Savage 09 by E. Jefferson Clay

Author:E. Jefferson Clay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gunfighters, adult western, the old west, western ebook, piccadilly publishing, western pulp fiction, 1880s westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

There was a good crowd in the Lucky Strike, where Savage drank alone to consider his finances and the problem of doing something for Rosario and Pablo. Standing out from that crowd was the largest man to visit Bright’s City in many a long day.

Savage noticed the towering Limehouse at the faro layout as he came in, but he had forgotten about him by the time the ruckus started. There was a thud and a crash, and a burly buffalo hunter was laid out on the floor among a scattering of chips, with England’s finest standing over him.

“Nobody makes fun of me voice,” Limehouse announced loudly in an accent that sounded distinctly funny. “Nobody!”

Alf Higgins got up and grabbed his man by the arm.

“For Pete’s sake, champ, don’t waste your strength on barroom bums for nothin’. Wait’ll I get you matched, matey.”

“When?” Limehouse demanded, sweeping the room with mean little eyes set deep in his pasty face. “There ain’t one feller with belly enough to fight me in this whole rotten town.”

“Be patient, champ, be patient,” Higgins counselled. “We’ve seen it happen before. Sooner or later somebody’s goin’ to rise to the bait of a thousand American dollars. They might be shy on guts, but the greed’ll get ’em. You’ll see.”

Savage sat motionless on his bar stool for a long beat, thinking: The man’s right. Greed is the key ...

He strolled across to the faro layout just as the bloody-mouthed buffalo hunter was struggling to his feet.

“That was a good punch, champ,” Savage said to Limehouse. “Reminds me of a girl I knew along the border. She threw a right just like that, only lots harder, of course. Yessir. Tiny Dot could sure hand you a good one when she got fired up.”

The saloon fell silent. It took Limehouse’s sluggish brain several seconds to digest the fact that he was being insulted. With a roar, he lunged at Savage. Just in time, agile Alf wedged himself between them.

“No more free fights, blast you!” he ordered his fighter. “You’re a professional, remember? You only fight for money.”

“So do I,” Savage said.

“When?” Higgins turned slowly, eyes widening. “You mean it, matey?”

“Anytime, anyplace ... for a thousand dollars,” Savage said.

“When?”

“Now!” Limehouse roared, trying to get at him.

“Back up, you great lump!” Higgins shouted. Then to Savage, he said, “Friday night in the council hall. Eight o’clock. Is it a match, Savage?”

“Done.”

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