Bayne Trevors slipped out of his coat and vest, tossing them to the
pile of chairs on the table. He loosened his soft shirt-collar and was
ready. All of Bud Lee's simple preparations had been made when he
threw his broad hat aside.
Then came the little pause which is forerunner to the first blow, when
two men measure each other, seeking each to read the other's purpose.
"It ought to be a pretty even break," muttered Melvin, his interest
obviously that of a sporting man who would travel a thousand miles to
see a fight for a champion's belt. "Trevors has the weight by forty
pounds; Lee has the reach by a hair; both quick-footed; both hard; Lee,
maybe a little harder. Don't know. Even break. The sand will do
it--sand or luck."
The two men drew slowly together. Their hands came up, their fists
showed glistening knuckles, their jaws were set, their feet moved
cautiously. Then suddenly Bud Lee sprang in and struck.
Struck tentatively with his left hand that grazed Trevors's cheek and
did no harm; struck terribly with his right hand that drove through the
other man's guard and landed with the little sound of flesh on flesh on
Trevors's chest. Trevors's grunt and his return blow came together;
both men reeled back a half-pace from the impact, both hung an instant
upon an unsteady balance, both sprang forward. And as they met the
second time, they battled furiously, clinging together, striking
mercilessly, giving and taking with only the sound of scuffing
boot-heels and soft thuds and little coughing grunts breaking the
silence. Bayne Trevors gave back a stubborn step, striking right and
left as he did so; caught himself, hurled himself forward so that now
it was Bud Lee who was borne backward by the sheer weight of his
opponent. There was a gash on Lee's temple from which a thin stream of
blood trickled; Trevors's mouth was bleeding.
"Under his guard, Trevors!" shouted Melvin, on the table now, his face
red, his eyes shining. "Under, under!"
"Remember, Bud! Remember!" cried Carson.
"That's it, that's it!" Melvin clapped his two big hands and came
perilously near falling from his point of vantage as Trevors's fists
drove into Lee's body and Lee went reeling back. "Give him hell! A
hundred dollars on Trevors!"
"Take you!" called Carson without withdrawing his eyes from the two
forms reeling up and down, back and forth across the room.
"Done!" cried Melvin. "Trevors, a hundred dollars----"
He broke off, forgetful of his own words. The two men met again, clung
to each other in a ludicrous embrace, broke asunder, and Lee struck so
that his fist, landing fair upon Trevors's chin, hurled the bigger man
back, stumbling, falling----
But not fallen. For his back found the wall and saved him. As Lee
came on, rushing at him like a man gone mad, Trevors slipped aside and
struck back, for the critical moment gaining time to breathe. He spat,
wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand and again eluded a
rushing attack by ducking and stepping to one side. And ever, when he
sought to save his own body, he struck back, grunting audibly with the
effort.
They fought everywhere, up and down, back and forth, until every foot
of the floor felt their heavy boots, until each of them was fighting
with all of the force that lay in him, fighting with that swelling
anger which grows at leaps and bounds when two men strive body to body,
when the hot breath of one mingles with the hot breath of the other,
when red rage looking out of one pair of eyes sees its reflection in
the other. Again and again Melvin muttered: "An even break! By God,
an even break!" And over and over did Carson's heart rise in his
breast as he saw Bud Lee drive Trevors, and over and over did his heart
sink when he saw Lee sway and reel under the sledge-hammer blows
beating at face and body.
In the beginning there had been in Bud Lee's mind but the one thought:
This man had laid his hands upon Judith; this man must be punished and
punished by none other in God's wide world than Bud Lee. Now all cool
thought had fled, leaving just the hot desire to beat at that which
beat at him, to strike down that which strove to strike him down, to
master his enemy, to see the great, powerful body prone at his feet.
Now he was fighting for that simplest, most potent reason in the world,
just because he was fighting. And, though he knew that he had found a
man as quick and hard and strong as himself, still he told himself,
that he must fight a winning fight--there was some good reason why he
must fight a winning fight.
His whole body was bruised and battered and sore. A glancing blow now
shot him through with pain. Trevors knew how to put his weight behind
his blows, and his weight was well over two hundred pounds. It was
like being hammered with a two-hundred-pound sledge.
Give and take it was from the first blow, with none of the finesse of a
boxers' match, with less thought of escaping punishment than of
inflicting it. More than once had Bud Lee felt that he was falling
only to catch his balance and come back at Trevors; more than once had
Trevors gone reeling backward, smashing into the wall. Many a time did
Melvin count his money won and lost. And Carson, crouching now, tense,
eager, a little fearful, muttered constantly to himself.
