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  “Well, what do you think?” he asked at last.

  “Of what?”

  “Of me. You’ve given me a good enough lookin’ over to be sure you know me next time.”

  “I think you’ve got broad shoulders and slim hips, stranger. But we both know that don’t make a man, don’t we?”

  Savage grinned, “Dead right, Scarlett, dead right.”

  She paused, “What are you called?”

  “Savage.”

  “It fits.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Plan to stay around, or just passing through, Savage?”

  “Stayin’. That’s if you’ve got accommodation?”

  “I think I can accommodate you,” she said, leaving him wondering if the double meaning had been accidental.

  After a moment he went back to his shaving. He hadn’t been too impressed with Catclaw at first glance, but it was starting to look more interesting. If he could just get some low-life train bandit to show his ugly face inside the next couple of days, he wouldn’t have a complaint in the world . . .

  SAVAGE 1: SAVAGE

  By E. Jefferson Clay

  First published by Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia

  © 2019 by Piccadilly Publishing

  First Digital Edition: August 2019

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Chapter One – What A Way to Go

  The third man came at him, wielding a chair.

  Clint Savage ducked, moved to one side, then plucked the chair from the big man’s grasp, and sent it crashing across the man’s head and shoulders. When the ugly cowpoke began to fall, Savage kicked him in the seat of the pants and sent him sprawling. Backing to the bartop, he wondered how the hell they made them so big in this town.

  Then, just as he’d expected, there was no more time for wondering. In they came—a howling, bloodthirsty bunch of five new assailants intent only on tearing him to pieces.

  Why this should be, Savage had little idea. His only clue to the trouble being the words of the first big man who’d fronted him. “Stinking womanizin’ bastard!” he’d cursed.

  Then an unseen punch landed on the side of his head, and Savage needed no more than that to awaken his natural instincts for survival. Hell, and hadn’t they meant business. While one jumped on his back, a second brawler threw whiskey in his face, then smashed a bottle over his head. It had taken him a full minute to get clear of the first two men before the third had come at him with that chair.

  And now another five. Savage went forward to meet them because that was the way he was. Ever since his big frame and handsome looks had singled him out for other men’s dislike, he’d maintained that the only way to come through a scrap without getting your teeth kicked in, was to go on the attack.

  Yet even though his measure of confidence had been shown, none of the five backed off. Savage wondered if they had the wrong man, but then a bitter voice put paid to that notion.

  “My Lucy, too, damn him. And in broad daylight!”

  They didn’t have the wrong man. Their hate-filled eyes told him that. He did some quick thinking. Lucy ... broad daylight ... Sure, there’d been a cute little filly back of the barn close on sundown. But hell, she’d done all the prompting, twirling a parasol and looking at him as if he were the first raindrop after a year’s drought. In the shadow of the barn, she’d hooked the parasol around his neck and drawn him to her. Then, damn it, before he knew what was happening, she was telling him the town committee was holding a meeting and would be at it for at least another hour, and why didn’t he stop acting like a shy schoolboy and start being a man ...

  Savage sent a right hook crashing onto a jaw, ducked two wild swings and found himself going down under an avalanche of bodies. Somebody had hold of his legs, somebody else was locking his thighs together. Man, Lucy could teach the bunch of them a thing or two when it came to holding a man down. He lashed out with elbows and boots, got halfway to his feet, and saw daylight through the side door of the saloon.

  That, he figured, was where he should be, not on this damn sawdusted floor with sidewinders punching the hell out of him. He drew a deep breath into his lungs, bit an ear that was putting a bad taste into his mouth and heaved. For a moment he felt the weight of the bodies lift off him but then something exploded on the back of his head and the daylight disappeared as if somebody had thrown a canvas over the sun.

  “Ease down, the whole bunch of you. We ain’t goin’ to get nowhere if everybody keeps hollerin’ at once.”

  Savage was first aware of a terrible commotion, then a lot of grumbling and finally silence. He remembered the brawl in vivid detail. Mostly he didn’t mind a bit of a ruckus, but this one seemed certain to last out the whole week, and he wasn’t sure he could afford that much time. There were, after all, many things he had to do ...

  As his vision cleared, he discovered that he was no longer in the saloon but propped against the wall of a cell, while in the corridor, thankfully kept at bay by a barred door and a man with a tin star on his vest, was the battered, bruised, but still blood-hungry bunch who for some reason didn’t appreciate his presence in their town.

  Savage dragged his legs up and hooked his arms around his knees. Let them holler, just so they gave him time to get his wind back. And the way he saw it, from the cell floor, the lawman was just about holding his own.

  “I’m tellin’ you, Marshal, that maulin’ varmint took advantage of my sister day before yesterday. Katie was just takin’ her daily bath, which surely ain’t agin the law even in this sour-smellin’ town, when this jasper happened by, liked what he saw and took it.”

