CHAPTER 33
Markham looked like a maddened bull as he stomped forward. Denny was going to try to get in his way and stop this fight before it went any further, but before she could do more than take a single step, somebody caught hold of her arms from behind and held her back.
“Better stay out of his way,” said her father. “As loco as he is right now, he’ll run right over you.”
Denny didn’t really believe that, but she couldn’t break loose from Smoke’s firm grip. All she could do was stand there and watch.
Brice didn’t wait for Markham to come to him. He lunged forward again to meet the cowboy’s attack. Markham swung his right fist in a looping roundhouse punch that Brice ducked underneath. Markham’s rush brought him within reach of Brice’s fists, and the lawman hammered a fast left-right-left combination into Markham’s ribs.
The blows jarred Markham to a stop, but he didn’t give any ground. He chopped a punch at Brice’s head and connected, although it was only a grazing hit above Brice’s left ear. That was enough to make Brice stumble a little, though, and it gave Markham the chance to hook a left into Brice’s belly. Brice doubled over and moved back a step.
That put him in perfect position for the right that Markham sent whistling toward his jaw. A few feet away, Denny saw what was happening and her heart leaped in alarm. She knew that if Markham’s punch landed, it would not only end the fight but might also break Brice’s jaw.
Brice looked sick from the hard punch to his gut, but his instincts worked. He dived under the blow Markham aimed at him and tackled the cowboy around the thighs. Both of them went down, crashing hard to the floor.
The townspeople attending the social had all drawn back to form a circle and give the combatants plenty of room. Some men yelled encouragement to either Brice or Markham; it was difficult to say which. Some of them were just yelling in excitement.
Monte Carson appeared at Smoke’s side, saying, “I’d better put a stop to this.”
“Wait,” Smoke said. “Let them battle it out if you can, Monte. Might be better to let them settle things between them.”
“All right,” Monte said reluctantly. “As long as they’re not doing any damage to anything besides each other.”
Denny was about to object, but she realized her father was right. As long as Brice’s resentment continued to fester, the potential for trouble would always be there. She didn’t know if this fight would get rid of that, but there was a chance it might.
Cal and Pearlie came up on Denny’s other side.
Cal said, “That blasted Markham—”
“Brice threw the first punch,” Denny told him. “He’s to blame for this.”
Cal looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Really?”
“That’s right.” Denny turned her head toward Smoke. “You can let go of me now, Pa. I’m not going to try to interfere with what those two idiots are doing.”
“Got your word on that?” Smoke asked with a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
“Yeah. Maybe they can knock some sense into each other . . . but I kind of doubt it.”
Smoke nodded, released Denny’s arms, and moved alongside her to watch the fight as it continued.
While the talk was going on, Brice and Markham had been rolling around on the floor, alternately wrestling and throwing punches. Using his superior weight, Markham managed to plant a knee in Brice’s belly and pin him down. Markham loomed over the smaller man and began pounding him in the face, punishing him mercilessly.
Brice wasn’t out of the fight, though. He kicked his right leg high and managed to hook his calf in front of Markham’s throat. When he straightened his leg, the move levered Markham off of him and made the cowboy sprawl onto his back.
With blood smeared on his face from his mouth and nose and the cuts Markham’s fists had opened around his eyes, Brice dived after his opponent. He landed with both knees in Markham’s belly. Clubbing his hands together, he swung them from left to right and smashed a powerful blow to Markham’s jaw. The impact twisted Markham’s head far to the side. It would have been enough to knock most men unconscious.
Markham was far from out cold. He roared in anger, got hold of the front of Brice’s shirt, and flung him away. With blood dripping from his mouth, Markham clambered up and went after Brice, who had come to a stop on his belly after rolling several feet.
Markham lifted a booted foot and tried to bring it down hard on Brice’s back, which might well have broken a rib or two, but Brice was quick enough to roll onto his side. He grabbed Markham’s boot, and heaved. Markham went over backward again.
