Free Feud On The Mesa by Lauran Paine Page A

second shot, his ornate boot toe lashing out instinctively and sending Caleb’s gun flying. The scout barely had time to get to his feet before the cowman was on him. A sizzling fist the size of a small ham roiled the air past Caleb’s head and another gigantic hand slammed him backward, striking him fully in the chest. Caleb gasped and rolled away from the behemoth of ferocity that was boring in, roaring mad.
    Caleb found an inner well of energy somewhere and came back on the balls of his feet. He recognized this fight as one for his life. The Texan was insanely angry and his tremendous body was capable of deadly force. He lashed out and the Texan took the blow without an effort to side-step. Caleb hadstruck hard, but the Texan smothered the shocking force as though he hadn’t felt it. A little awe surged through the frontiersman as he back-pedaled. The stranger charged, head down, roaring oaths, his big arms flailing like a thresher. Again Caleb gave way, but this time he went a little sideways and chopped two stunning blows under the Texan’s ear that staggered the big man. Following up what he thought was an advantage, Caleb drove in with a rain of piston-like shots that caromed off the hard body of the other man like rubber balls.
    A big fist lashed out in a looping, overhand shot and Caleb went down. The Texan stood over him, legs apart, breathing heavily for a second. Caleb shot one boot toe behind the big man’s calf and darted the other foot out like the tongue of a snake, pushing it abruptly against the Texan’s kneecap. With a look of surprise, the big man went over back-ward, hard. Before he could regain his feet, Caleb was up and poised. When the Texan came up off the floor, a one-two lash out of bony, knuckled fists belted him like the explosions of a bullwhip in the face. He teetered for a long second and went down again, a bubbling, ragged sound of breathing coming out of his smashed nose.
    Caleb felt weak as he scooped up his .44 and walked heavily toward the front of the barn. The firing was getting faster now and he edged carefully up to the yawning maw of the front entrance, risked a quick peek that drew no fire, drew in his breath, and made an erratic, reckless rush for the opposite side of the road. Dust devils kicked up mud behind him as the Texas cowboys swung to gun him down, but he made it to the back of the apothecary’s shop with only one boot heel missing and two holesthrough the back of his tattered hunting shirt that he knew nothing about. Leaning against the soggy wood of the building, he caught his breath as his narrowed eyes studied the immediate locality with-out seeing a single fighter. Knowing the Texans on his side of the road would be moving in on him, he reluctantly pushed himself off the wall and began a weary advance down past the Longhorn Saloon to Sally Tate’s café.

V
    A lmost before his slippery pistol butt rapped on the thick back door of Sally’s café, the door opened and Caleb shoved through. Sally’s violet eyes were wide in alarm. “Caleb, you’re hurt!” She went forward, but he backed away with a tired shake of his head and a tight smile.
    “No, just scratched. Are you all right?”
    Sally’s tension relaxed as it had the night before when Caleb had left the now defunct Texan on her floor, unconscious. Sparks flashed from the deep blue eyes and her lips trembled. “Look at you! You’re mud from the top of your head to your boot toes. Don’t stand there and drip that slime all over my clean floor…get over there by the stove.” Caleb moved to obey and caught the flicker of a swift movement out of the corner of his eye. Instantly his muscles jerked into action as he whirled and his gun came out and up with incredible speed. Sally stood horrified, her mouth open and one hand at her chest.
    “No shoot.”
    Caleb let the breath come out of him in a rasping sob. “That was close, Bull Bear. Damned close.”
    The Crow leader nodded wryly. “Too close. You