deprecation of the inequality of the contest, but their protests were drowned in the general eagerness of excitement. Men shouted offers to wager, but the offers were all on one side and no takers, for none accorded the younger man a chance against a known and reputed rough-and-tumble fighter. Only after the clamor had died somewhat through lack of fuel did the Squire’s loud voice speak on the other side.

“Damme,” he bellowed at one of the most vociferous, who now offered four to one, “taken for a pound,” but he added, “I’ll not begrudge a pound for the sake of sport. Now hark ye,” he addressed the antagonists, “this is all my say: if one or the other cries enough, at that moment ye cease, and if any offers blow or grip thereafter he reckons with me. Now fight it out.”

He stepped back.

The big man slouched toward the youth, lowered his head, and rushed like a bull. The latter again slipped easily to one side, evading the outstretched hands. Thrice this was repeated.

“Stand and fight, you poltroon!” snarled the red-faced man.

The younger made no reply, watching his antagonist warily. Twice more the same maneuver with the same result; except that once the stranger laid hand on the other’s shoulder as he passed, but snatched it away instantly when faced by a sudden turn in his direction. The crowd began to shout impatiently, for it was evident that if he so chose the visitor’s superior agility could prolong indefinitely this avoidance; and they wanted a fight, not a foot race. So clamorous became their demands that the Squire at length raised his bull voice.

“Fair play!” he cried. “Give the lad a chance!”

At length the challenger wearied of futile rushing that grasped nothing, and came to a stand in the center, sneeringly awaiting a move by the other. The latter, stooping, his arms hanging, began then slowly to circle just out of reach. It was notable that neither man had offered as yet to strike the other with his fists. Blows in the fights of those days were a secondary offense, delivered to batter into submission only after an advantage had been gained. Twice the young man darted in, attempting some wrestler’s hold, twice he failed, and wrenched himself away from the other man’s countering grip.

The Squire watched, his head on one side.

“Methinks if Jack once grasps him firmly my pound is done,” he observed to the man next him. “Aha!” he shouted.

The stranger’s third attempt seemed like to have proved disastrous to him. His bear-like antagonist had caught him in a grip that could not be shaken off. For nearly half a minute they strained. Then the older man’s superior strength began to tell. Beneath his smooth skin the youth’s muscles strained as though they would burst, but slowly, inch by inch, he was bent back until he was securely held. And then powerfully and irresistibly the man called Jack half freed one massive arm, and his hand, inch by inch, overpowering the young man’s opposition, crept upwards.

A lightning desperate upheaval, and the lad had twisted free and sprung apart. He was panting slightly and for the first time his face was aflame.

“He tried to gouge me!” he cried to the Squire. “Is that what you call fair play!”

“And why not?” rejoined the Squire coldly. “Stand and fight, or, if you will, cry quits.”

The young man looked about the crowd in amazed appeal from the decision, but was answered by derisive laughter. Its blood was up, and it wanted blood. Still incredulous, he looked at his antagonist. The latter grinned at him evilly.

“I’ll do worse to ye than that, my cockerel,” he growled.

“And is that your habit!” cried the stranger indignantly. “It is not so on the borders when men settle honest differences.”

“Stand and fight—or cry quits,” repeated the Squire imperturbably.

No man was able afterwards to describe clearly what next happened, though many words were wasted in the matter. They saw the young man stoop; they saw him dart in with the speed and swiftness of a snake striking; they were confusedly aware of a tangle and swirl; even above the turmoil of excitement they distinctly heard a clear sharp snap like the cracking of a dead limb. Then the young man leaped back clear, leaving his antagonist standing, an expression of bewilderment on his face, gazing stupidly at his left arm which he held in his right hand.

“Well, suh!” the visitor challenged in a ringing voice. His head was high, and his nostrils expanded.

A dead silence fell that endured for perhaps ten seconds.

“Will you go on?” then enquired the Squire, in a voice calm only above a compressed excitement.

“Go on!” repeated Jack furiously. “How can I go on? He has broken my arm!”

The stupefaction broke. The ring was instantly overwhelmed by the surge of men, shouting, whooping. They crowded around the stranger, pounding him on the back, shrieking in his face, commending him, congratulating him, all on his side, fickle as crowds always are. He thrust them aside scornfully, elbowing his way to the burgher in whose charge he had given his garments, which he reclaimed with a brief word of thanks, and proceeded to assume. The Squire was at his side, red-faced and bellowing.

“Greatest thing I ever saw, lad!” he shouted. “You’ve won me four pounds! Damme you must drink with me! Come, I will not take nay.”

The young man shook his head.

“You must excuse me, suh,” he said firmly. “I must be on my way. I thank you, suh, for yo’ kindness.”

“But how did you do it? That you must tell me,” persisted the big man. “Saw I never the like before.”

“It was a trick,” replied the stranger briefly, “a trick known to the Injins. They use it only when hard-pressed in battle,” he added.

He turned away and, with an air of decision that none ventured to cross, threaded the gaping crowd and disappeared.