Ride the Savage Land Read online

  The bartender laughed and waved a hand. “Hell, kid, I’ll waive that for the occasion. In fact, I’m so sure your . . . brother, is it? . . . can’t do it that if he does, I’ll add a nice new double eagle to your payoff. How’s that sound?”

  Chance said, “We’re obliged to you, Mr. Dugan. But get ready to pay up as soon as this fella”—he nodded toward Baylor—“proves that he can cover the bet.”

  Lew Shelby bristled at that. He tensed and started, “Why, you impudent little bas—”

  “That’s all right, Lew.” Baylor stopped him with an easy but insincere smile. “It’s fair enough for the lad to ask for proof, since I did.” He took a sheaf of bills from a pocket inside the frock coat, counted out two hundred dollars, and placed the money next to the Jensen brothers’ roll. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.” Chance turned to the bar and studied the snake in the glass jar. He asked Dugan, “His name’s Chauncey, you said?”

  “That’s what I call him,” the bartender replied. “Caught him in the alley out back earlier today. I started to kill him, then realized that maybe I could use him to make some money.”

  “All right, Chauncey.” Chance leaned closer, putting his face almost on the glass as he peered at the rattler. “Get good and mad now, you scaly little varmint.”

  The snake stared back, as inscrutable as ever. The buzzing from its rattles sounded angry.

  Three times, Chance thumped his fingertip against the glass. With the last thump, he left his finger there, pressed hard against the jar. The snake didn’t waste any time. It uncoiled and struck furiously, jaws gaping wide to display wicked fangs dripping with venom.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Just like the other two times, several men in the Lucky Panther let out involuntary shouts when the snake’s head darted at the glass. One gaudily dressed saloon girl pressed her hands to rouged cheeks and trilled a little scream.

  A few seconds of stunned silence ticked past before the place erupted in cheers.

  Chance Jensen was still standing in front of the bar with his finger pressed against the glass. He hadn’t budged.

  He remained where he was in the middle of the excited commotion, other than turning his head and smiling at Henry Baylor. “I believe you owe me two hundred dollars, my friend.

  Baylor smiled in return, but his lips were tight and his eyes hooded. “It appears that I do.”

  A few feet away, the bearded old-timer Ace had been talking to tugged on his sleeve. Ace had to lean down to make out what the old man was saying.

  “Better collect your winnin’s and get outta here in a hurry, kid! And keep your eyes open! Baylor won’t like losin’ that money, and Lew Shelby sure as hell will be mad about your brother showin’ him up.”

  Based on the expressions on the faces of Baylor and Shelby, Ace agreed with the old man. He reached out, scooped up their roll from the bar, and shoved the stack of greenbacks from Baylor into his pocket, as well. Dugan grinned ruefully and handed him the double eagle he had promised as an extra payoff.

  “Come on, Chance,” Ace said. “Time for us to drift.”

  Chance still hadn’t taken his finger away from the glass. He did it leisurely, mockingly, then lifted the finger to his lips and blew across the top of it as if he were blowing away a curl of smoke from a gun muzzle.

  “Wait just a damn minute,” Shelby rasped.

  “Why? You’re not going to claim that I cheated, are you? That would have been hard to do with this many people watching me the whole time.”

  “But were they watching you the whole time?” Shelby turned to the bar. “Dugan! Did you have your eye on this kid? You didn’t look away any?”

  “I don’t think so,” the bartender said.

  “You didn’t even blink when the snake struck?”

  “Well . . . I was trying to watch pretty close . . .”

  Shelby glared as he jerked his gaze around the room. “I’ll bet everybody in here blinked just then! Nobody was watching the kid the whole time. He could’ve taken his finger off the glass for a split second, and nobody would have noticed.” When nobody spoke up to agree with him, he scowled even more and demanded, “Isn’t that right?”

  Shelby had a reputation in Fort Worth as a gunman. Nobody wanted to disagree with him. Some men shuffled their feet and looked down at the floor in obvious discomfort. Others edged toward the door, figuring it was better to leave than to wait and see how things played out.

