“I know you did,” was the sheriff’s rejoinder. “I know you could have killed him. I gave you credit for it.”
“You give me credit for quite a few things, sheriff,” said Rathburn whimsically. “An’ now you’ll have to give me credit for bein’ plumb cautious. It ain’t my intention to have my thinking spell disturbed.”
His gun flashed in his hand.
“I’ll have to ask you to go inside an’ occupy one of your own cells, sheriff, while I’m wanderin’ around an’ debatin’ the subject.”
“I know you too well, Rathburn,” said the sheriff with a grim smile. “I’m not armed, and I don’t intend to obey you. If you intend to shoot you might just as well start!”
Rathburn gazed at him coolly for a moment; then he shoved his gun in its holster and leaped.
Quick as he was, Long was quicker. The sheriff was out of his chair in a twinkling, and he made a flying tackle, grasping Rathburn about the legs. The two fell to the floor and rolled over and over in their struggles.
Although Rathburn was the larger man, the sheriff seemed made of steel wire. He twisted out of Rathburn’s holds, one after another. In one great effort he freed himself and leaped to his feet. Rathburn was up instantly. Long drove a straight right that grazed Rathburn’s jaw and staggered him, but Rathburn blocked the next blow and succeeded in upper-cutting his left to the sheriff’s chin.
They went into another clinch, and the sheriff got the better of the close fighting. Rathburn’s face was bleeding, where it had been cut on a leg of the chair, when they were struggling on the floor. The feel of trickling crimson drove him mad. He threw Long off in an amazing burst of strength and then sent his right to the sheriff’s jaw with all the force he could put into it.