The Ranchman Part 16

"I could have printed the d.a.m.ned ballots, myself-if I had thought it necessary," mourned Norton. "And now we're skinned out of it!"

Norton's disgust was complete and bitter; he had slid down in the chair, his chin on his chest, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers.

Yet his dejection had not infected Taylor; the latter's lips were curved in a faint smile, ironic and saturnine. It was plain to Norton that whatever humor there was in the situation was making its appeal to Taylor. The thought angered Norton, and he sat up, demanding sharply: "Well, what in h.e.l.l are you going to do about it?"

Taylor grinned at the other. "Nothing, now," he said. "We might appeal to the courts, but if the law specifies that a candidate's name must be printed, the courts would sustain the governor. It looks to me, Norton, as though Carrington and Danforth have the cards stacked."

Norton groaned and again slid down into his chair. He heard Taylor go out, but he did not change his position. He sat there with his eyes closed, profanely accusing himself, for he alone was to blame for the complete defeat that had descended upon his candidate; and he could not expect Taylor to fight a law which, though unjust and arbitrary, was the only law in the Territory.

Taylor had not gone far. He stepped into the door of the courthouse, to meet Carrington, who was coming out. Danforth and Judge Littlefield were talking animatedly in the rear of the room. They ceased talking when they saw Taylor, and faced toward him, looking at him wonderingly.

Carrington halted just inside the threshold of the doorway, and he, too, watched Taylor curiously, though there was a bland, sneering smile on his face.

Taylor's smile as he looked at the men was still faintly ironic, and his eyes were agleam with a light that baffled the other men-they could not determine just what emotion they reflected.

And Taylor's manner was as quietly deliberate and nonchalant as though he had merely stepped into the room for a social visit. His gaze swept the three men.

"Framing up-again, eh?" he said, with drawling emphasis. "You sure did a good job for a starter. I just stepped in to say a few words to you-all of you. To you first, Littlefield." And now his eyes held the judge-they seemed to squint genially at the man.

"I happen to know that our big, sleek four-flusher here"-nodding toward Carrington-"came here to loot Dawes. Quite accidentally, I overheard him boasting of his intentions. Danforth was sent here by Carrington more than a year ago to line things up, politically. I don't know how many are in the game-and I don't care. You are in it, Littlefield. I saw that by the delight you took in informing me of the decision of the attorney-general. I just stepped in to tell you that I know what is going on, and to warn you that you can't do it! You had better pull out before you make an a.s.s of yourself, Littlefield!"

The judge's face was crimson. "This is an outrage, Taylor!" he sputtered. "I'll have you jailed for contempt of court!"

"Not you!" gibed Taylor, calmly. "You haven't the nerve! I'd like nothing better than to have you do it. You're a little fuzzy dog that doesn't crawl out of its kennel until it hears the snap of its master's fingers! That's all for you!"

He grinned at Danforth, felinely, and the man flushed under the odd gleam in the eyes that held his.

"I can cla.s.sify you with one word, Dave," he declared; "you're a crook!

That lets you out; you do what you are told!"

He now ignored the others and faced Carrington.

His grin faded quickly, the lips stiffening. But still there was a hint of cold humor in his manner that created the impression that he was completely in earnest; that he was keenly enjoying himself and that he did not feel at all tragic. And yet, underlying the mask of humor, Carrington saw the pa.s.sionate hatred Taylor felt for him.

Carrington sneered. He attempted to smile, but the malevolent bitterness of his pa.s.sions turned the smile into a hideous smirk. He had hated Taylor at first sight; and now, with the jealousy provoked by the knowledge that Taylor had turned his eyes toward Marion Harlan, the hatred had become a l.u.s.t to destroy the other.

Before Taylor could speak, Carrington stepped toward him, thrusting his face close to Taylor's. The man was in the grip of a mighty rage that bloated his face, that made his breath come in great labored gasps. He had not meant to so boldly betray his hatred, but the violence of his pa.s.sions drove him on.

He knew that Taylor was baiting him, mocking him, taunting him; that Taylor's words to the judge and to Danforth had been uttered with the grimly humorous purpose of arousing the men to some unwise and precipitate action; he knew that Taylor was enjoying the confusion he had brought.

But Carrington had lost his self-control.

Without a word, but with a smothered imprecation that issued gutturally from between his clenched teeth, he swung a fist with bitter malignance at Taylor's face.

The blow did not land, for Taylor, self-possessed and alert, had been expecting it. He slipped his head sidewise slightly, evading the fist by a narrow margin, and, tensed, his muscles taut, he drove his own right fist upward, heavily.