  Then one grizzled hombre spoke up. He looked like a successful cattleman, the sort who didn’t take any guff from anybody. “I was watching the whole time, and I didn’t blink. The kid’s finger didn’t move.”

  Emboldened by that blunt declaration, several other men muttered agreement.

  “You know I didn’t move my finger,” Chance said to Shelby. “You’re just mad because I was able to do it and you couldn’t.”

  A feral hatred came into Shelby’s eyes as he said, “I can do it! By God, double or nothing! I’ll show you.”

  “Lew, I’m not sure that’s wise,” Baylor cautioned. “We’ve already lost enough tonight.”

  “I’m not gonna let this damn kid think he can get the best of me!” Shelby’s jaw jutted out as he said to Chance, “How about it? You willing to bet the four hundred that I can’t do it?”

  “Chance . . .” Ace said.

  “Relax, Ace,” Chance said with a smile. “If we lose, we’re no worse off than we were before.”

  “Yeah, we are. Two hundred bucks worse!”

  “Life would be mighty dull without a little risk now and then to spice it up.” Chance nodded to Shelby. “We’ll take that bet, mister. Go ahead.” He glanced at Baylor. “I won’t even ask if you can cover it.”

  The gambler was grim-faced. His friend had put him in a bad position, but he jerked his head in a nod and made a little gesture with his slender, long-fingered hand. “Go ahead,”

  As Shelby faced the jar, Dugan said, “I don’t know about this. Chauncey’s been banging his head against the glass every time he strikes. He’s liable to be gettin’ a little addled by now. I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

  “You gettin’ soft on a rattlesnake, Dugan?” one of the customers asked with a jeering grin.

  “No, but if he bashes his brains out, he can’t win me any more bets, can he?”

  “Does a snake even have a brain?” another man asked.

  “Got to,” his companion said. “Ever’thing that’s alive has got a brain. Don’t it?”

  “Don’t know. I never studied up on snakes. Just shot ’em or chopped their heads off with a Bowie knife.”

  Shelby snapped, “Shut your damn yammering! A man can’t hear himself think.” Once again he went through the routine he had performed earlier.

  Silence descended on the saloon, broken only by the sound of men breathing. Even that seemed to die away as Shelby hunched his shoulders a little. He was ready. His hand stabbed forward. His finger shoved hard against the jar. He didn’t even have to tap on the glass this time. The snake was so keyed up it struck immediately.

  Shelby’s finger jerked back as the fangs hit the inside of the jar. He didn’t flinch much, maybe half an inch, but his fingertip definitely left the glass and everybody who was watching saw that. Shelby tried to press his finger against the jar again, but it was too late.

  “That’ll be another four hundred dollars,” Chance said into the awed hush that followed.

  Shelby took a quick step back, away from the bar. A stream of obscenity poured from his mouth as his hand dropped to the fancy gun on his hip. Ace grabbed the back of his brother’s coat collar and yanked Chance out of the way as he used his other hand to grab his Colt.

  The gunman wasn’t aiming to shoot either of the Jensen brothers, however. He was still facing the bar when his gun leaped up and spouted noise and flame.

  The first bullet shattered the jar and sent glass shards flying through the air. The second swiftly triggered round whipped past Chauncey�
��s weaving head and blew a bottle of busthead on the back bar to smithereens. The snake shot out of the wreckage, slithered across the bar, and dropped writhing to the sawdust-littered floor, the thick body landing with what must have been a thump.

  Nobody could hear it, though, because the saloon still echoed from the reports of Shelby’s gun. At least half the people in the Lucky Panther started yelling and screaming when they realized the big rattler was loose.

  “Chauncey!” Dugan bellowed to Shelby, “You bastard. You tried to kill my snake!”

  Shelby snarled and shouted, “Get outta the way! I’m gonna blast the damn thing!”

  Dugan reached under the bar, came up with a bungstarter, and raised it as he leaned across the hardwood. Another second and he would have brought the bungstarter down across the wrist of Shelby’s gun hand, probably breaking the bone.

  Before the blow could fall another pistol cracked, this one a small weapon that Henry Baylor had grabbed from concealment under his frock coat. The slug tore through Dugan’s forearm and made him drop the bungstarter and howl in pain.

