Savage Range Read Free Page B

and walked through the sticky mud to Will-John.
    â€œHe’s had enough,” Jim said quietly.
    Will-John did not turn at the sound of Jim’s voice; he didn’t even look at him. He simply wheeled and hit out. Jim, almost surprised, chopped down on the blow, so that it hit him in the chest and sent him skidding back against the tie rail.
    Will-John said, “I don’t take Excelsior pay, mister, and I don’t take Excelsior lip,” and turned and stepped toward the kid.
    Jim said quietly, “Turn around.” Will-John lifted his leg to tromp the kid again. Jim’s kick got in ahead of it. It sent Will-John ahead to trip over the kid and sprawl in the soupy mud.
    He rolled over easily and rose and came toward Jim, fists at his side. “You got warned,” he murmured, laughing a little. “Don’t ever say you didn’t.”
    His rush was swift, seemingly propelled by flailing arms. Jim hit out, beating down, so that his left arm hooked into Will-John’s right and tangled, and then he rolled to the side, driving in his right arm and straightening it. He felt and heard the blow, which missed the shelving jaw and hit the neck. Almost gracefully, Will-John wheeled to the side, his head up now. Jim hit him in the face on the way down. Will-John sat there a moment, hands in the gummy adobe, and then he rose.
    There was no speech this time. He set himself firmly in the mud, then leaned off balance forward, arms raised, and dug in his heels in a heavy, driving charge. Jim met it with his shoulder turned, and with his right hand he reached out and grabbed Will-John’s hair and yanked his head back. With his left, he smashed down on Will-John’s face three times before he released his grip and let him fall. This time he did not wait for Will-John to rise. He stood over him and, by balling up his shirt front and heaving, he lifted him to his knees. He knocked him down again and then stood there, breathing deeply, wet and furious.
    â€œGet up,” he said.
    â€œI’ve had enough,” Will-John mumbled. He pushed himself to his elbow, and then Jim lifted him to his feet again. He hit him twice and then caught him before he fell, and with a savage, rolling heave he threw him into the tie rail. It splintered and broke with a flat crack, and Will-John caromed into an onlooker. They both went down. The onlooker got up quickly, swearing, but Will-John lay there on his side on the wet sidewalk, face pillowed on his arm.
    Jim raised his glance to scan the crowd, who eyed him silently.
    â€œI don’t like this town,” he drawled quietly. “Anybody object to that?”
    There was a faint stirring among the onlookers, and then they broke up. Jim stood there in the muddy road until they had either gone into the saloon or down the walk. He saw Cope then. Cope was standing on the step of his saloon, leaning lightly on his crutch. He looked down at Jim and then at Will-John and then said musingly, “You ain’t the first man that thought that, Wade, but you’re the first that said it,” and went inside.
    Something stirred behind Jim, and he turned. A woman had come out of the shadow across the street and was bent over the kid. She rolled him over and was feeling gingerly along his ribs.
    â€œWhere does he live?” Jim asked.
    â€œI can do it,” the woman said, not looking up.
    Jim said, “Let me.” Gently he pushed her aside and picked the soaked kid up in his arms. His body was slack, limp as thread.
    They faced each other now in the rain, and Jim saw that this was a girl. Her slim, rather hungry-looking face was twisted into a sardonic smile, and as her glance touched Jim’s face for a moment it was hostile, bitter. Then she gestured lazily down the street.
    â€œI’ve done it enough,” she said quietly and turned. “Come along, then.”
    She kept ahead of him. They passed down the side of the hotel, in front of a