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Authors: J.A. Johnstone
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head.
The miner’s problem was that all those muscles might give him incredible strength, but they also slowed him down. The crowd around the two men suddenly began to clear as the saloon’s customers scrambled to get out of the way. The Kid weaved to the side and let the big fist sail harmlessly past his ear.
He stepped in and hooked a right into the miner’s belly. That was usually where the soft spot was on big galoots like him.
In this case, though, it was like punching a brick wall. The Kid almost yelped from the pain that shot through his knuckles as he drove them into iron-hard stomach muscles.
The miner just grinned at him, grabbed him by both shoulders, and flung him hard against the bar.
The edge of the hardwood caught The Kid in the back, forcing him to bend over backwards. The impact against the bar knocked the breath out of him, and he was stunned and gasping for a second. That gave the miner time to lace his fingers together and lunge at The Kid, bringing both hands up and swinging them like a club at the young gunfighter’s head.
The Kid recovered just in time to roll away from what would have been a devastating blow. The miner’s fists crashed down on the hardwood. The Kid pushed away from the bar and threw a punch of his own. It caught the miner on the ear and stung. The man howled furiously.
It never occurred to The Kid to draw his Colt. The miner was unarmed. He was also just as tall as The Kid, and was heavier and had a longer reach, giving him the advantage. The man waded in, swinging wild punches.
The Kid was able to block some of the blows, but some of them got through and rocked him. Luckily, the punches that landed were all to his body. If any of the miner’s head shots had connected, in all likelihood the fight would have been over. As it was, The Kid was pinned back against the bar. He was vaguely aware that everyone in the saloon was shouting. They were probably yelling encouragement to his opponent, since the other miners would know him and The Kid was a stranger.
As he tried to slide along the bar and shift position, his left leg suddenly threatened to buckle. He had worked hard and then ridden a long way, and it had been less than a week since he’d been shot.
The Kid had seen the heavy, lace-up work boots the miner wore. He knew that if he went down, it was entirely possible the man would stomp him to death.
The little lurch he’d made when his leg twinged had caused one of the miner’s punches to miss. The man was close, his breath hot in The Kid’s face. The Kid lifted his right fist in a vicious uppercut that landed cleanly under the miner’s chin. It might not have done too much damage if the tip of the man’s tongue hadn’t been protruding between his front teeth at that instant.
But as it was, those teeth came together sharply, and blood spurted as they bit completely through the tongue, severing about a quarter of an inch from the tip. The miner staggered back, roaring in pain as blood bubbled over his lips from the mutilated tongue.
The Kid went after him, not giving the miner a chance to recover. He swung a left and a right and another left to the man’s jaw, rocking his head back and forth with each punch. A stiff right jab landed on the miner’s mouth. The Kid kicked him in the knee, and as the miner started to bend over, The Kid bulled into him, driving him backward. The miner lost his balance and fell, landing on his back on a table that collapsed under him, its legs splintering. He crashed to the floor in a welter of debris and lay there stunned with his bloody tongue sticking out of his mouth.
Chest heaving, The Kid looked around. All he saw were unfriendly faces. He had been right in his guess about the shouts. The sentiment in the saloon was definitely against him. Angry, dirty-faced men began to sidle toward him. His hand moved toward his gun. There was no way he could fight more than a dozen miners, especially as beat up as he already
The miner’s problem was that all those muscles might give him incredible strength, but they also slowed him down. The crowd around the two men suddenly began to clear as the saloon’s customers scrambled to get out of the way. The Kid weaved to the side and let the big fist sail harmlessly past his ear.
He stepped in and hooked a right into the miner’s belly. That was usually where the soft spot was on big galoots like him.
In this case, though, it was like punching a brick wall. The Kid almost yelped from the pain that shot through his knuckles as he drove them into iron-hard stomach muscles.
The miner just grinned at him, grabbed him by both shoulders, and flung him hard against the bar.
The edge of the hardwood caught The Kid in the back, forcing him to bend over backwards. The impact against the bar knocked the breath out of him, and he was stunned and gasping for a second. That gave the miner time to lace his fingers together and lunge at The Kid, bringing both hands up and swinging them like a club at the young gunfighter’s head.
The Kid recovered just in time to roll away from what would have been a devastating blow. The miner’s fists crashed down on the hardwood. The Kid pushed away from the bar and threw a punch of his own. It caught the miner on the ear and stung. The man howled furiously.
It never occurred to The Kid to draw his Colt. The miner was unarmed. He was also just as tall as The Kid, and was heavier and had a longer reach, giving him the advantage. The man waded in, swinging wild punches.
The Kid was able to block some of the blows, but some of them got through and rocked him. Luckily, the punches that landed were all to his body. If any of the miner’s head shots had connected, in all likelihood the fight would have been over. As it was, The Kid was pinned back against the bar. He was vaguely aware that everyone in the saloon was shouting. They were probably yelling encouragement to his opponent, since the other miners would know him and The Kid was a stranger.
As he tried to slide along the bar and shift position, his left leg suddenly threatened to buckle. He had worked hard and then ridden a long way, and it had been less than a week since he’d been shot.
The Kid had seen the heavy, lace-up work boots the miner wore. He knew that if he went down, it was entirely possible the man would stomp him to death.
The little lurch he’d made when his leg twinged had caused one of the miner’s punches to miss. The man was close, his breath hot in The Kid’s face. The Kid lifted his right fist in a vicious uppercut that landed cleanly under the miner’s chin. It might not have done too much damage if the tip of the man’s tongue hadn’t been protruding between his front teeth at that instant.
But as it was, those teeth came together sharply, and blood spurted as they bit completely through the tongue, severing about a quarter of an inch from the tip. The miner staggered back, roaring in pain as blood bubbled over his lips from the mutilated tongue.
The Kid went after him, not giving the miner a chance to recover. He swung a left and a right and another left to the man’s jaw, rocking his head back and forth with each punch. A stiff right jab landed on the miner’s mouth. The Kid kicked him in the knee, and as the miner started to bend over, The Kid bulled into him, driving him backward. The miner lost his balance and fell, landing on his back on a table that collapsed under him, its legs splintering. He crashed to the floor in a welter of debris and lay there stunned with his bloody tongue sticking out of his mouth.
Chest heaving, The Kid looked around. All he saw were unfriendly faces. He had been right in his guess about the shouts. The sentiment in the saloon was definitely against him. Angry, dirty-faced men began to sidle toward him. His hand moved toward his gun. There was no way he could fight more than a dozen miners, especially as beat up as he already
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