FRIENDLY BUCK FARGO
Dazed, bewildered, a sudden overpowering weakness gripping his limbs,
Lefty felt himself thrust against the wall, and saw the massive form of
the man who had baited him so successfully on the field that morning
leap into the front place, eyes blazing and huge fists doubled for
action.
Perhaps it was the sight of him――burly, menacing, and fresh――which
turned the tide. More likely it was that sudden panicky awakening which
comes to every mob when the first outburst of passion has run its
course. At all events, Fargo had no more than time to land his fist
with precision and force on the faces of two men, before some one at
the rear started a yell that the cops were coming.
The effect was magical. Out into the street poured the mob, and fled
wildly in every direction. Before he realized that it was all over
Lefty felt himself grasped by the shoulders, hustled out of the
barricade and rushed across the street. The whole thoroughfare was
filled with flying men, so that they passed unnoticed as Fargo headed
straight for the nearest corner.
“Them cops is coming at last,” he explained shortly, whirling into a
side street. “We don’t want to be pinched. Think you’re good for the
hotel, kid? If you ain’t, we can stop at a drug store and have you
patched up.”
“I can make it all right,” Lefty gasped. “I’m only――dead beat.” An
instant later he stopped still. “What became of Elgin?” he asked
abruptly. “I forgot him.”
“He beat it.” Fargo’s tone was noncommittal. “He crawled out the same
way I got in, while they was busy with you. That ticket coop was held
up a mite at the end by hitting against the wall. He’s all safe.”
There was an expression of curiosity on the catcher’s face, and for a
moment he seemed about to ask a question. Apparently he changed his
mind, however, for the next instant his lips closed and he hustled
Lefty on again.
They reached the hotel without attracting much attention. Locke had
managed to wipe most of the stains of battle from his face, and as
they entered the side door Fargo clapped his own wide-brimmed felt hat
on the other’s head, starting some rough bantering with the elevator
boy, which kept the fellow occupied. They stepped out on the top floor
without the boy having really noticed Lefty at all.
“Now we’ll take stock, kid,” the catcher said, as he switched on the
lights in Lefty’s room and closed the door. “That face of yours ain’t
so bad, after all. We’ll fix your mouth up in a jiffy. Got any plaster?”
Locke nodded. “Yes, but I don’t want you to bother about it, Fargo.
It’s white of you to――”
“Stow that, son!” interrupted the big chap shortly. “This rumpus is
going to get the old man up on his ear for fair. If he finds out you
was in it, there’ll be blazes to pay.”
“But how can he help it? I was there, and everybody saw me.”
“Sure you was,” grinned Fargo, dexterously applying a wet towel to
Locke’s countenance. “In the scuffle you got a tap or two by mistake;
that’s all. You don’t s’pose that crazy bunch of roughnecks is going to
remember faces, do you? They was clean off their nuts, every last one
of ’em.”
There was silence for a moment or two as the big, muscular fingers
applied the plaster to the cut lips with surprising deftness. “There!”
Fargo said with satisfaction. “That’ll do fine. There’s a scratch
alongside your nose, but it don’t amount to nothing. Pull off your
shirt, and let’s have a look at the rest of you.”
Lefty obeyed without question, and revealed a muscular chest dotted
here and there with bruises already beginning to darken. It had been
impossible to guard himself at every point from the frenzied rushes,
and he had instinctively protected his face.
Fargo grinned as he saw the damage. “Won’t you be stiff and sore
to-morrow morning!” he chuckled. “It’s lucky you can lay it to the
first day’s practice. Say, kid, how in thunder did you two start that
riot? You look like a peaceable guy to me.”
“I didn’t start it,” Lefty returned swiftly. “I broke into the game
afterward.”
“Humph! Let’s hear about it.”
Briefly, Lefty told him what little he knew about the beginning of the
trouble. He said nothing of his dislike for Bert Elgin, but Fargo must
have guessed it from his manner.
“So that’s it?” the catcher commented. “I gather you two ain’t very
chummy.”
“Not exactly,” Lefty returned shortly.
Fargo eyed him curiously. “Then why did you butt in? He started the
muss, and I should say he deserved what he got.”
“But the whole push was against him,” protested Locke. “I couldn’t
sneak off and let them hammer him to pieces.”
“Strikes me that _he_ sneaked,” Fargo said swiftly. “When I came
across the street to see what was doing, there wasn’t any use trying
to get near the front, so I made for the corner to see if I could get
a glimpse over the top of that tipped-over ticket cage. I hadn’t been
there a minute before Elgin came crawling out from underneath. He was
so blamed scared that I hadn’t more’n got out of him that you were in
there alone when he beat it. Looks like it didn’t worry him any to
leave you alone for the bunch to hammer.”
Lefty smiled faintly. “Can’t help that. It was up to him. I’d have
hated myself if I’d gone away and left any man in that kind of a hole.”
He hesitated an instant, the color rising to his face. “Besides, even
if we aren’t friends, he’s――one of the bunch.”
Fargo stared at him oddly; then he broke into a laugh. “Time we was
both in bed,” he said abruptly. “Don’t forget to keep your trap shut
about this to-morrow. You was there and got a love tap or two in the
scuffle. Lucky the old man can’t see that chest of yours.”
Outside the door he paused, the queer look in his eyes again. “One of
the bunch!” he muttered aloud. “Well, I’ll be hanged!”