Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (22 page)

Eleanor had never in her wildest imaginings thought there was such a place as this. The town was crowded to overflowing with men. She did not see a single woman as she continued on down the street. As she stared stonily ahead, a fearful tension gripped her. She had to get through the crowd to get to the quay where the boats were docked.

By sheer chance she missed being hit by the contents of a slop pail hurled out into the street from a second-story window. She sidestepped quickly and bumped into a man she was passing. She moved on, but not before she felt his hand nudge at her bottom.

A white-aproned man and a helper carried a drunk through the door of the tavern and tossed him into the street. A man riding a mule jumped the animal over him and continued on his way. No one paid the slightest attention to the unfortunate man in the street. All eyes were on the beautiful woman walking down the boardwalk.

“Howdy do, ma’am?” A man lifted his fur cap.

“Ya wantin’ some company?” another asked.

“Lordy, if she don’t smell purty.”

“I ain’t had me no clean woman in a long time.”

“Hell, ya ain’t
never
had ya no clean woman.”

“I’d sure like ta have me a piece of that ’n.”

Eleanor was not sure how it happened, but suddenly she was seized from behind, and before she could open her mouth she was inside a gloomy building with tables and a long plank bar. The two men holding her, each with an arm beneath her armpits, held her feet off the floor. Her wits returned and she screamed. There was a roar of laughter.

“Put me down—you filthy varmints! Let go of me!”

She tried to kick. There was more laughter and shouting as men vied for a position close to her. She was surrounded by leering, unwashed, whiskered faces.

“What ya agoin’ to do, Bull? What ya agoin’ to do?” A lad with smooth, clean cheeks wiggled through the crowd.

“Don’t ya know even
that
? God, Muley, I thought ya knew
that!
” someone said, and there was more laughter.

“Can I watch, Bull?”

The big man lifted Eleanor to stand on a table in the middle of the room. The man who put her there backed off and looked at her. The skin on his face sagged and the end of his nose had been lopped off. He wore a rag tied around his head, which was large and set on broad shoulders with scarcely any neck in between. He looked at her with small, bloodshot eyes that made her choke with fear.

“Look all ya vant, Muley,” Bull spoke in a heavy German accent.

Act the lady, Eleanor told herself. If she acted the lady they would let her go. From the top of the table she looked down on the sea of faces, lifted her chin and spoke to the man called Bull.

“I want to leave now. I have friends waiting for me.”

“She wants to go. She don’t like us, Bull. Let me feel ’er before ya let ’er go.”

“I ain’t alettin’ her go.” Bull turned and glared at the man who spoke. “I found me a play-purty.”

“Let me go! Get away from me!” Eleanor’s fear made her voice shrill. She tried to get off the table, but Bull caught hold of her ankles and she almost fell on him.

“Line up, gents. Ya can feel her up to here.” He raised Eleanor’s dress to her knees.

Eleanor swung the bag of coins and jewelry she had looped over her arm. It hit Bull alongside the face and he grabbed it. The bag broke open. The contents spilled out on to the floor. Panic consumed her and screams of terror tore from her throat. They were scarcely heard over the roar of laughter that erupted when Bull lifted her skirts above her knees and told the first man to step up.

Men jammed the door trying to get into the crowded room. They came from up and down the street until fifty men stood outside the tavern door, craning their necks to see what was going on inside.

“Gavin! Gavin!” Eleanor screamed as the first man came to run his callused palms up and down her legs. “Gavin!”

Coming into town, Gavin and Amy first saw the crowd gathered in front of the building; then they heard the screams. Gavin began to run. Amy, having taken the time to poke her hair up under her hat, looked like a tall, slim boy running beside him. On the walk in front of the tavern, Gavin cleared a path with his fists and roars of rage. Amy followed close behind him, one hand on her knife, the other holding her rifle close to her side.

By the time they were inside the room, Eleanor was sobbing wildly and kicking at each man who came to feel her legs.

“Oh, Gavin!” she cried as they burst through the circle that surrounded the table. Her bonnet hung by the ties, her hair was loose, and a man standing on a chair was running his hands through it. Tears streamed down Eleanor’s face.

