Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 46: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

36. he assumed to be surprize might have been confusion. Again that question in her mind. “You will obey me?” asked her father. “T always obey you, father,” she said. He seemed satisfied, but the queer look, as of mingled uncertainty and strong emotion did not leave his eyes as he watched her at her tasks. Far down the valley a clatter of hoofs on the bridge awoke the slumbering echoes in Singing River. XXII st som and Frued were at the bar and three others were sitting at a small table in the rear near the lunch-counter play- ing cards. Kane was serving drinks. As Lang walked up to Bransom, Condon ap- peared in the doorway and entered quietly. The men at the card-table, sensing a tele- pathic foreboding of unusual events, turned in their chairs and regarded the little group be- fore the bar with keen interest. Kane only seemed undisturbed. “You overshot, Bransom.”’ Lang’s voice snapped like a whip-lash. “Shooting down-hill that way a man is liable to hit a hat instead of a head. You need practise, Bransom; an’ you’ve got a better target now.” Frued slid noiselessly from behind Bransom and edged to the wall opposite the bar, leaving the two principals facing each other in’ the center of the room. “Bransom, you’re a dirty cur.” Stooping in a half-crouch, Bransom returned Lang’s steady gaze; but no sound issued from between his twitching lips. “Any man who would shoot another from ambush is a whelp.” — Still Bransom refrained from making a reply. “In addition to being a cur, or a whelp, or a a all three in a man’s clothes—you’re a ar. = —_ Bransom’s eyes had narrowed until a mere flash of baleful red gleamed between the lids. Again Lang’s words came sharp and clear like the cracking of timber in cold weather— “Bransom, I wasn’t sure till now that you’re a coward in the bargain.” Lightning quick as was Bransom’s draw it was too slow. Lang ‘shot almost the moment the other moved, and Bransom’s weapon was sent clattering to the floor before it was even clear of the holster. Disarmed, Bransom held his right hand out before him and looked at it curiously. It was numb. In another moment Condon had leaped in and obtained possession of the pistol on the floor. He whirled to face Frued and the men who had risen hastily from the table in the rear. “Sit down!” he called to the men behind LANG strode into the saloon. Bran- Adventure oo Lang; then he motioned Frued to the rear and stood keeping the four men covered. ; Lang-laid his weapon upon the bar. “Keep your eye on that, Mr. Storekeeper; I’m playin’ you for square—maybe it’s a compli- ment, but Ill take a chance.” He turned again to Bransom. “Vou lied today, Bransom, an’ you know it. _ An’ when a man lies about me I give him a chance to think it over—an’ something to re- member me by so maybe he'll think twice be- fore he does it again.” With that he slapped Bransom in the face with the flat of his hand. A cry of animal rage came from Bransom as he struck wildly. Lang countered and planted the full force of a mighty blow in Bransom’s face, drawing spurts of blood. Bransom stag- gered back, spat, and, dodging another swing, managed to land a blow on Lang’s jaw. Lang responded with a straight left that knocked Bransom back half the length of the bar. Lunging against the bar to keep his balance, Bransom’s fingers came in contact with a bot- tle which Kane had forgotten to remove. He hurled the dangerous missile at Lang with all his strength. Lang dropped low with a second’s fraction to spare, and as the bottle smashed with a crash of splintered glass against the stove his hands gripped Bransom’s throat. The men tripped, fell, twisted on the floor; and Bransom succeeded in freeing his throat from Lang’s grasp, although his face contorted in pain as he did so. He sank his teeth in Lang’s shoulder, and Lang, getting a hammer- lock, bent the other’s arm back and up until Bransom unlocked his jaws to scream in agony. Lang released his hold and leaped clear. “Get up—Bransom—an’ take your beatin’— fair.” Mad with inarticulate rage, Bransom started a blow for Lang’s stomach. It failed and Bran- som was hurled against the bar by the impact of Lang’s fist on his jaw. Again Bransom ducked and closed to avoid the open fighting, and as the men went to the floor the second time Lang’s head crashed against the heavy planking. For a moment he was stunned. Bransom, on top, raised his fist to pound Lang in the face. “Fight clean, Bransom, or I’ll shoot you sure as all !” rang Condon’s voice. Bransom looked up, and in that instant two things happened. Frued, seeing that Condon’s attention was momentarily diverted from him- self and the men at the card-table, went for his gun. But Condon caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, swung and fired. Frued, untouched, ducked to the floor, and instead of endeavoring to get his weapon into action dived for Condon’s legs, overbalancing him. As the men fell one of the three at the card- table dashed a chair into the hanging oil lamp, Gomichboo (E@)