Longhorn Empire by Bradford Scott

Brant, but before he could give it much consideration,
     he had another matter to think about.
    Austin Brant was a fighter and he could hit like the kick of a mule, but like the average cowhand, the science of boxing was
     a closed book to him. Phil Doran, on the other hand, had somewhere in the course of his dubious career, picked up more than
     a little knowledge of the art of self-defense. He was quick as a cat on his feet, despite his bulk, and he knew how to use
     his hands.
    As Brant charged in, he was met by a vicious jab to the mouth that brought blood and staggered him. Before he could recover,
     Doran hit him again, left and right, with plenty of power behind the blows. Brant reeled, almost lost his footing. Doran glided
     in. But Brant was far from out. He ducked a left hook, countering with a swinging right that knocked Doran sideways against
     the bar. With plenty of courage, but little judgment, Brant rushed. Doran slipped away, feinted with his left, brought over
     a straight right and knocked Brant off his feet.
    The Texas cowboy bounded erect almost beforehe hit the floor and bored in, swinging with both hands. A cool and experienced Doran, ducked, weaved and covered up, getting
     in several hard jabs at the same time. Again Brant was forced to give ground. And Doran was after him, jabbing, hooking, drawing
     blood, staggering the tall cow-hand with lethal rights and lefts. Brant was breathing hard, his face was cut and bloody, his
     eyes already swelling. As he lurched back a little farther, he glimpsed Pink Hanson’s face once more. It was ablaze with exultation.
     His eyes glowed.
    And in that fleeting glance, a blinding light of understanding struck Brant. With hair-trigger suddenness he realized the trap
     that had been set for him, into which he had so blithely walked. The explanation for Doran’s astounding championing of the
     dead rustler, Porter. Brant knew very well that Phil Doran had no more loyalty to anybody than a coyote. He saw now that he
     had been goaded into a wring he was bound to lose. Somehow, Doran had found out, or had divined that he, Brant, was packing
     the money John Webb received for his herd. Doran was out to get that money, and he had a mighty good chance to get it, too.
    As a fist fighter, Brant knew he was out-classed by the Deadfall owner. In a few minutes, he would be knocked cold. Then Doran
     and his snake-blooded partner, with “chivalrous solicitude” for Doran’s defeated adversary, would pack him off to one of the
     Deadfall bedrooms until he had recovered from his beating. Doubtless a tap on the head with a gun barrel would insure that
     the recovery not to be too speedy. And when Brant would finally wake up, the money he carried would begone. And not a thing to prove that Doran had anything to do with its disappearance.
    All this passed through Brant’s mind in a flash while he ducked and parried and tried to get away from Doran’s shower of blows.
     He saw Doran’s eyes glitter with triumph as he maneuvered for the kill. He took a last chance, a desperate gamble that might
     succeed. As Doran feinted with his left to bring Brant’s guard down, his right in position for the knock-out blow, Brant hurled
     himself downward at Doran’s knees. The impact knocked the big man off his feet. As he sprawled on the floor, Brant surged erect,
     gripping Doran’s flailing ankles in both hands. With all his strength, he plucked the Deadfall owner from the floor and whirled
     him around and around. At the apex of the swing he altered its directions and brought Doran crashing down upon the floor. Doran
     gave a gasping groan, stiffened out and lay motionless, face white, arms wideflung.
    Brant whirled, plucked his gun belts from the astounded Texas cowboy and slid one of the long Colts from its sheath. He faced
     Pink Hanson and the tense group behind him. Hanson, his mouth slightly ajar with astonishment at the sudden and unexpected
     end to the wring,