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The Fight - Buck
by Midnight
Blue
They went their separate ways after delivering their prisoner to the jail. They were happy enough to part company with the murdering, old claim jumper and almost as happy to part company with each other. Two long days to that damn mining camp, two dusty days back and their camaraderie was wearing thin. Without any women or decent whiskey, there’d been no respite from their own company in that god-forsaken place.
Buck watched as Chris pushed open the batwing doors of the saloon like an avenging archangel, his black duster swirling around him in the wind. Chris was in one of his testy moods; there’d be a fight breaking out in his wake before Buck finished soaking in his much-anticipated, hot bath.
* * *
“Whoa son, I don’t reckon Chris needs your help in clearin’ out the place. Why don’t we just get ourselves a nice seat and watch the goin’s on?”
“Hell no, Buck. That friend of Mary’s was giving a speech about women’s rights. Some of the men started cussing at her and Chris just had to shut ‘em up. Then Vin, Nathan, Ezra and I had to stop him from getting beat up. I was just coming out to get Josiah from the jail when you got in my way.”
Well, that was a different story. No one was going to say Buck Wilmington had failed to help a lady in distress. He quickly assessed the progress of the fight as he entered the saloon. Chris was in the center of the action, taking on all comers. He’d put down one, only to have another try his luck. Vin and Nathan were keeping the challengers from piling on too fast by distracting some of the bigger ones. Ezra was doing clean-up, catching them as they fell backwards off Chris’s fist, spinning them around and using a quick jab of his own to send them into a mounting pile of dazed combatants. Buck spotted the suffragette backed up against the bar trying to stay clear of the melee swirling around her.
As he edged toward her, dodging fists and boots, he saw a drunk on the far side of the room take aim at her with what was left of a broken chair. Buck took his last three strides at a dead run and made a rolling dive over the bar, sweeping her in his arm as he went. He ended up on his back with the lovely lady on top of him. He grinned up at her as the debris sailed into the mirror behind them. “Buck Wilmington . . . at your service.”
The Fight - Chris
by Outrider
They went their separate ways after delivering their prisoner to the jail. They were happy enough to part company with the murdering, old claim jumper and almost as happy to part company with each other. Two long days to that damn mining camp, two dusty days back and their camaraderie was wearing thin. Without any women or decent whiskey, there’d been no respite from their own company in that god-forsaken place.
Chris left Buck to his bath and headed for the saloon. He needed a drink or five to cut four days of dust. Buck had ended the trip in one of his irritatingly cheerful moods, acting like there was a beautiful woman and a bottle of fine Kentucky mash in his immediate future. Chris’d settle for the mash and since that was unlikely, a bottle of redeye.
He could feel trouble brewing as he pushed open the batwing doors. That damned friend of Mary’s was haranguing the crowd on women’s rights. Now he had nothing against women voting. Hell, they couldn’t make any more a mess of it than men had. But this bunch of drunks and rowdies wasn’t the right audience for a suffrage speech. Not one of them had likely ever cast a vote in his life, but they’d all fight to the death to stop women from claiming the privilege.
Sure enough, he’d only downed one drink before the crowd got nasty. The men on either side of him at the bar started cussing her. Chris grabbed the closest one and put a fist in his face, hard enough to break his nose. That felt so good, he took hold of the next one down and bloodied his nose too. The man on the other side grabbed his shoulder, yelling, “Who the hell are you?”
Chris grinned, pulled back a little and let fly. His knuckles landed square on the man’s cheekbone as he answered, “I’m Chris Larabee . . . the law around here.”
Then the fun began in earnest. Chris didn’t keep track of how many men he took on. He just kept punching, though he changed his target from faces to stomachs for fear he’d break his hands before he ran out of opponents. He was vaguely aware of Vin, Nathan and JD backing him up. Ezra was playing spectator until Chris started directing the bodies at him. Then he did a fine job of stacking them out of the way.
“Hey, cowboy, ease up.”
He’d almost punched Vin. He looked around. There wasn’t anyone standing but his friends, and not all of them. He reached out and hauled JD to his feet. “Thanks for the back-up kid. Too bad Josiah and Buck missed all the fun.”
However, even as he spoke, he saw Buck helping the cause of the brawl to her feet from their shelter behind the bar. With his arm firmly around the young woman’s waist, Buck hoisted a bottle. “Hey, Chris, look what I found hidden back here.” Chris took a close look. Kentucky mash. The only beautiful woman in the saloon, the only Kentucky mash in the whole damn town -- and not mark on him. Damn Buck Wilmington.
The End
2-2004
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