The cowboy, Scully and the Easterner burst into a cheer that was
like a chorus of triumphant soldiery, but before its conclusion the
Swede had scuffled agilely to his feet and come in berserk abandon
at his foe. There was another perplexity of flying arms, and Johnnie's
body again swung away and fell, even as a bundle might fall from a
roof. The Swede instantly staggered to a little wind-waved tree and
leaned upon it, breathing like an engine, while his savage and
flame-lit eyes roamed from face to face as the men bent over
Johnnie. There was a splendor of isolation in his situation at this
time which the Easterner felt once when, lifting his eyes from the man
on the ground, he beheld that mysterious and lonely figure, waiting.
"Are you any good yet, Johnnie?" asked Scully in a broken voice.
The son gasped and opened his eyes languidly. After a moment he
answered: "No- I ain't- any good- any- more." Then, from shame and
bodily ill, he began to weep, the tears furrowing down through the
bloodstains on his face. "He was too- too- too heavy for me."
Scully straightened and addressed the waiting figure. "Stranger," he
said, evenly, "it's all up with our side." Then his voice changed into
that vibrant huskiness which is commonly the tone of the most simple
and deadly announcements. "Johnnie is whipped."
Without replying, the victor moved off on the route to the front
door of the hotel.
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