“What would you do in a case of this kind, Lohman?”
Lohman laughed and shook his head.
“My opinion would be worth very little, I reckon.”
“The man must be advised,” said Rory, looking around the room. “Is there
no one to tell him what to do?”
“You are a drunken old fool,” said Big Jim slowly. “If you were twenty
years younger I’d twist your neck; but you are an old man, and your age
saves you.”
“A drunken old fool, am I?”
Old Rory’s jaw shut tightly and he came toward Big Jim.
The old Scot did not move like an old man. He moved lightly on the
balls of his feet, his shoulders hunched slightly. Big Jim looked at
him queerly and stepped back, instinctively throwing up his hands in
self-defense.
“Too old, am I?” queried the old man between his clenched teeth.
“Stop it, Rory!” ordered the sheriff. “You can’t fight here. Have a
little sense, can’tcha?”
“Let him go,” whispered Biddy. “This is a good chance to show the old
man that he ain’t what he used to be.”
The sheriff had started to step in between them, but now he stopped.
The old man was still coming on, his half-shut eyes watching cat-like.
Big Jim backed almost to the bar, when the old man sprang forward. It
seemed ridiculous for a man of Rory’s age to pit himself against a man
of Big Jim’s size, but that was just what he was doing.
And his first blow splatted against Big Jim’s temple, doing little
harm, but showing that old Rory had not lost all his skill. Twice
more he lashed at Big Jim’s head, but the blows only struck the big
man’s forearms. At that, they must have carried a sting because Big
Jim immediately went on the aggressive.
Twice he struck at old Rory; straight-arm punches that were aimed to
punish, but the old man snapped aside instead of hurting his arms by
blocking the blows. It seemed to surprise Big Jim, who rushed at old
Rory, trying to grasp him. But the grasping was not good, and Big Jim
suffered a smash on the nose that brought the claret in a stream.
“What did you say about lettin’ the old man find out that he wasn’t much
good?” grunted the amazed sheriff.
Some one flung the table and chairs aside to give more room, and Big
Jim proceeded to rush old Rory across the room, trying to pin him
against the wall; but the old man sent in a flurry of punches and
managed to sidestep the rush.
No one seemed to want to stop the fight now--except Big Jim. His face
was gory and his mouth was wide open, as he panted for breath. He was
not whipped--not by any manner of means; but his wind was not good,
and this old, red-whiskered ---- was hard to catch.
“Ye ar-r-re doin’ very well consider-r-rin’,” said Rory, “but ye would
not have it so easy, if ye were not fightin’ a dr-r-runken old fool.”
The old man was breathing heavily, but was yet unmarked and there was a
grin of joy on his thin lips. Big Jim threw all caution to the wind and
rushed. He knew that this fight must be finished quickly or he would be
disgraced forever. His big fists smashed awkwardly at the retreating
face, and he slipped from the effort, throwing himself off balance.
It was old Rory’s big chance. Whether or not he was ready to strike the
blow anyway is a question, but his swing had started as Big Jim slipped
and the clenched fist caught Big Jim flush in the ear, knocking him
sidewise, where he collided with a chair and went down heavily.