“Well!” he said as he recognized them. “If it isn’t the squaw who kicked me out of school, with her little squaw man!” He stood in their path, swaying ever so slightly.
“Get out of our way, please,” Sandy said, fighting down his fury at the words.
For answer, Cavanaugh swung a brawny arm and struck the boy across the mouth with the back of a hairy hand.
Sandy staggered from the unexpected blow, then charged, fists flying. He connected several times, but he might as well have hit a brick wall. His 155 pounds made no impression on Cavanaugh’s 200-plus.
“So you think you can fight the man who made three touchdowns against California,” Cavanaugh bawled drunkenly. “Well, take this for being an Injun lover!” He swung a short right to the jaw that snapped Sandy’s head back. “And this for your Injun-loving boss!” He followed with a stunning left. “And this for your snooty Ute!” He swung a haymaker that smashed through the boy’s weakened guard and hit his solar plexus like a bolt of lightning.
As he lay in the gutter, gasping desperately for breath, Sandy thought he heard the sound of running feet.
“And this,” Cavanaugh said deliberately, “is just part of what I owe Donovan for calling me a liar. Won’t he look like a fool tomorrow if my high sign comes through?”
Through bleared eyes, Sandy saw his enemy push Kitty aside and swing a heavy boot at his ribs.
At that moment, Ralph plunged into the little circle of lamplight. The Indian gripped Cavanaugh by one beefy shoulder and spun him around.
“This,” he raged, “is for a skunk who picks on people half his size and kicks them when they’re down!”