Brice was slow getting up, but Markham was slower. When both men reached their feet, they stood glaring at each other while their chests heaved from exertion. Brice’s face was bloodier, but a big multicolored bruise was already forming on Markham’s jaw and he had other swollen, battered places on his face. Clearly, both of them had been through the wringer.
But they weren’t finished yet.
Panting a curse, Markham stumbled forward with his fists clenched. Brice stayed where he was, but he raised his hands and closed them into fists, too, in anticipation of the cowboy’s attack. Markham threw a right, but he was slower now, and Brice had been quick enough even at the start of the fight. He weaved to the side and the fist went harmlessly past his right ear. Brice snapped a right jab to Markham’s nose. Blood spurted.
Markham hauled up a left uppercut that Brice evidently wasn’t expecting. It caught Brice under the chin and rocked his head back. Markham chopped at his exposed throat. Brice got his chin down just in time to block the blow’s force and keep it from crushing his windpipe. He threw a couple of wild, close-range punches. Markham didn’t do anything to avoid them, but Brice missed anyway. He was too tired; his blows lacked the crispness they’d had.
Markham didn’t even try punching again. He just bulled forward and spread his arms, grabbing Brice around the torso and lifting him off the floor. Markham squeezed hard in a bone-crushing bear hug.
Eyes wide in desperation, Brice cupped both hands and slapped them against Markham’s ears as hard as he could. The move worked. Markham yelled in pain as the air compressed against his eardrums, and he lost his grip on Brice. The lawman dropped the few inches to the floor and almost fell, but caught his balance in time to smash another punch to Markham’s already bleeding nose. Markham stumbled back, managed to catch himself, and swung a wild right at the same time as Brice did likewise.
Both men missed. Didn’t even come close, in fact. The momentum of the punches turned them around. Their knees buckled, and both fell. Unable to rise again, they lay there, breathing hard.
“All right. That’s blasted well enough,” Monte Carson said.
Smoke’s tone was dry as he said, “I think they agree with you.”
After a few seconds, Steve Markham groaned and tried to push himself up. A few feet away, Brice Rogers stirred as well, muttering something to himself. Clearly, both men wanted to try to continue the fight even though they were in no shape to do so.
Before Monte Carson could step forward, Denny did so, coming to a halt between them. “You two just stop it,” she said sharply. “You’ve pounded each other almost into raw meat, all over nothing.”
Markham lifted his head. With air wheezing through his swollen and bleeding nose, he said, “You ain’t . . . ain’t nothin’ . . . Denny. Not . . . hardly.”
Brice pushed himself up and gasped, “Damn . . . saddle . . . tramp.”
“That’s enough.” She bent and reached down . . .
And took hold of Markham’s arm.
She couldn’t really say why she did that. She supposed it was because he was the one who had come with her to the social, and Brice had pressed the issue and thrown the first punch. If she was going to help either of them, it just seemed fair that it should be Steve Markham.
While Brice watched, looking shocked and disappointed, almost devastated, Denny helped Markham to his feet. Telling him, “Lean on me,” she led him toward the chairs along the wall so he could sit down. The crowd, which had fallen silent, formed an aisle through which they made their way.
Brice had pushed himself to his knees.
Smoke stepped forward, took hold of the deputy marshal’s arm, and effortlessly lifted him to his feet. “Come on. You could use some cleaning up, and probably a drink.”
Brice looked at Monte Carson and asked, “Are you gonna . . . arrest me?”
“I reckon not,” Monte replied. “From the looks of your face right now, you’ve been punished enough.”
Brice gazed across the room to where Markham had sat down and Denny hovered over him. Using a lacy handkerchief she had produced from somewhere, she dabbed at the blood on his face.
“Yeah, I’d say you’re right, Sheriff,” Brice said bitterly. “And I can sure use that drink you mentioned, Mr. Jensen.”