Part 5 (1/2)
His eyes were blue. His teeth were white. His nose had a few freckles. His red hair needed cutting, and was tousled this way and that on his head.
When he waded out of the melee, walking on two stupefied faces as he did so, he carried all their guns. His hands were very large, but the guns made almost more than handfuls, even hanging on his fingers by the trigger guards.
He aimed at a man and shot.
Certainly he was no gunman. He was terrible. He missed a man he could almost have hit with his fist. His target got up and ran. He shot again and missed that man, too, and the fellow got up and ran, making dog-yelp sounds of terror as he went away.
The red-headed stranger did some more shooting, and his untouched targets did more running. By the time he had emptied one gun-hitting n.o.body-all Horst's men had departed like shot-at rabbits into the tall weeds.The fiery-haired giant kept on pointing guns which banged loudly and futilely.
”Drab nab it!” said the redhead cheerfully. ”I keep missin' 'em.”
Rhoda Haven made whizzing sounds of disgust. ”Such shooting!”
”I ain't so hot at puttin' holes in guys,” said the red-headed young man.
”You couldn't,” said the girl, ”hit the side of a barn!”
”I sure like to hit 'em with my fists, however,” the redhead advised.
The big stranger's attack, the routing of Horst's men, had happened so fast that the dust had not settled. But now the dust blew away and Monk, who had partly served as a platform for the fight, stopped howling and groaning. He sat up. His small eyes batted at the stranger.
”Who are you?” Monk demanded.
”Henry Peace.”
”Peace?”
”Don't,” said the redhead, ”let the name mislead you.”
”WHAT are you doing here?” Monk rapped.
”That might be my business.”
”Huh?”
”If you had kept that nose out of other people's business,” said Henry Peace, ”it might not look so funny.”
”What's the matter with my nose?” Monk yelled.
”Looks like something the cat gnawed on,” Henry Peace said. ”And don't yell at me.”
Monk was a man who formed sudden and violent likes and dislikes. Apparently he had acquired a large, instantaneous dislike for Henry Peace.
”If somebody will take these ropes off me,” Monk bellowed, ”I'll show you that I can yell at anybody, and they'll like it!”
The exhibition that followed, under the circ.u.mstances, was probably childish; under other circ.u.mstances it might conceivably have been comical. Henry Peace untied Monk. Monk got up, squared off with his fists, and was promptly knocked flat on his back by Henry Peace.
Henry Peace then picked Monk up with remarkable ease and hurled him into the most convenient clump of weeds.
Monk lay there, howled, kicked, tried to get breath back.
Henry Peace looked at Ham and Long Tom.
”I don't like you guys, either!” he said.
He untied Ham, examined Ham's perfectly tailored coat with disapproval, then took hold of the coat tails and tore it up the back. Ham screamed rage.
Ham was a skilled boxer of the stand-off-and-jab-'em-blind school. He started to use his technique on Henry Peace. A split-second later, to his bewilderment, he was sprawled in the weeds near Monk.
Henry Peace untied William Harper Littlejohn, picked him up and threw him in the weeds, before Johnny could get organized.
”I'll be superamalgamated!” Johnny gasped.”That's a good word to run away with,” Henry Peace said.
Monk got up, showed renewed fight intentions.
”Drag it,” Henry Peace ordered. ”Vamoose! Beat it! Scram! Make tracks!”
The old cistern had been surrounded with a coping of bricks, and this had disintegrated with the years; so that a number of bricks were scattered handily. Henry Peace began picking up this Irish confetti and heaving it at Monk, Ham and Johnny.
Having narrowly escaped being hit by several bricks, Ham and Johnny took their flight. Monk reluctantly followed them.
”I can throw a brickbat,” they heard Henry Peace say proudly, ”straighter than I can shoot a gun.”
Having reached safety some distance away in the weeds, Monk, Ham and Johnny held a conference.
”When I get hold of that red-headed guy,” Monk growled, ”I'm gonna ma.s.sacre him!”
”You already had hold of him once,” Ham reminded.
Monk glared.
Johnny, big words apparently knocked out of him, said, ”I think we better try to trail those guys who were going to throw us in the cistern.”
”But the girl-”
”If that red-headed guy can't protect her, n.o.body can,” Johnny stated. ”Anyway, if we go back there, we'll just waste time fighting him.”
”Henry Peace,” Ham admitted, ”didn't seem to like us.”
They wandered off through the weeds, seeking the trail of Horst's men.
Chapter VI. THE NOSE b.u.mPER.
HENRY PEACE stood with a brick in each hand and peered at the weeds hopefully.