"They've both got the sand!" grunted Melvin. "Which one draws the
luck?"
But luck stood by and did not enter into the battle that grew ever
hotter as Bud Lee's and Trevors's gorge rose higher at every blow. It
was to be simply the best man wins, and none of the six men who watched
knew from the beginning until the end who the best man was. What
tricks Trevors knew, he used, and they were met by what cunning lay in
Bud Lee; what strength, what resistance, what power to endure was each
panting body was called upon to the reserve.
Already the spring had gone out of their steps. They came at each
other for the most part more slowly, more cautiously, but more
determined not to give over. Faces glistening with sweat, grimy with
the dust their pounding feet beat up from the floor, the roots of Lee's
hair red where with a bloody hand he had pushed it back, Trevors's lips
swollen and ugly, they fought on until the men who looked at them
wondered just where lay the limits upon which each depended.
"Lee's tough," Carson whispered to himself. "Riding every day an'
working . . . Trevors has been setting in a chair. . . . Bud'll wear
him out. . . . My God! Bud, look out! Foot work. . . ."
Yes, foot work, but not as Carson expected it, not the thing Bud Lee
looked for when he sensed rather than read in Trevors's eyes that a
fresh trick was coming. He was ready for a lifted boot, and, instead,
Trevors, rushing down upon him, threw grappling arms about him,
heedless of the fist smashing again into his cut lips. Trevors doubled
and twisted and got a grip about Lee's middle, at him, seeking to throw
him.
Down they went together with no particular advantage to either man.
But as they rolled apart and Lee threw out an arm to lift himself
Trevors saw the chance he sought and mightily, brutally, cursing as he
jumped up for it, he drove the heel of his boot down upon Lee's hand on
the floor.
From Lee's white lips burst an involuntary groan as it seemed to him
that every bone in his hand had been crushed, from Carson a choking cry
of rage, from Trevors a short laugh as he called out sharply:
"Hands off, Carson! Our fight--any way----"
Again on their feet, Trevors a second first and with the advantage
clearly his now rushed Lee, seeking to finish what he had begun. And
Bud Lee, his face white and drawn, looking ghastly with the blood
smears across it, moving swiftly but not swiftly enough, went down,
Trevors's weight against him, Trevors's fist beating into his side just
below the arm-pit.
"Five hundred on Trevors!" shouted Melvin. Carson did not hear him.
"At him, Bud, go at him!" he was crying over and over. "That's the
last dirty trick he's got. Get him, Buddie. Oh, for Gawd's sake,
Buddie, go get him!"
Trevors was upon him again, but Lee slipped aside, even rolled over,
managed to get to his feet. Again Trevors bore down upon him, a new
leaping fire in his eyes. Again, though barely in time, Bud Lee
slipped away from him. He drew Trevors's harsh laugh after him and
Trevors's questing, eager fists. Lee put up his arm, his right arm,
guarding his face, and drew away, back and back. Carson was almost
whimpering, calling whiningly:
"Stand up to him, Bud! Oh, go get him, Buddie!"
Still up and down the room they went, Trevors rushing at Lee, Lee
taking what blows he must, striking out but little, seeking now only to
pull himself together, to get his head clear of daze and dizziness.
Stepping backward, he again got the wall at his shoulders, slipped to
one side, strove only to get the empty room behind him, succeeded and
let Trevors drive him, drive until again his back was to a wall.
"Run away, will you?" panted Trevors. "I've got you, damn you. Got
you right."
Lee didn't answer. He was thinking dully that Bayne Trevors was near
telling the truth, that Bud Lee was almost beaten--almost. That was as
far as a gentleman ever went--just to that desperate "almost beaten."
Not quite. No! not quite. Never that.
Both men were nearly spent; Carson saw that while he cursed softly in
his corner; Melvin saw it and watched for the end, wondering just how
it would come. Trevors should swing for the point of the jaw, put all
that was in him into a final, smashing blow, beat through an
insufficient guard, do it now, quickly. For both Carson and Melvin saw
another thing, a thing which both had sensed at the outset: Bud Lee was
harder than Bayne Trevors. Lee, slipping away at every step was
getting something back which had nearly gone from him; Trevors was
breathing in noisy jerks; save for the vital fact that he now had two
hands to Bud Lee's one, Trevors was showing more signs of weariness
than Lee.
"Bud'll get him--somehow," whispered Carson. "Good old Bud. Somehow."
