Desert Gold

  "I'm not drunk.  I'm throwing a bluff, and I mean to start a rough house.  I'm going to rush that damned bandit Rojas.  It's to save a girl–to give her lover, who is my friend, a chance to escape with her. When I start a row my friend will try to slip out with her.  Every door and window is watched.  I've got to raise hell to draw the guards in.... Well, you're my countrymen.  We're in Mexico.  A beautiful girl's honor and life are at stake.  Now, gentlemen, watch me!"

  One cowboy's eyes narrowed, blinking a little, and his lean jaw dropped; the other's hard face rippled with a fleeting smile.

  Gale backed away, and his pulse leaped when he saw the two cowboys, as if with one purpose, slowly stride after him.  Then Gale swerved, staggering along, brushed against the tables, kicked over the empty chairs.  He passed Rojas and his gang, and out of the tail of his eye saw that the bandit was watching him, waving his hands and talking fiercely.  The hum of the many voices grew louder, and when Dick lurched against a table, overturning it and spilling glasses into the laps of several Mexicans, there arose a shrill cry. He had succeeded in attracting attention; almost every face turned his way.  One of the insulted men, a little tawny fellow, leaped up to confront Gale, and in a frenzy screamed a volley of Spanish, of which Gale distinguished "Gringo!"  The Mexican stamped and made a threatening move with his right hand.  Dick swung his leg and with a swift side kick knocked the fellows feet from under him, whirling him down with a thud.

  The action was performed so suddenly, so adroitly, it made the Mexican such a weakling, so like a tumbled tenpin, that the shrill jabbering hushed.  Gale knew this to be the significant moment.

  Wheeling, he rushed at Rojas.  It was his old line-breaking plunge. Neither Rojas nor his men had time to move.  The black-skinned bandit's face turned a dirty white; his jaw dropped; he would have shrieked if Gale had not hit him.  The blow swept him backward against his men.  Then Gale's heavy body, swiftly following with the momentum of that rush, struck the little group of rebels.  They went down with table and chairs in a sliding crash.

  Gale carried by his plunge, went with them.  Like a cat he landed on top.  As he rose his powerful hands fastened on Rojas.  He jerked the little bandit off the tangled pile of struggling, yelling men, and, swinging him with terrific force, let go his hold.  Rojas slid along the floor, knocking over tables and chairs. Gale bounded back, dragged Rojas up, handling him as if he were a limp sack.

  A shot rang out above the yells.  Gale heard the jingle of breaking glass.  The room darkened perceptibly.  He flashed a glance backward. The two cowboys were between him and the crowd of frantic rebels. One cowboy held two guns low down, level in front of him.  The other had his gun raised and aimed.  On the instant it spouted red and white.  With the crack came the crashing of glass, another darkening shade over the room.  With a cry Gale slung the bleeding Rojas from him.  The bandit struck a table, toppled over it, fell, and lay prone.

  Another shot made the room full of moving shadows, with light only back of the bar.  A white-clad figure rushed at Gale.  He tripped the man, but had to kick hard to disengage himself from grasping hands.  Another figure closed in on Gale.  This one was dark, swift. A blade glinted–described a circle alot.  Simultaneously with a close, red flash the knife wavered; the man wielding it stumbled backward.  In the din Gale did not hear a report, but the Mexican's fall was significant.  Then pandemonium broke loose.  The din became a roar.  Gale heard shots that sounded like dull spats in the distance.  The big lamp behind the bar seemingly split, then sputtered and went out, leaving the room in darkness.

  Gale leaped toward the restaurant door, which was outlined faintly by the yellow light within.  Right and left he pushed the groping men who jostled with him.  He vaulted a pool table, sent tables and chairs flying, and gained the door, to be the first of a wedging mob to squeeze through.  One sweep of his arm knocked the restaurant lamp from its stand; and he ran out, leaving darkness behind him. A few bounds took him into the parlor.  It was deserted.  Thorne had gotten away with Mercedes.