Sudden--At Bay (A Sudden Western #2) by Frederick H. Christian Page B

already three men were lost —-maybe four if you counted
Art, who looked broken —-and here was Buck taunting him, daring him
to ride into Cottontown and burn it to the ground, as if he were
Charley Quantrill.
    His calloused hand moved almost of its own accord,
and his full weight was behind it. The slap caught Buck Cotton on
the side of his head and lifted him physically off his feet,
hurling him into the corner of the room. He slammed into the wall
and slid down, huddled, tears of outrage and shock springing to his
eyes, his hand scrambling for the gun which had swung around behind
him with the force of his fall. In one mighty bound, Sim Cotton was
towering over him, his hands clenching and unclenching, his face
taut with an almost uncontrollable rage.
    ‘ Touch that gun an’ I’ll kill yu
with my bare hands!’ he hissed. Buck pulled his fingers away from
the gun butt as if it had become red hot.
Sim Cotton turned his back contemptuously on his brother and
stalked back into the centre of the silent room as though nothing
had occurred. His rage was under control again, and his mind was
already foraging ahead, planning, examining, discarding.
    ‘ I’m goin’ in to town,’ he
announced. ‘Yu, Helm. Ride with me. Yu too, Harry. The rest o’ yu
stay here. Get on with yore chores.’
    One of the riders, a man called Hitchin, put in a
word.
    ‘ Yu ain’t aimin’ to take nobody
with yu, boss?’
    ‘ No,’ said Cotton, his mouth
closing like a trap. ‘I’m goin’ to call that stinkin’ town’s bluff.
An’ Mr Green’s along with it!’

Chapter Nine
    ‘ I’m passin’ a vote o’ thanks to
Jim Green!’
    The shouted words came from the
lips of Bob Davis, the storekeeper, and they drew a ragged cheer
from the crowded saloon. The word of Art Cotton’s beating had
spread like wildfire through the town, and within half an hour of
Sheriff Parris’ leading the battered ranchman out of town, lolling
and swaying like a straw dummy on his saddle, nearly every
able-bodied man in Cottontown was in the saloon, craning to get a
glimpse of the cold-eyed stranger who had effected this
miracle.
    The object of their attention
leaned against the bar, a thin smile on his lips. The bartender
pounded him on the back, insisting that the puncher take another
“snort” to celebrate what he called ‘the biggest day in Cottontown
since the Centennial!” Even Doc Hight had hobbled in and joined the
general enthusiasm. After a while, Green held up his hands for
silence, and the forty or so men in the saloon gathered around. He
hitched himself up to sit on the bar where he could see their
faces, and waited until he had their complete attention.
    ‘ I’m thankin’ yu gents for yore
enthusiasm,’ he began. ‘But I’m thinkin’ that lickin’ one o’ the
Cotton brothers ain’t the end o’ the rope. They ain’t goin’ to take
this lyin’ down, an’ that means more trouble afore we’re
through.’
    The men nearest to Green shuffled
their feet and looked doubtful for a moment, but someone roared out
from the back: ‘Let ’em come. We’ll give ’em somethin’ to think
about!’
    Another cheer greeted this
hot-blooded boast, and the townspeople nodded enthusiastically to
each other.
    ‘ Talk’s cheap!’ snapped Sudden. ‘I
ain’t savin’ yu boys don’t mean what yo’re sayin’, but have yu
given a thought to what happens if the Cottons ride in here in
force? Some o’ yu have got wives an’ kids. If it comes to a
showdown, there’s goin’ to be shootin’, an’
yu better think about it afore yu go any further!’ A silence
greeted these words. In truth, most of the men in the saloon had
been swept along on a tide of enthusiasm composed of two parts
alcohol to one part defiance. Green’s sobering words brought them
jokingly to their senses, and there was an outbreak of muttering
and whispered consultation in the crowd.
    ‘ Are yu stayin’ to face Cotton,
Green?’ asked one bearded man.
    ‘ I been in a