What Carson and Melvin sensed Trevors knew. He saw that Lee was having
less trouble in eluding him now, that Lee's feet were quicker, lighter
than his, that Lee was beginning to strike back viciously at him, and
when the blow landed, Trevors's big body rocked, shot through with
pain. There came to him the thought which was Melvin's, but it came in
Trevors's way: Now, quickly, before Lee was ready for it, must come the
end. So, for the third time that day Bayne Trevors, with much at
stake, resorted to "what weapons God gave him, what weapons he could
lay his mind to, his eyes to, his hands to"--his feet to. Resorting to
the old trick which came up from South American ports in disreputable
windjammers, which is known to the San Francisco waterfront, he raised
a heavy boot, striking for Lee's stomach, seeking with one low,
horrible blow to double up his already handicapped antagonist in
writhing pain on the floor.
"An' I gave my word!" bellowed Carson, the sweat on his own tortured
brow. "Oh, my Gawd."
But just that one brief instant too late did Bayne Trevors lift his
foot. For Bud Lee had expected this, never had forgotten it, had
prayed within his soul that the man he fought would use it. Just by
that fraction of time which has no name was he quicker than Trevors,
and he knew it. Now, as he read the sinister purpose in Trevors's
glaring eyes, as he glimpsed the raised boot as it left the floor, he
lowered his own head, averted it ever so little, stooped--and his hand
closed like locked iron about the calf of Trevors's leg. A stifled cry
from the bulkier man, a little grunt of effort from Lee, Lee straining,
heaving mightily, and Trevors went back, toppled, fought for his
slipping balance, and fell. As he went down Lee was upon him, Lee's
arm about his neck, Lee's weight flung upon him, Lee holding his body
between a powerful pair of knees which rode him as they rode daily some
struggling Blue Lake colt.
Now Bud's left arm, defying the agony of a broken hand, was around him,
Lee's legs were about the frantically fighting body, and at last Lee's
right hand went its sure way to the thick, bared, pulsing throat.
Trevors's right arm was caught at his side, held there by the body upon
his. His left hand beat at Lee's face, struck and battered again only
to come back like a steam-driven piston to hammer again. But Bud Lee's
pain-racked body clung on, his thumb and fingers sank and sank deeper
into the corded muscles of the heaving throat, crooked like talons,
white and hard and relentless.
Trevors's eyes were terrible, filled with hatred, red-flecked with
rage. He sought, with a great sudden heave, to roll over. But he
could not shake off the legs which were like stubborn tentacles about
him, could not free his throat of the tensing clutch. He tore at the
wrist, smote again at Lee's head, set his own hand to Lee's throat. In
an instant his hand was back at the hand worrying him, but he was
unable to drag it away.
His face went white, flamed red, grew purplish. His eyes bulged up at
Lee's, his deep chest contracted spasmodically. Lee, summoning the
force within him, drove thumb and fingers deeper.
"Got enough?" he panted.
For the last time Trevors strained with him and they rolled like
death-locked mountain-lions. But still Lee's left arm was about
Trevors's neck, his legs about the tossing body, his hand at Trevors's
throat. Trevors's breath caught, failed him. . . .
Then and then only did a new look come into the bulging eyes. A look
of more than fear, of utter, desperate terror. Trevors threw up his
hand weakly, then let it fall so that it struck the floor heavily, a
dead weight.
Lee's grip at the strangling throat relaxed. But he did not move his
hand.
"Got enough?" he panted again.
The answer came brokenly, weakly, almost inarticulate. But it did come
and the men drawn close heard it:
"Yes."
"You'll get out of the country?"
"Yes."
Bud Lee drew back and rose, going to the door swiftly. He stooped for
his hat and passed out. And as Bayne Trevors got unsteadily to his
feet and sank slumping into the chair offered him, two big tears formed
in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. The first tears in many a
year, the tears of a strong man broken for the first time in his life.
"Sand did it!" grunted Melvin. "Just sand, Carson."
"I'll stick aroun' an' see he moves on, Bud," Carson followed Lee to
say. "Oh, he'll go. But I'll just tell him how the boys is headed
this way by now an' it's tar an' feathers for him if he don't mosey
right along. That's something he couldn't stand right now. An',
Bud----"
He put out his hand and locked Lee's in a grip that made the sore
fingers wince. Then, swinging upon the heel of his boot, he went back
to collect a hundred dollars from Melvin and help Bayne Trevors shape
his plans.
But Bud Lee did not wait. He was on his horse, swaying a little, an
arm caught in a rude sling, glad to be out in the late sunlight.
"Fog along, little horse," he was saying dully. "Fog right along.
She's waiting, little horse. Judith is waiting! Think of that.
That's right--fog right along."