With one sweep of his arm Gavin knocked the man from the chair. He fell to the floor with a crash, bounced up with his hand on his knife, and felt the prick of one in his back. When he hesitated, the tip of the knife pressed harder against him; he dropped his hand and moved away. All eyes were on Gavin and the man called Bull. They scarcely noticed the slim figure in buckskins who had nicked the man in the back with the knife.

“Back off or get a knife in yore gullet,” Bull snarled.

“Ye can only get yet pleasure by bullin’ a lassie, uh.” Gavin made the statement in such an insulting way that Bull couldn’t help but catch the meaning. They eyed each other, each recognizing the other for what he was. They both had been through a hundred barroom brawls and knew what to expect.

“Who are ya to be buttin’ in?”

“Her mon, that’s who.”

“Yo’re a liar. She’s a street strumpet.”

Gavin hit him. The blow would have knocked an ordinary man through the wall. Bull staggered into the crowd and was pushed back. A shot rang out and the bartender yelled.

“In the street! The whole herd of ya. I’ll shoot the next man to land a blow.”

“Get the lass out,” Gavin said to Amy and waited until she helped Eleanor off the table. Pushing the two of them ahead of him, he went out into the street.

Amy took a firm grip on Eleanor’s arm and pulled her out of the crowd that formed a circle around Gavin and Bull. Eleanor was still crying and wanted to leave. Amy shoved her, none too gently, up against a building.

“We’re not leaving Gavin here alone to face what you got him into. You may have just got him killed,” she snarled. “If he is, I’m going to beat you senseless. You stay here or, by God, the next man that wants you can have you.”

“Oh!” Eleanor wailed and covered her face with her hands.

Amy stood on a box so she could see over the heads of the men. Gavin and Bull were squaring off.

“How ya want it?” Bull asked. “Fists, knives or whips?”

“Jest me fists, bully-boy, unless ye feel ye’ll be needin’ some help.”

“Tear ’em up, Bull!” someone yelled.

“Whop his ass. He can’t take keer a his own woman! Haw, haw, haw!”

The men on the sidelines were placing bets on Bull. He was a giant known up and down the river for his strength and fighting fury. The other man was big, but unknown.

Bull lunged, amazingly swift for such a big man, but Gavin was waiting for him and hit him with a jarring left punch to the teeth that flattened Bull’s lips back. It didn’t even slow the giant. Gavin dug in his feet and braced himself. They met head on and locked arms. They wrestled back and forth for a long while in a contest of sheer strength before they broke free.

Bull lunged again, his teeth showing in a grinning snarl. His right fist caught Gavin on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground. Gavin rolled over swiftly, came up and smashed a wicked left punch to Bull’s belly that brought a loud grunt, then with his right hand he grabbed his crotch to throw him, but Bull’s hand was in his hair, the fingers of his other hand searching for Gavin’s eyes. He let go and hooked his leg around Bull’s. They fell to the ground and rolled. Gavin came out on top and smashed blow after blow into Bull’s face. The rag around his head came off and Gavin saw the reason for the sagging skin on his face. The man had once been partially scalped.

A knee came up into Gavin’s ribs and a stabbing pain coursed through his vitals. He fell back, gasping for air. Bull sprang to his feet, swaying like a drunken bear. He lifted a heavy booted foot to crush the life from Gavin, but Gavin rolled over and staggered to his feet.

His mind was grappling with an idea of how to deal with the man. Brute strength wasn’t the answer. His weak spot was his head. It also occurred to Gavin that even if he did beat the big man there were a dozen more men who would jump him before he could get the woman out of town. There were no rules of fair play in a place such as this.

Bull came in low and Gavin brought both fists down hard with a slanting blow to the top of his forehead. The thin skin over his skull split and blood streaked down Bull’s face. Pain slowed him momentarily and gave Gavin time for another blow before powerful arms extended to catch him in a spine-crushing bear hug. The breath was being squeezed from his body. Gavin desperately butted the top of his head against Bull’s skull until the man finally let go and fell back. His face was a bloody mask.

“I’ll kill ya,” Bull roared.

“Ye talk big,” Gavin panted.

“I’ll have the woman on yore grave!”

“Ye’ll be in hell long afore me, ye hairless bastard.”

Bull held his hand out to the side and the boy Muley slapped the handle of a knife into it. Bull made an unexpected swift move. Gavin would have been disemboweled if he had not leaped back, sucking his belly out of the path of Bull’s knife. He was as good with a knife as the next man, but he had none. Now he was fighting for his life.

