Again and again the steel cuffs clinked and clashed against the cowpuncher’s face. They came away each time speckled with blood. Shorty, on his back underneath the breed, pulled the harder on the black whiskers and his free arm went around the sinewy brown neck. Muscles flexed and tightened like a steel-jawed trap and the blows from the handcuffs became less effective as Shorty slowly pulled the breed down to him.
Then, with a writhing, twisting movement used by professional wrestlers, the little puncher slid from under the other’s bulk, still holding the black head in the crook of his arm. A short arm jab, vicious and effective, caught Black Jack’s jaw, bringing a grunt of pain from the breed.
From the shelter of the high bank moved the man whom Shorty had knocked out with his gun. The man was crawling toward Shorty and Black Jack, his eyes on Shorty’s gun that lay close by. His hand closed over the weapon and he sprang forward, his right arm dangling awkwardly at his side, the gun in his left hand.
Shorty saw him and with a terrific effort rolled over, dragging the striking, snarling half-breed with him. The wounded man, cursing methodically to fight off pain and dizziness, stumbled forward and flung himself on top the two. His gun thudded against Shorty’s head. Once, twice, three times. Shorty’s grip on the black-bearded head relaxed and he went limp, his bleeding, mangled features ghastly in the light of the white moon.
Pete and Bill, panting and fighting like wild beasts, fought without rules nor thought of fair tactics. Not a word passed their clamped jaws as they rolled to the water’s edge and under the feet of Shorty’s horse.
The horse, frightened, lashed out at the struggling forms. A shod hoof struck Bill in the ribs and with a groan, he relaxed his grip. Rolling free of the horse’s flying hoofs, Pete staggered to his feet, aiming a kick at Bill’s face. The stocking-clad heel caught Bill on the cheek. With a last effort, the outlaw clutched Pete’s leg and wrapped his arms about it, jerking Pete off balance and bringing him to the ground.
Black Jack, his breath coming in sobbing gasps, had regained his feet. He saw Pete lurch to a sitting posture.
“Here!” called the wounded man and thrust the .45 into Black Jack’s hand. “Finish the ——!”
The half-breed jumped forward. The next instant the gun barrel crashed against Pete’s head and the fight was over.