That sent the man flying. He landed on a table that collapsed under him and dumped him among its shattered debris. He sat up and shook his head groggily.
Halfway along the bar, Baylor was slugging Chance in the belly while the other man hung on to him from behind. Chance was red in the face from the choking grip around his neck.
Ace swerved wide, picked up a chair, and crashed it down on the back of the man who had hold of Chance. That knocked him loose.
Chance twisted free, grabbed Baylor’s arm as the gambler tried to hit him in the stomach again, and pivoted, throwing Baylor over his hip in a wrestling move he had learned during a rough-and-tumble childhood spent traveling with Doc Monday. Chance might look like a bit of a dandy, but he could handle himself just fine in a fight.
Baylor rolled across the floor, dirtying his nice frock coat. In the scuffle, he had lost the little pistol with which he had shot Dugan, but that wasn’t the only weapon he carried. As Chance closed in on him, ready to continue the fight, Baylor came up slashing with a folding straight razor that he flicked open with a practiced twist of his wrist.
Chance had to jump back to avoid being cut. Baylor came after him, backing him against the bar.
At the same time, Ace was being hemmed in by Shelby and the man he had kicked in the chest, both of whom had recovered their wits and appeared to be ready to beat him to death.
The Jensen brothers found themselves standing side by side, backs against the bar, with no place to run as trouble closed in on them. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time they had found themselves in such a perilous position.
Tonight, however, judging by the anger and hatred twisting the cruel faces of the men stalking toward them, they might not get out of it.
With no warning, the deafening roar of another shot slammed through the room and made everybody freeze.
The Chuckwagon Trail Page 30
