the Drift Fence (1992) (27 page)

More books, and these from St. Louis! To her amaze all the parcels were marked with the name of that distant Eastern city. He had sent for things. The Flagerstown stores were not good enough for her. How could she ever resist his way of making somebody of her? Then for the ensuing hour she marvelled at and gloated over a multiplicity of pretty and useful little presents. He did not submerge her with an overwhelming sense of great expenditure. He had tact and taste. "Oh, the darlin'," she murmured, "if he ever sees me again--it's shore all day with me!" Then she crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep.

During the next few days Molly went through a hundred variations of mood, ranging from lofty pride to self-pity, from resignation to furious revolt. And then she seemed to fix upon a settled wretchedness. Yet the days passed and life had to be lived and neglected work done.

On Saturday afternoon she went to the village with her mother, the first visit there for a month. It was the one day in the week when there was any activity at West Fork. Molly felt a reluctance to being seen, yet a tingling curiosity in regard to possible rumours. She knew she could tell instantly, when she met any of the girls or young men, if they had heard of the marvellous romance that had enmeshed her.

But she was to discover that, so far as her acquaintances were concerned, Molly Dunn was the same old Molly Dunn as ever. Strange to realize, Molly was chagrined. If they could know how far she had been removed from the ordinary life of West Fork!

Old Enoch Summers' establishment, that combined several stores in a row, all connected, stood on the main corner of the village street, and next to it was Mace's Saloon, a place of doubtful character, and one which Summers openly frowned upon, but in which rumour gave him a large interest. Board porches high off the ground, with wide steps in the middle and at each end, were a feature of West Fork's few business houses. Saddle-horses and buckboards, along the hitching-rails, attested to visitors in town. And in the next block all the available room along the plank sidewalk was taken up by wagons and buggies.

Molly for once was glad she had come with her mother, of whom it had been said that she had scant civility for Molly's admirers. They came at length to Summers' store, where Molly had to run the gauntlet of numerous men, old and young, strangers and acquaintances. It was a busy hour for the village merchant and his clerks. Mrs. Dunn and Molly had to await their turn, and when Mrs. Dunn met the worst gossip in West Fork, to become avidly absorbed at once. Molly, as a matter of self-preservation as well as taste, strolled on through this store into the next. Presently she found herself quite near the door, and curiously took a peep out. A young man had just ridden up to the porch. And when Molly recognized Jim Traft she nearly dropped to the floor. Fate had led her aimlessly to that door--for this. Then as the usual hum of talk of the loungers outside abruptly ceased, Molly realized that she was indeed not the only interested one. Jim surveyed the group on the porch, then dismounted and threw his bridle, to step up half the steps.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said, coolly, and his resonant voice carried. "My name's Jim Traft and I'm looking for Slinger Dunn."

Molly bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Her next impulse was to rush to Jim. But that would be a crazy thing to do. He certainly would resent it. Her quick glance flashed over his lithe figure. He wore corduroys, high top-boots, and a brown shirt. Manifestly he could not have had a weapon upon him. Relief mitigated Molly's terror. He did not mean to fight, and certainly Slinger, no matter how provoked, could not shoot an unarmed man before all these people. Jim did not look exactly pleasant, but how fine, Molly thought, and manly and clean-eyed.

"Wal, Mister Traft, you'll find Slinger in Mace's saloon," drawled someone.

"Thanks," replied Traft, and flipping a silver dollar to an urchin there, he said, "Johnny, go in and tell Slinger Dunn that if he isn't afraid to come out Jim Traft would like to see him."

The boy snatched up the coin and bounded off the porch. Jim stepped up another step. He appeared composed, but pale. He had some deep motive in bearding Slinger Dunn right in his own den. Molly fell prey to a tumult of thrill and shudder. She could not have rushed out now, for she was riveted to the spot. Traft's message had caused a low exclamation to run through the occupants of the porch, a dozen or more of whom Molly could see through door and window. Jim surely would have espied her had he looked in. But he faced down the porch, toward Mace's saloon.

"By gum! Slinger's a-comin'!" said someone.

"Reckoned thet'd fetch him," replied another. These two stood near the door and partly shielded Molly. She wrenched at her fettered feet, to move a little forward, the better to see. However, she could not see Slinger yet. People in the store behind her approached.

