Gunsight Pass | Page 6

"ringer." These men had deliberately crossed the path of the trail outfit
in order to take from the vaqueros their money.
The punchers were sulky. Instead of a fair race they had been up
against an open-and-shut proposition, as Russell phrased it. The jeers of
Doble did not improve their tempers. The man was temperamentally
mean-hearted. He could not let his victims alone.
"They say one's born every minute, Ad. Dawged if I don't believe it,"
he sneered.
Miller was not saying much himself, but his fat stomach shook at this
sally. If his partner could goad the boys into more betting he was quite
willing to divide the profits.
Audibly Hart yawned and murmured his sentiments aloud. "I'm liable
to tell these birds what I think of 'em, Steve, if they don't spend quite

some time layin' off'n us."
"Don't tell us out loud. We might hear you," advised Doble insolently.
"In regards to that, I'd sure worry if you did."
Dave was at that moment returning to his place with a cup of hot coffee.
By some perverse trick of fate his glance fell on Doble's sinister face of
malignant triumph. His self-control snapped, and in an instant the
whole course of his life was deflected from the path it would otherwise
have taken. With a flip he tossed up the tin cup so that the hot coffee
soused the crook.
"Goddlemighty!" screamed Doble, leaping to his feet. He reached for
his forty-five, just as Sanders closed with him. The range-rider's
revolver, like that of most of his fellows, was in a blanket roll in the
wagon.
Miller, with surprising agility for a fat man, got to his feet and launched
himself at the puncher. Dave flung the smaller of his opponents back
against Steve, who was sitting tailor fashion beside him. The gunman
tottered and fell over Russell, who lost no time in pinning his hands to
the ground while Hart deftly removed the revolver from his pocket.
Swinging round to face Miller, Dave saw at once that the big man had
chosen not to draw his gun. In spite of his fat the gambler was a
rough-and-tumble fighter of parts. The extra weight had come in recent
years, but underneath it lay roped muscles and heavy bones. Men often
remarked that they had never seen a fat man who could handle himself
like Ad Miller. The two clinched. Dave had the under hold and tried to
trip his bulkier foe. The other side-stepped, circling round. He got one
hand under the boy's chin and drove it up and back, flinging the
range-rider a dozen yards.
Instantly Dave plunged at him. He had to get at close quarters, for he
could not tell when Miller would change his mind and elect to fight
with a gun. The man had chosen a hand-to-hand tussle, Dave knew,
because he was sure he could beat so stringy an opponent as himself.

Once he got the grip on him that he wanted the big gambler would
crush him by sheer strength. So, though the youngster had to get close,
he dared not clinch. His judgment was that his best bet was his fists.
He jabbed at the big white face, ducked, and jabbed again. Now he was
in the shine of the moon; now he was in darkness. A red streak came
out on the white face opposite, and he knew he had drawn blood. Miller
roared like a bull and flailed away at him. More than one heavy blow
jarred him, sent a bolt of pain shooting through him. The only thing he
saw was that shining face. He pecked away at it with swift jabs, taking
what punishment he must and dodging the rest.
Miller was furious. He had intended to clean up this bantam in about a
minute. He rushed again, broke through Dave's defense, and closed
with him. His great arms crushed into the ribs of his lean opponent. As
they swung round and round, Dave gasped for breath. He twisted and
squirmed, trying to escape that deadly hug. Somehow he succeeded in
tripping his huge foe.
They went down locked together, Dave underneath. The puncher knew
that if he had room Miller would hammer his face to a pulp. He drew
himself close to the barrel body, arms and legs wound tight like hoops.
Miller gave a yell of pain. Instinctively Dave moved his legs higher and
clamped them tighter. The yell rose again, became a scream of agony.
"Lemme loose!" shrieked the man on top. "My Gawd, you're killin'
me!"
Dave had not the least idea what was disturbing Miller's peace of mind,
but whatever it was moved to his advantage. He clamped tighter,
working his heels into another secure position. The big man bellowed
with pain.