Free Sudden--At Bay (A Sudden Western #2) by Frederick H. Christian Page B

murderous,
triumphant rage, teeth bared like those of a wolf, and the fetid
breath exploding from his tattered lips, slowly tightened his hold.
‘Yu got him, Art!’ screeched a voice. ‘Break him in two!’ In that
moment, Sudden’s vision cleared, and he caught a momentary glimpse
of the gloating face of the Sheriff.
    Suddenly he let his whole body go
limp. The abrupt downward drag took Cotton off guard, and he
stumbled. As they fell, Sudden heaved Cotton up and to the side so
that as they hit the ground they were separated, enabling the
puncher to roll free. He got to one knee as Cotton leapt up and
turned, pivoting on one foot and driving a wicked kick straight at
Sudden’s head. Had it landed, the fight would have been over then
and there, but Green saw it coming, and ducking under it, grasped
Art Cotton’s leg and heaved on it. Cotton went somersaulting over
backwards, landing with a dull thump on his back and shoulders,
raising a small cloud of dust. Green got up, weak still and dizzy,
to stand waiting.
    ‘ Jim!’ called Billy eagerly.
‘Finish him off!’
    Sudden shook his head and managed a lopsided
grin.
    ‘ I don’t fight that way,’ he
gasped, and the boy cursed his friend’s idea of fair play, knowing
that if the circumstances had been reversed, Cotton would have
tromped him like a sidewinder.
    Art Cotton soon recovered. The
shock of the fall, which had stunned him momentarily, was
dissipated, and with a spat curse he clambered to his
feet.
    ‘ That was a mistake, cowboy!’ he
jeered. Sinking his head, he charged in again, right fist hurtling
forward to deliver a blow which would have dropped an ox. It never
landed. Green swayed to let the murderous punch slide underneath
his arm, and clasping both hands together in a doubled fist,
chopped downwards at Cotton’s exposed neck. Cotton dropped to his
knees, his eyes glazed. Green stooped downward, grabbed the man’s
shirt in his hand and hauled Cotton to his feet. The man stood
tottering as Green chopped him with a right, then a left, then
another right; short, cutting, punishing punches which never
travelled more than six or seven inches but which had every ounce
of his strength behind them. Cotton still stood, tottering, swaying
like a tree in a high wind, blood streaming down his smashed face,
both his eyes closed, his hands groping feebly for his enemy,
trying to stop this blasting hurt. But now Green was merciless.
Again he chopped Cotton to his knees. Again he hauled him up. A
cold, empty light was in his eyes. He once more delivered the
vicious uppercuts, and Art Cotton fell again to the ground, this
time sprawling on his side, head cradled in his arms.
    ‘ Stop … please.’ His voice was
piteous. ‘Don’t anymore.’
    ‘ Get up!’ snapped Sudden. ‘Yu
ain’t through yet.’
    ‘ No —-no, no more, no more!’ The
words were almost a scream. Green lifted the man apparently without
effort by his shirt front. Cotton cringed from the expected blow,
but Sudden merely yanked him around to where the townspeople could
see him.
    ‘ Here’s yore unbeatable Cottons,’
he told them. ‘Here’s the family that’s been grindin’ yore faces in
the dirt for years.’ He thrust Art Cotton forward. ‘Take a good
look. They ain’t made o’ steel. Yu can hurt them.’ He gave Cotton a
contemptuous shove, and the half-conscious man reeled a few paces
and then stumbled over the prone form of Helm, who lay in the
street where he had fallen, a thin trickle of blood drying on his
face. Cotton slid to the ground beside the gunfighter and lay
there, his body heaving, racked with dry, frustrated
sobs.
    Sudden turned to Parris, who quailed as the puncher
bent his frowning attention upon him.
    ‘ I … I ain’t …it … I didn’t…’ he
faltered.
    ‘ Get those two on their horses,’
snapped Green. ‘An’ get them out o’ here. Put the one that’s
sleepin’ over there by the jail with them
an’ take them back where they belong —-they’re