Then the slow step of a spurred boot sent a combined fire and ice over Molly. Slinger came into view, crossed the porch to confront Traft.

"Did you send thet kid in heah," and Slinger jerked his left hand backward. His right hung significantly free and low, "askin' me out if I wasn't afeard?"

"Howdy, Slinger. Yes, I did," replied Jim, and he stepped up the last step. After a keen, fearless glance straight into Slinger's eyes, he extinguished the cigarette he carried and dropped it off the porch. It was noticeable that he wore gloves.

"Wal, you want to be careful aboot sendin' fer me thet way."

"No offence. I just wanted you outside."

"An' what fer, Mister Traft?"

"Several things, Slinger, and for that reason I'm glad some of your friends and town folks are present," replied Traft. A small group of men had followed Dunn out of the saloon, but did not come up on the porch. In fact, they edged out toward the hitching-rail.

"What you want?" demanded Dunn, in mingled anger and amaze.

"First I want to tell you I'm sorry my outfit suspected you of cutting our drift fence. We found out who did it, and, though we never said it was you, we think we owe you an apology. So I'm apologizing for myself and the Diamond--to you, publicly."

"Wal, it wasn't necessary fer nobody to apologize to me," returned Dunn, with a grim laugh. "All the same, I hadn't nuthin' to do with cuttin' your drift fence."

"Well, that settles that. Now you settle this. There's talk going around about your sister and me. Some of it is credited to you. Did you tell Hack Jocelyn and Seth Haverly that you not only heard I had insulted Molly--mistreated her, but you believed it?"

"I reckon I did, Mister Traft," replied Slinger, not shorn of his personality, because nothing could have done that, but plainly staggered.

"Thanks," said Traft, raising his voice. "Now listen. You are dead wrong.

I fell in love with Molly--pretty pronto, I admit. And I asked her to marry me. Twice!... Was that an insult? I shall ask her again. Will that be an insult?"

"I cain't see it thet way."

"I did--well, embrace her before I asked her. But I meant no insult. I was just excited--out of my head. Could that be held against me by any fair-minded person--knowing I followed it up with an offer of marriage?"

"No, it couldn't be," declared Dunn.

"Thanks again... Well, Molly refused me. And one of the reasons she gave me was that she was Slinger Dunn's sister." Molly saw Arch flinch, and, tremendously agitated as she was, she felt a pang for him. This Jim Traft had a tongue as deadly as a bullet.

"Now, Slinger Dunn, listen," added Traft, his voice rising to a ring.

"You're going to hear something. If you were half the man you think you are you'd quit this lazy, drinking, gun-slinging life for your sister's sake. She's a fine little girl--good as gold, damn your stupid heart! And she deserves a better fate than to be disgraced and degraded by a rotten two-bit of a desperado brother... But you've not got sense enough to see what she's worth. And as for your talk about her--well, you are a dirty, low-down skunk. You're a yellow dog. You're a liar, and a suspicious, miserable Cibeque blood-spiller. Now, I'm not much on guns, but if you're not a coward--a coward--you'll lay off that gun-belt. And I'll swear, if I don't beat you as you deserve, I'll borrow a gun from somebody here, and fight you your own way."

Without the slightest hesitation Slinger unbuckled his belt, containing the heavy gun, and handed it shakily over to someone. He sailed his sombrero off the porch, exposing a livid face. He made a gesture, eloquent of supreme fury, and added to it with incoherent speech. Then like a panther he leaped at Traft.

Molly saw Jim move as quickly, just as Slinger reached him, and appeared to strike at the same instant. The blow cracked. Its force, added to Slinger's momentum, sent him off the porch, where only a remarkable agility kept him on his feet. But he thumped solidly against the hitching-rail, which broke. Horses snorted and jumped. The crowd let out a whoop. Fights were mostly as common as meals in the Cibeque and infinitely more amusing. People inside the store crowded out, and joining the men cut off Molly's view. She edged out, back to the wall, fearful, yet tremendously impelled. She had gloried in Jim's brave front, but she felt he would be helpless in a fight with Slinger. Bumping against a bench, Molly stepped up on it.

