The Desperate Deputy of Cougar Hill Read Online Free PDF

took a punishing fist on the shoulder and then stepped back out of range.
    The blow to the nose had hurt, Cameron saw. Arker’s eyes were watering. Again Cameron moved in. He feinted for Arker’s eyes with his left, and when Arker’s guard came up he drove under it to smash viciously at the nose again. He twisted as he struck, tearing skin and crunching cartilage. Arker’s mouth came open and he flailed out wildly. Cameron back-pedaled, drawing Arker after him. The big man kept up his wild swinging, obviously hoping to send Cameron down again.
    Cameron had fought men bigger than himself before. He knew from experience that once inside Arker’s crushing arms, he would be helpless. He also knew that the big man was liable to depend too much on his strength, to forget in the driving tempo of a fight whatever rudiments of boxing he might know. And as Cameron hoped, it was this way with Rafe Arker.
    Cameron sidestepped Arker’s rushes. Each time Arker charged by, he reached out and flicked a fist at the man’s unprotected face. Ripping knuckles caught Arker full on the mouth, splitting his lips. Twisting fists slashed at the exposed eyes, tore unmercifully at the already battered nose.
    Arker caught him a second time on the temple. But his blows lacked force now, and Cameron was able to come back in quickly, under Arker’s guard, to rip again and again at the bleeding, torn features. And now Cameron stepped in tight and began to whip his blows into Arker’s body. His fists sank into muscle made flabby by a prison diet. Arker’s mouth came open in pain as Cameron scored twice under the heart.
    And now Arker gave ground. Slowly, steadily, his big body kept backing away, yielding each inch reluctantly. Cameron shifted his aim, moving from Arker’s torso to his face and back again. His knuckles began slipping on Arker’s blood, and now it was only a matter of time.
    Rafe Arker growled from deep in his throat. He continued to lash out with his huge fists. Half blinded, he swung his great trunk like a wild animal. For all the pain that rode him, for all that his eyes were swollen half shut, his nose and mouth a mass of flowing blood, he still moved with surprising grace and speed. And suddenly his massive fist caught Cameron on the forehead. He tried to lean away from the next blow. It took him under the ear and spun him, dazed, to the floor.
    He was up quickly to one knee, blinking his eyes to clear them. He saw Arker lean forward to focus his gaze and then come charging down, his legs driving. The way he ran told Cameron he intended using his boots. Cameron drove himself upward with a powerful thrust of his legs. He caught Arker at the beltline with his shoulder. The force of his charge sent Arker backward, arms flailing. His back hit the bar, sending glasses dancing. Cameron straightened up and stepped back far enough to give himself room to swing. He lifted his arm and let it drop down again.
    Rafe Arker was sagging at the knees. His expression was empty. Cameron stepped back again. There was nothing here for him to fight. He simply stood and waited while Arker slid slowly down to his knees and then fell forward to bury his face against the rough boards of the floor.
    Cameron walked to his small pile of gear and put it on. Sax Larabee spoke up and he turned, meeting the man’s gaze full face. “That was a fine fight. Ill stand you a drink.” There was no hint of recognition is his eyes; none in his voice.
    “No,” Cameron said. He turned away and strode to the table where Jupe and Hale Dondee sat.
    They were twins, look-alikes except that Jupe wore a shaggy black beard and Hale just seemed to have forgotten to shave. They were short, solid men; and for all that they professed to be experienced miners, they dressed and walked like men more accustomed to a saddle than a pick and shovel.
    “Next time I want help in a fight, I’ll ask for it,” Cameron said softly.
    Jupe Dondee’s truculent glare shifted away.