Carrington, reeling forward under the impetus of the force he had expended, ran fairly into the fist. It crashed to the point of his jaw and he was unconscious, rigid, and upright on his feet in the instant before he sagged and tumbled headlong out through the open doorway into the street.

With a bound, his face set in a mirthless grin, Taylor was after him, landing beyond him in the windrowed dust at the edge of the sidewalk, ready and willing to administer further punishment.

CHAPTER XIV-THE FACE OF A FIGHTER

Slouching in his chair, in an att.i.tude of complete dejection, Neil Norton was glumly digesting the dregs of defeat.

The _Eagle_ office adjoined the courthouse. Both were one-story frame structures, flimsy, with one thin wall between them; and to Norton's ears as he sat with his unpleasant thoughts, came the sound of voices, m.u.f.fled, but resonant. Someone was speaking with force and insistence.

Norton attuned his ears to the voice. It was then he discovered there was only one voice, and that Taylor's.

He sat erect, both hands gripping the arms of his chair. Then he got up, walked to the front door of the _Eagle_ office, and looked out. He was just in time to see Carrington tumble out through the door of the courthouse and land heavily on the sidewalk in front of the building.

Immediately afterward he saw Taylor follow.

Norton exclaimed his astonishment, and he saw Taylor turn toward him, a broad, mirthless grin on his face.

"Good Heavens!" breathed Norton, "he's started a ruckus!"

Taylor had not moved. He was looking at Norton when a man leaped from the door of the courthouse, straight at him. It was Danforth, his face hideous with rage.

Taylor sensed the movement, wheeled, stumbled, and lost his balance just as Danforth crashed against him. The two men went down in a heap into the deep dust of the street, rolling over and over.

Danforth's impetus had given him the initial advantage, and he was making the most of it. His fists were working into Taylor's face as they rolled in the dust, his arms swinging like flails. Taylor, caught almost unprepared, could not get into a position to defend himself. He shielded his face somewhat by holding his chin close to his chest and hunching his shoulders up; but Danforth landed some blows.

There came an instant, however, when Taylor's surprise over the a.s.sault changed to resentment over the punishment he was receiving. He had struck Carrington in self-defense, and he had not expected the attack by Danforth.

Norton, also surprised, saw that his friend was at a disadvantage, and he was running forward to help him when he saw Taylor roll on top of Danforth.

To Norton's astonishment, Taylor did not seem to be in a vicious humor, despite the blows Danforth had landed on him. Taylor came out of the smother with a grin on his face, wide and exultant, and distinctly visible to Norton in spite of the streaks of dust that covered it.

Taylor shook his head, his hair erupting a heavy cloud. Then he got up, permitting Danforth to do likewise.

Regaining his feet, Danforth threw himself headlong toward Taylor, cursing, his face working with malignant rage. When Taylor hit him the dust flew from Danforth's clothes as it rolls from a dirty carpet flayed with a beater. Danforth halted, his knees sagged, his head wabbled. But Taylor gave him a slight respite, and he came on again.

This time Taylor met him with a smother of sharp, deadening uppercuts that threw the man backward, his mouth open, his eyes closed. He fell, sagging backward, his knees unjointed, without a sound.

And now Norton was not the only spectator. Far up the street a man had emerged from a doorway. He saw the erupting volcanoes of dust in the street, and he ran back, shouting, "Fight! Fight!"

Dawes had seen many fights, and had grown accustomed to them. But there is always novelty in another, and long before Danforth had received the blows that had rendered him inactive, nearly all the doors of Dawes's buildings were vomiting men. They came, seemingly, in endless streams, in groups, in twos and singly, eager, excited, all the streams converging at the street in front of the courthouse.

Mindful of the ethics in an affair of this kind, the crowd kept considerately at a distance, permitting the fighting men to continue at their work without interference, with plenty of room for their energetic movements.

Word ran from lip to lip that Taylor, stung by the knowledge that he had been robbed of the office to which he had been elected, had attacked Carrington and Danforth with the grim purpose of punishing them personally for their misdeeds.

Taylor was aware of the gathering crowd. When he had delivered the blows that had finished his political rival, he saw the dense ma.s.s of men in the street around him; and he felt that all Dawes had a.s.sembled.

There was still no rancor in Taylor's heart; the same savage humor which had driven him into the courthouse to acquaint Carrington and the others with his knowledge of their designs, still gripped him. He had not meant to force a fight, but neither had he any intention of permitting Carrington and Danforth to inflict physical punishment upon him.

But a malicious devil had seized him. He knew that what he had done would be magnified and distorted by Carrington, Danforth, and the judge; that they would charge him with the blame for it; that he faced the probability of a jail sentence for defending himself. And he was determined to complete the work he had started.