  The Lucky Panther had two entrances—the bat-winged main one facing Throckmorton Street and a regular door on the side that faced Second Street. The customers stampeded for both. The furious gunman and the equally agitated rattlesnake had everybody scrambling to get out of there before they caught a bullet or got bit.

  Everybody except Ace and Chance Jensen. They knew Shelby was liable to hurt an innocent person if he kept flinging lead around.

  Ace scooped up the beer mug he had emptied a few minutes earlier and heaved it at Shelby’s head. The heavy glass mug struck the gunman a good enough lick to stagger him. At the same time, Baylor swung his gun toward Ace. Acting instinctively to defend his brother, Chance tackled the gambler before he could fire.

  The collision drove Baylor’s back against the bar. He grunted and swiped at Chance’s head with the pistol. The blow knocked off Chance’s flat-crowned brown hat but missed otherwise.

  Charging into the fray were two of the three men Shelby and Baylor had been sitting at a table with earlier. The third man, an Indian by the looks of him, drew a knife from his belt and stalked across the room, ignoring the rapidly developing brawl. Probably all three were the bad bunch the old-timer had warned Ace about.

  Getting walloped by the beer mug had stunned Lew Shelby enough to leave him stumbling around in aimless circles. One of his friends took up the battle for him and went after Ace. The other man looped an arm around Chance’s neck from behind and dragged him away from Baylor.

  Ace ducked a roundhouse right that his attacker threw at him. He brushed his hat back off his head so it hung from its chin strap behind him. He crouched even lower and waded in, hooking punches to the man’s soft-looking belly. That paunch was deceptive. Hitting it was like hammering his fists against the wall of a log cabin, Ace discovered.

  The man hit Ace a backhanded blow with his forearm. The impact knocked Ace halfway across the bar. He caught himself and managed not to slide all the way over. As his opponent charged in, he raised both legs and straightened them in a double kick to the chest.

  That sent the man flying. He landed on a table that collapsed under him and dumped him among its shattered debris. He sat up and shook his head groggily.

  Halfway along the bar, Baylor was slugging Chance in the belly while the other man hung on to him from behind. Chance was red in the face from the choking grip around his neck.

  Ace swerved wide, picked up a chair, and crashed it down on the back of the man who had hold of Chance. That knocked him loose.

  Chance twisted free, grabbed Baylor’s arm as the gambler tried to hit him in the stomach again, and pivoted, throwing Baylor over his hip in a wrestling move he had learned during a rough-and-tumble childhood spent traveling with Doc Monday. Chance might look like a bit of a dandy, but he could handle himself just fine in a fight.

  Baylor rolled across the floor, dirtying his nice frock coat. In the scuffle, he had lost the little pistol with which he had shot Dugan, but that wasn’t the only weapon he carried. As Chance closed in on him, ready to continue the fight, Baylor came up slashing with a folding straight razor that he flicked open with a practiced twist of his wrist.

  Chance had to jump back to avoid being cut. Baylor came after him, backing him against the bar.

  Ace was being hemmed in by Shelby and the man he had kicked in the chest, both of whom had recovered their wits and appeared to be ready to beat him to death.

  The Jensen brothers found themselves standing side by side, backs against the bar, with no place to run as trouble closed in on them. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time they had found themselves in such a perilous position. Judging by the anger and hatred twisting the cruel faces of the men stalking toward them, they might not get out of it.

  With no warning, the deafening roar of another shot slammed through the room and made everybody freeze.

  CHAPTER THREE

  All eyes turned toward the saloon’s main entrance. A dapper man in a dark suit and vest, silk tie, and narrow-brimmed hat stood there with a smoking gun in his hand. He was rather handsome, with a full mustache and tawny hair long enough to sweep back in waves behind his ears.

  What really drew the eyes, though—besides the gun—was the badge pinned to his vest.

  “All right,” he said quietly, “what’s the trouble?”

  “Baylor shot me!” Dugan said. Using his left hand to hold up his ventilated right arm, he displayed the blood staining his sleeve.

  “I had to,” Baylor said. “He was about to kill Lew. I’ve got a right to protect my friend, don’t I?”

