THE KNOCK-OUT
Douglas deliberately swung the pack from his back and dropped it.
Against it he leaned his gun, making sure, as he did so, that he had
restored the safety-lock. As he faced Snake Sanders he caught the black
eyes fixed again on the weapon, and in them glinted the same light of
cupidity which had been there before.
“Right purty gun ye’ve got, stranger,” Snake admired. “Don’t look
sensible, though, without no hammers onto it. What’s one o’ them guns
cost?”
“Oh, several dollars. But what about this business of yours?”
“It’s like I tell ye.” Snake dragged his gaze away from the shotgun.
“Do business with me an’ ye’ll git what ye want. Otherways ye git
nothin’--but trouble.”
“So? And who’ll make the trouble? You?”
“Me? Huh! I don’t have to. Ye’ll jest fall into it.”
“Fall into it. Sure it won’t come crawling up on me from behind?”
The black lashes flickered.
“What ye mean by that?”
“Your name’s Snake.”
Sanders’ beady stare beat into his inscrutable face. Presently the
serpentine man grinned and subtly relaxed.
“Names don’t hurt. Think I’d try to do ye after I got my money, mebbe?
That ain’t my way, stranger. Folks calls me Snake ’cause I can handle
snakes. They don’t never bite me. I can tromp right round ’em into my
bare feet, an’ pick ’em up into my bare hands, an’ they lemme alone. I
can talk to ’em--snake talk--an’ they mind. If I’d of been over yender
’fore ye kilt that snake o’ yourn, now, I could have sent him away jest
by talkin’ to him.”
His gaze never wavered as he talked. He gave no sign of guilt. Unaware
that he had been observed in the little round mirror, he was sure there
was nothing to connect him in this man’s mind with the fact that a
copperhead had lurked beside the pack, and he was bold enough to make
capital of the presence of that reptile. Evidently he was proud both of
his name and his diabolical gift.
“Ye must have hearn o’ me,” he went on. “I’ve done business before.
Nobody round here knows it, o’ course. I keep my tracks covered. But
they must have told ye outside ’bout Snake Sanders. I’m him.”
Douglas kept the disgust out of his face. He wanted to know just how
deep was this man’s duplicity. He had not yet learned that it was
absolutely bottomless.
“I’ve heard the name. People around here don’t monkey with you much, do
they?”
A hissing laugh came through the yellow teeth, and for once the eyes
showed a glint of amusement.
“No they don’t. I’ve got this hull place right into my hand, mister.
Folks step wide o’ me. Some fellers has got brash an’ throwed buckshot
at me, but they don’t no more. They’re dead. Others has learnt.”
“I see. Those fellows stepped on snakes, maybe?”
“Mebbe. I ain’t sayin’. But come on, stranger, we can’t talk here all
day. Who d’ye want? How much?”
“I think,” was the slow answer, “that the party I’m interested in just
now is out of reach.”
Snake looked blank. Reaching smoothly into a pocket, he drew out a plug
of tobacco, bit off a chunk, and chewed.
“Got away clean, ye mean. Ain’t into here nowheres? Huh! Don’t be
too sure. There’s lots o’ hide-outs into here that ye dunno ’bout. I
know ’em. I can git anybody--man, woman, or chile. An’ there’s more’n
one way to skin a skunk. If yer man ain’t too well knowed, why won’t
’nother man do?”
Again the insinuating wink.
“Meaning?”
“Aw, come off! Ye know. Fix it onto some feller we can git. Take him
out, fix up yer case, railroad him an’ git yer money. Think I dunno
how you detectives work? Ye must think I’m simple. It’s done right
’long--grab a feller that ain’t got no friends an’ send him up. What
chance has a feller here got when he gits drug into the courts outside?
Puh!” He expectorated profusely and waited.
Douglas laughed out in contempt. He took a couple of slow strides
forward. Snake shifted again, and his eyes narrowed once more.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” the blond man derided. “I’m no
detective. I’m hunting nobody. I’m in here for--my health. See?”
Snake saw--or thought he did. Instantly he changed front.
“I knowed it. Ye needn’t jump onto me, now. I was jest a-tryin’ ye out.
If ye was a real detective ye’d be down snoopin’ round houses, not
a-hidin’ out up here. Wal, ye come to the right place, stranger. Where
ye from? What’d ye do? Go on, tell a feller. I’ll keep it dark. Got
money, o’ course. Gimme some an’ I’ll fetch ye all the feed ye want.”