She saw Jim go down off the steps to meet Slinger. Then began a fierce exchange of blows, with Slinger slowly forced backward in front of Mace's saloon. Something was wrong, or unusual, Molly vaguely gathered from the exclamations and whispers of the villagers. Slinger Dunn had the reputation of being able to whip his weight in wildcats. But evidently he was slow in getting started here. Suddenly a blow upset him, and he plumped down ridiculously. The crowd, warming to the fight, greeted that with yells.

Slinger bounced up, only to be knocked down again. Then pandemonium broke loose. The young man from the Diamond might not be going to get mauled into a pulp. He might be cordially hated, but that had nothing to do with the surprise and glee of the West Forkers. Molly could no longer distinguish the shouts, the jeers, the egging on of the contestants, the riotous advice.

Bounding up with the agility he was noted for, Slinger took a couple of nasty digs in order to get hold of Traft. He clinched and plainly sought to trip his antagonist or wrestle him down. But Jim was the heavier and stronger, for with a whirl and a fling he sent Slinger sprawling. This occasioned a sudden silence. Was it possible for Slinger Dunn to be worsted?

"Stand up and fight--you Indian!" yelled Traft. And indeed Dunn had the look and the suppleness of an Indian.

Dunn, now bloody and dirty, responded as if he had no control over himself, as if this taunting voice could drive him to anything. He crouched and bored in, fighting low, until Traft swung up under his guard. Dunn's head jerked up. Another blow sent it back, and a third, square on the nose, making the blood fly, landed him on his back.

This time Slinger did not bounce up. Something was being battered into his consciousness--something that had already dawned upon the crowd. He slowly and cautiously rose, a stream of red running from his nose, down across his tight lips and protruding chin. Again he changed his tactics, proving that a fury of confidence had succeeded to grim realization, and that where an ordinary fighter would have been whipped he still had resource to spirit and energy. He tried a square stand up, give and take.

It grew evident that had he adopted this style in the beginning he would at least have done better, for he hit Traft now and then. But the latter could take punishment. If it hurt he gave no sign. His method grew clear to the bystanders, and wagers were shouted out, backing him to win.

Molly, in a fit of wild joy at Jim's unexpected and wonderful ability, jumped up and down on the bench, and it was not certain that she did not cry out.

Soon down went Slinger again. The blow that prostrated him was from Traft's right, and was a swing, coming at the end of a succession of short blows, delivered fast and closely, no doubt to beat his antagonist back and out of balance. Anyway, Molly saw her brother go piling into the dust.

"Reckon now Slinger will rooster him, an' it's shore aboot time," declared a young fellow in front of Molly.

"Yep. An' I'm damn curious," replied his companion.

Other remarks were not wanting. Evidently Slinger Dunn was not yet beaten. Molly had heard of the "rooster" trick in fighting, but had never seen it. And her lot had been to see many an encounter between boys of the Cibeque. She had seen more than one dance interrupted, with the dancers fleeing to the walls, while a fierce battle ensued in the middle of the floor.

But fear for Jim had fled from Molly. He could meet any of Slinger's backwoods tricks.

Slinger slowly circled Traft, keeping well away. Undoubtedly Traft was ready for a new attack. When he got rather close to the wall he divined that Dunn was trying to back him into such a position, whereupon he stood stock-still and waited. Suddenly Slinger dived down with incredible swiftness, on the back of his head and neck and elevated his feet even higher than his arms had been.

His boots were armed with long spurs. He began to kick at Jim. He actually appeared to stand on the back of his neck and his elbows.

"Rooster him, Slinger!" bawled a lusty-lunged lout. And the crowd of West Forkers roared.

Molly saw Jim back from this amazing onslaught, and that was what he should not have done. For Slinger, hunching himself on his elbows, quick as a cat, forced Jim to the wall. He dodged one vicious kick that raked the wall. Another caught him on his extended arm, tearing his sleeve from wrist to shoulder. Molly saw a glimpse of red. Then a cruel spur cut open Jim's chin. At this Molly screamed at her brother, but her voice was lost in the din. If Slinger did not kill Jim he would surely disfigure him for life. She leaped off the bench and darted here and there to get through the circle of men. Suddenly a louder yell, hoarse and thrilling, made Molly desperate. She squeezed into the front.