  Dugan stared. “What? Kill him? I was gonna knock the gun out of his hand, that’s all.”

  Baylor said, “It looked to me like you were about to stave his head in with that bungstarter. I couldn’t take the chance.”

  Shelby spat disgustedly on the floor. “Hell, he just wounded you. I would’ve shot to kill.”

  The lawman came farther into the room. He didn’t holster his gun but used it to gesture. “That explains one of the shots. How about all the others? And what’s all that broken glass doing on the bar?”

  “He tried to kill Chauncey, too, Marshal Courtright,” Dugan said. “You need to arrest him!”

  “Who the devil is Chauncey?”

  Dugan suddenly looked a little sheepish. “My, uh, snake. He’s a rattlesnake.”

  Courtright raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were keeping a pet rattlesnake in here, Dugan, or I might have locked you up for being a public menace and a damned fool.”

  “The snake wasn’t a pet,” Chance said. “He was using it to win bets and make money. He bet that a man couldn’t hold his finger against the glass and keep it there while the snake struck at it.” A grin spread across Chance’s face. “I did, though.”

  “And Shelby here couldn’t,” Ace put in. “That’s why he got so upset he shot the jar and busted it.”

  Coolly, the marshal asked, “And who might you boys be?”

  “I’m Ace Jensen. This is my brother Chance.”

  That perked up the lawman’s interest. “Jensen, eh?”

  “Yeah, but we’re not related to Smoke or Luke,” Ace said, mentioning the two Jensens whose names were most likely to be known to a star packer.

  Smoke Jensen was widely regarded as the West’s fastest, deadliest gunfighter, despite the fact that these days he lived a mostly peaceful life as a rancher in Colorado. Anybody who had ever read a newspaper or a dime novel had heard about him.

  Luke Jensen was Smoke’s older brother, a bounty hunter whose name might well be familiar to a lawman. Ace and Chance had met both men and shared adventures with them in the past.

  “Not related that we know of,” Chance added. “Personally, I lean toward the idea that we’re actually the long-lost black sheep of the family.”

  Ace just rolled his eyes at that.

  “Well, even if you’re not blood kin to that hell-ra
ising bunch, you seem to take after them,” the marshal observed. “You two were at the center of this ruckus. Maybe I should arrest you as well while I’m locking up Shelby and Baylor and their friends.” Courtright cast a baleful eye on the four men. “I’ve had run-ins with you before, and I’m tired of it.”

  “Marshal, these boys didn’t do anything wrong,” Dugan said. “That one there won his bet fair and square.” He pointed at Chance.

  “We all claim that he didn’t,” Baylor put in hastily. “The five of us will swear that the boy pulled away when the snake struck, so it’s our word against Dugan’s.” A satisfied smirk appeared on the gambler’s face. “I’d say that makes the count five to one in our favor.”

  “Five to three,” Ace said. “Chance and I both know he didn’t flinch.”

  Baylor shook his head. “Still not a winning hand.”

  Courtright appeared to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “Much as I hate to agree with you, Baylor, it seems that you’re right.” He looked at Ace and Chance. “Whatever money you won from this tinhorn, give it back. I’m declaring all bets null and void.”

  “You can’t do that!” Chance protested. “I won!”

  “We try to discourage gambling around here,” Courtright said with a look of bland righteousness on his face. That statement was a blatant falsehood since Hell’s Half Acre was full of gambling dens. “You’re fortunate I don’t lock you up for that.”

  Ace sighed and pulled out the bills he had picked up from the bar. He started to hand them to Baylor, but Courtright intercepted them.

  He peeled off a bill and dropped it on the bar. “For the damages and for the pain of Dugan’s wounded arm.”

  Shelby pointed at Ace and Chance. “These two little bastards ought to pay for part of the damages. They were fighting just like we were.”

  “Legally speaking, you may be right. But I don’t like you, Shelby, and I’m still reserving judgment on these youngsters.” Courtright handed the rest of the money to Baylor. “You can keep that with you while you spend the night in my lockup. Let’s go.” He glanced around. “Where’s the Kiowa?”