“And fetch the officers along too, when they come.”
“Aw no. That talk I jest give ye was all moonshine--not a true word
into it. I was jest makin’ sure o’ ye, I tell ye. Now I know ye
I’ll----”
“Shut up!” Hampton’s anger broke out. “I’ve been making sure of you,
too. You’re a liar. You’re a treacherous sneak. You’d sell a hunted
man to me--you’d sell an innocent man to me--you’d sell me, too. You
think I’m after somebody, eh? Well, you’re right. I’m after the man who
thought he was going to get my gun and money, the man who didn’t get
them and is trying to trap me now, the man who sneaked up and let that
copperhead out of the box! I’m after Snake Sanders! And I’ve got him!”
So rapid had been his words, so swift was his following leap, that
Snake stood flat-footed as a big fist smacked into his face. He was
knocked headlong backward.
Into the bushes he sprawled with a crash of breaking branch and twig.
Into the bushes Douglas jumped after him. But Sanders, though dazed by
the impact of the blow and the shock of finding himself caught, was
neither senseless nor helpless. He wriggled over and seemed to curve
upward. Head-first, like a striking reptile, he threw himself at the
legs of the man above. His punisher lurched over him and fell.
Snake’s lean frame wriggled forward again and started up. But he was
not quite free. Without waiting to rise, Douglas darted a hand backward
and clamped it around one bare ankle. Holding his grip, he rolled over,
twisting and yanking the trapped leg.
The hillman tottered and lost his footing. But even before he hit the
ground for the second time he lashed out in air with his free foot. His
heel thumped into the blond man’s face, snapping his head back like a
fist-blow. Hissing furiously, Snake jerked up his leg and let drive
again. The fierce foot-punch missed this time, for its mark had ducked
aside and the leg shot over Douglas’ shoulder. Promptly it was seized,
held, forced down.
Both men now were in a grotesque posture for fighting. Snake’s legs
were spread, with his antagonist sitting between them and clutching a
foot on each side, while Snake himself sat on one booted ankle, pinning
it down. But the advantage was decidedly with Sanders, for both his
hands were free. He shot them straight for the other’s throat.
His arms were struck up and his savage clutch failed. His feet were
freed, but the hands which had gripped them now were fists, shooting
short-arm jolts into his jaw. And, short though those blows were, they
crunched his teeth together with a force that made him blink groggily
and throw himself aside.
An instant later he found himself grappled. Douglas was clinching
him, shoving him down, striving for a leg-hold with his knees and
relentlessly forcing one of his arms up behind his back. Douglas’ eyes
were ablaze with wrath and his jaw set like a rock. Now he had this
treacherous reptile in a real grip, and he meant to smash it. And
Snake, reading the grim purpose in the face of the man against whose
back he had loosed creeping death, felt fear stab through him.
Heretofore the sinister hillman had fought only in a flurry of surprise
and rage--though he would not have neglected to make his work complete
if once he got the upper hand. Now the fury of desperation fired him.
He snaked himself over sidewise, wriggled a leg loose, twined it around
the booted leg beside it, and, by a curling twist, eased the strain
on his pinioned arm. His yellow fangs fixed themselves in his enemy’s
shoulder. His free hand clawed for the blue eyes.
Douglas released his arm-hold, evaded the gouging nails by a backward
jerk of the head, got both hands to his foe’s throat, tore him loose.
Both scrambled to their knees and up on their feet. Both struck with
savage fists at the same instant. Both blows landed.
Squarely between the eyes Snake’s knotty fist cracked. Douglas saw
a red flash, followed by floating rings of flame. His own knuckles
tingled from their impact with a bristly chin. Vaguely he saw the face
beyond the wavering fire-spots fade backward. His other fist, swinging
for it, hit nothing.
For an instant he dug his knuckles into his eyes, trying to clear his
sight. Then he squinted around. Snake was down again, clawing at the
ground, trying to rise. He jumped for him--stubbed a toe against an
unnoticed rock--stumbled and sprawled.
As he pushed himself up, raging, Snake got to his haunches and lurched
at him in a clinch. Douglas threw himself into the wiry arms and
grappled for a hold of his own. And then for a few minutes it was a
straining, kicking, punching rough-and-tumble, each fighting with all
he had.
