Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1924-11-13


his pocket, his arm holding back his
coat little on that side. The right
hand was lax at his side, like Quin-
MONS.
He had seen the other men, though
his eyes had seemed to see only one
man. One of them he knew; the 9TH
ers he had seen. They were the sort
to be found in Quinnion's company.
They were the nucleus of what was
spoken of as Quinnion's crowd.
"Quinnion" said Lee quietly, "you
are a id dirty-mouthed liar"
The words came like little slaps in
the face. OF the four men still in the
room with Quinnion three of them
moved swiftly TO one side, their eyes
on their leaders face, which showed
nothing of what might lie in his mind.
II have taken the trouble" went on
Lee coolIy, when Quinnion, leering
back at him, made no reply, ito ride
forty miles tonight for little talk
with you. You are a crook and a
card-cheat. I told you that once be-
fore. You have been telling men that
/ am coward and four-fusher. For
that / am going to run you out OF
town tonight. Or kill you.'
Then Quinnion laughed at him.
"Just for that?' he jeered. "Or
because I've been tellin' true story
about you an"
He didn't get her name out. Per-
haps he hadn't expected to. His eyes
had been watchful. Now, as he threw
himself to one side, he whipped out
his gum. dropping to one knee. his
body partly concealed by the table.
At the same second Bud Lees right
hand, no longer lax, sped to the re-
volver gripped under the coat at his
left armpit.
1t was situation by no means new
to the four walls of the Jailbird nor
to the men concerned. It was two
man fight, with as yet no call for the
four friends of Quinnion to interfere.
1t would take the spit and snarl of
a revolver, the flash of flame, the
acrid smell Of burning powder to
switch their sympathetic watching
into actual participation. No new
situation certainly for Chris Quinnion
who took quick stock of the table with
it's heavy top and screened his body
with it. no new situation for Steve, the
big bartender who was at the shat
tered door almost as Bud Lee sent it
rocking drunkenly.
Since fight like this in small
room may end in three seconds and
yet remain a fight for men to talk of
at street corners for many day there
after, it is surely a struggle battling
adequate description. For while you
speak of it, it is done; while a clock
ticks, two guns may carry hot lead
and cut in two two threads of life.
Quinnion was down and shooting,
with but ten steps or less between
him and the man whom he sought to
kill; Bud Lee was standing, tall and
straight back to wall, his first bull
let ripping into the boards of the
table, sending flying splinter to stick
in Quinnion's face, close to squint-
ing, slittcd eye; and as the two guns
spoke like one, a third from the open
barroom shattered the lamp swinging
from the ceiling between Lee and
Quinnion. Steve, the BARTENDER, had
taken a hand.
The card room was plunged in dark
ness so thick that Lees frowning eyes
could no longer make out Quinnion's
head above the table, SO black that to
Quinnion's eyes the tall form of Lee
against the wall was lost in shadow.
AS Steve fired his shot into the
lamp, Bud Lee understood just what
would be Steve's next play; the bar
tender had given his friends brief res
pite from the deadly fire of the Blue
Lake man, and now would turn his
second shot through the f1imsy wall
itself on the man standing there. Lee