Amy jumped from the box, looked around for a place to hide Eleanor, grabbed her and pushed her between two buildings and behind a barrel.

“Don’t you dare move from here! If you do I’ll shave every hair off your head with my knife. Hear me?”

Eleanor nodded tearfully.

Amy ran back and wormed her way through the crowd to the inner circle, desperately afraid of what she would find. Gavin had managed to stay out of reach of the knife and had not sustained a serious cut. Not wanting to distract him, she held her breath while he dodged the blade. It caught his sleeve, the skin of his upper arm, and sliced a path across his chest before he was in the position she wanted. When Bull had danced his way around so that his back was to her and she faced Gavin, she drew her knife and held it up for him to see, then tossed it to him.

Gavin caught the knife with renewed hope. He had known the fight would be a bad one, and had leaped into it willingly, even eagerly, with his blood singing for vengeance. He had not expected a fight to the death, but if that was the way the bastard wanted it, so be it.

Amy watched. Gavin was more important to her than Eleanor. Unstanched blood flowed from the deep cut on his cheekbone and from the knife cuts on his arms and chest. Bull was in a rage to kill him. The fight had already lasted longer than any fight he had ever had and his reputation was at stake.

Yells of encouragement came from the crowd.

“Cut his guts out, Bull!”

“Whup him!”

Gavin lashed out and cut a ridge across the top of Bull’s hand. Blood from his bleeding head was running down his forehead and into his eyes. He roared and swore, his anger and pain making him careless. Gavin rushed in and ducked beneath the swinging blade, his fist striking a powerful blow to Bull’s crotch. The big man doubled over, dropped his knife and grabbed his genitals. The shouting ceased as if a curtain had fallen. Gavin kicked the knife out of Bull’s reach and waited to see if the big man would get up.

There was a shrill scream of rage, and the boy Muley broke from the crowd with a knife raised to plunge into Gavin’s back. Amy leaped and swung her rifle with all the force she possessed.
Don’t do nothin’ half-assed,
Juicy had once said,
hurt ’em afore they hurt you.
That was what she meant to do. The barrel caught the boy across the face and he staggered back, blood spurting from his nose. She whirled, her back against Gavin’s, and stood in a crouch, feet spread for balance. The end of the rifle swung in an arc as the crowd closed in.

“Ayeee, lassie,” Gavin breathed. “Ye done it now.”

“Rush ’em,” a man shouted. “He ain’t got but one shot.”

“You rush ’em. Damn fool kid’s crazy enough to shoot.”

“He’s a gutsy one,” someone said. “The man beat Bull fair and square. Let ’em go.”

“Hell no, we ain’t lettin’ ’em go. I want me a turn at that big feller.”

“You’ll have to shoot the kid—”

“What’ll we do, Gavin?” Amy asked in a low voice.

“I don’t know. I’m agettin me breath.”

Rain, coming up from the quay, saw the commotion. He considered crossing the street to avoid the crowd, but as he stepped up on the boardwalk and looked over the heads of the men, he saw Amy and Gavin, back to back, in the center of the crowd. When he realized the danger to Amy, he at first was angry and vowed to beat her butt! Then a strange calm came over him as it usually did when he found himself in a tight spot.

The crowd was ugly. There was nothing to do but wade in. He shouldered his way through the crowd and walked into the circle.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“What’s it to ya?” someone countered belligerently.

“Twas a fight.”

“Ho,
mon ami,
twas the devil of a fight.” The Frenchman who spoke had a black beard and a mop of black curly hair. Perched on his head at a jaunty angle was a knit cap.

“Was it a fair fight?” Rain asked.

“No,” a coarse voice shouted.

“Twas fair,” the Frenchman growled. “I say, twas fair, by God! The lad busted the nose of a backstabber. Ho, it was a rare sight.” He slapped his leg and cocked his head at Amy “He be a man soon, eh?”

“Then that’s the end of it,” Rain said.

“Not on your say-so.” A man tried to swagger forward but was jerked back by a friend.

“Shut yore mouth, ya bloody fool! That’s Rain Tallman yore mouthin’ off to.”

“Let’s go,” Rain said to Amy and Gavin. He nodded to the Frenchman and said, “Much obliged.”

“Move,
mon ami.
I will watch your back.”