Again and again each secured a throat-hold but lost it. Over they
rolled, kicking whenever a foot came free, slugging with either fist
or both, striving to dash each other’s head against stone or root,
heaving and wrenching until they had tumbled out of the brush and
into the trail where they had first stood. In Douglas grew amazement
at the strength and endurance of his antagonist. In Snake’s brain
gnawed a keener fear of the man on whom he had exhausted in vain every
foul trick he knew. Neither could quite overcome the other. Both were
gasping and growing dizzy from the violence of their combat. And they
fought on.
Suddenly, in a final squirming spasm, Snake twisted himself free.
Before Douglas could clutch him again he had rolled away and was
shoving himself up. The blond man got his feet under him and pitched
to a stand. Then, too short of breath to renew the duel at once, they
balanced themselves and glowered.
Snake was a hard sight, and Douglas was not much better. The
hillman’s face was gashed by cuts and smeared with mingled blood and
tobacco-juice, his right eye was shut, his mouth was a blubbery pulp,
his clothes hung in rags. The other’s bloodshot eyes gleamed between
puffy lids, his nose leaked a red drizzle, his light hair was stained
from a cut scalp and full of dirt, his shirt was ripped to the waist
and crimsoned at the shoulder where Snake’s teeth had sunk. But neither
saw anything except the menace in the other’s eyes.
The same thought came to both--probably born in the vindictive brain of
Snake and involuntarily transmitted by his look: the thought of the gun
leaning against the pack. True, it was “newfangled,” and Douglas knew
it was locked against discharge; but in a fight a gun is not only a gun
but a steel bar and a club. It was behind its owner, and a swift dash
past him might make Snake its master. He attempted the dash.
Without the slightest preliminary movement he was speeding past
Douglas. But the latter was not asleep. Pivoting on a heel, he swung a
round-arm blow flush under the passing jaw.
The shock was terrific. Between the impetus of Snake’s plunge and the
body-drive of the punch, the impact was more than doubled. The slugging
arm dropped, numb to the shoulder. Snake also dropped--numb all over.
His feet left the ground, and he straightened backward in the air. Flat
on his back he struck, arms at his sides, legs stretched nerveless,
head a little to the right, blank face turned to the brush. There he
lay without a quiver of life.
Douglas stood peering down, slowly swinging his numbed arm at his side.
Minutes passed. His breathing grew normal; his arm lost its wooden
feeling. Somewhere a bird chirped noisily. Up from the unseen chasm
of the Traps idled a new breeze, bearing the music of the far-off
hammers. The warm sun beat down on the two men. Still Snake Sanders lay
motionless.
The swollen-eyed man above him trod tentatively on a grimy hand. It
gave no answering twitch. He stooped, studied the face, put a thumb on
the left lid, pushed it up, and peered at the eyeball. Then he stood
up, unconsciously rubbing his thumb against his shirt.
“Well, Mister Snake Sanders,” he said grimly, “if I were you and you
were I, you’d drag me over to the edge and pitch me off to smash on
the rocks, most likely. That’s what I ought to do to you. But I don’t
happen to be built along those lines. Just what can a white man do with
a reptile like you under such circumstances?”
The problem remained unanswered, though he ran a hand repeatedly
through his thick hair and frowned down at the body.
“If I could only have hit you harder, maybe you’d die of a broken
neck,” he mused. “I’ve known such things to happen. But I did the best
I could, and you’ll live just the same. The devil takes care of his
own, anyway.”
Slowly he turned and walked to his pack. Deliberately he got into the
straps, wincing as the injured shoulder came under pressure.
“Must wash that place well when I reach the creek,” he muttered,
“or I’ll get blood-poisoning. Guess a complete bath wouldn’t be
inappropriate.”
He settled the pack, gripped his gun, stepped to the edge of the brush,
and picked up his hat. Then he looked again at the silent Snake.
“On the whole, I think I have a good deal the best of it,” he declared.
“Your little copperhead trick did me no harm, and I know a lot more now
than if you hadn’t tried it. Yes, a whole lot. As for damages to our
respective complexions and temperaments, I’m no worse off than you; and
in the matter of general condition you’re certainly much worse than I.
So we’ll call it quits--for the present.”
He plodded away. But after a few steps he looked back with a hard smile.
“Besides,” he concluded, “I was forgetting. Our young friend Steve has
some business to settle with you. His account is three years old--maybe
more--and mine has only just begun. So you’re Steve’s meat, Snake.
Steve’s meat.”