  These profound words came from a red-haired man who had thrown the first punch at Savage as he relaxed over a drink in the saloon, doing what he figured he did best, simply minding his own business.

  “So what you got to do right now, Marshal,” the man continued, “is unlock thet cell and let me at ’im.”

  Redhead started to ease his way forward but the burly lawman brought him to a standstill with a hand in his chest. Redhead’s angry look was not having the desired effect.

  “Whoa now, Chalmers, it ain’t as simple as that.”

  “Why in hell ain’t it?” the man growled. “An innocent girl ...”

  “First off,” the sheriff interjected, “Katie ain’t exactly innocent, as I hear it. Second, I’ve told you, and her, thet takin’ a bath in the back yard with only a flimsy curtain draped over a couple of poles ain’t ladylike. Now I ain’t sayin’ that Katie asked for all this gent gave her, but I am sayin’ she ain’t exactly too particular who sees her and who don’t. So does anybody else have a gripe against this here gent?”

  Chalmers’ place was taken by a thin-faced, rake-shouldered individual in neat town clothes, twirling a derby in bony hands.

  “Ain’t Katie this here ruckus is about, Marshal,” he was eager to explain. “It’s my beloved Lucy.” He pointed an accusing finger at Savage, who was wishing he had’ve taken the left fork instead of the right that led to this flea-bitten excuse of a town. “This gent dragged her behind the livery and ... and ...”

  “Coombes was in his barn at the time, Tom,” the marshal cut in,
“and he ain’t hard of hearin’ or lackin’ good eyesight, yet he swears he saw nothin’ and heard nothin’.”

  “Likely damn drunk then as usual,” Tom growled.

  The marshal immediately shook his head. “Nope. You know as well as I do, that Coombes don’t take a drop until his horses are cared for proper. And that ain’t ever before sundown. So I reckon Lucy had no objection to what went on until you showed up.”

  “You sayin’, damn you, thet—”

  “I’m sayin’ that you boys have got yourself into a bind on account of nothin’. An’ this gent ain’t to be held responsible.”

  “Nothin’?” Tom shouted in outrage and Chalmers again pushed forward to further state his case. But the lawman’d had enough. Jawing with a bunch of hotheads on such a night was not his idea of a fun evening, so he promptly herded them out into the street.

  Standing in the doorway, the marshal made it quite clear that the matter was finished, at least for the moment, and completely ignored the grumbling threats that the no-account sidewinder would get his when he was finally set free. He was still standing there with arms folded when a man of less than medium height and slender as a ramrod, came along the boardwalk and, with a nod of recognition, entered the jailhouse and walked several paces towards Savage’s cell.

  The marshal followed him in, closed the door, then said, “Well, that’s him.”

  The smaller man spent some time appraising the prisoner before Savage came to his feet.

  “Yes, I think he’ll do fine,” the newcomer muttered. “But will he be agreeable?”

  “He’ll be agreeable,” the marshal assured him. “On three accounts. One, he don’t belong in my town, so I’ll be throwin’ him out anyway. Two, he’s got only seven dollars and thirty cents to his name, so whatever you offer him, will be attractive. Three, if he ain’t agreeable, there’s quite a few inhabitants of this town that are keen to show him some real hospitality.”

  Savage came to the cell bars, scowling at both men. “What the hell is this?” he asked none too politely.

  The marshal completely ignored him. “And what’s more, I’ve watched him while he’s been in town and I confess he’s got a way with him. And one thing’s fer sure, he didn’t get that muscled-up body sleepin’ in the sun waitin’ for the fish to bite.”

  The little man nodded in complete agreement. “But what if once he’s free, he high-tails it?”

  “That’s a risk you’ll have to take, Mr. Royce. But I’ve got the notion that Mr. Savage will show his gratitude. If he doesn’t, and I get to hear about it, I guess I can make a lot of territory unhealthy for him.”

  The marshal dug a key from his pocket and unlocked the cell door. “His gunrig is on the hook, his money and cigars are in the top drawer of my desk and his horse is saddled and waitin’ out back. I just think Mr. Savage would be plain loco to turn up a chance like this, and he hasn’t struck me as bein’ that.”

  Plenty of questions were leaping to Savage’s lips as he strode through the doorway, but he didn’t have the time to air them. The marshal’s voice, loud and clear, rang down the street.

  “Okay, boys. Come and get the varmint!”

  The stampede that followed the marshal’s seeming change of heart, settled the issue for Clint Savage. Making for the back door he said, “I don’t know what the hell this is all about, Mr. Royce, but I’m damned if I’m going to stand here and argue ...”

  Clint Savage growled, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

  Her voice was husky. “What’s it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re takin’ your clothes off.”

  “Now that’s what I call a right clever observation. Now what am I doing?”

  “Takin’ my clothes off.”

  “Go to the head of the class. Now, we’ll just get this ... shirt off those big ... broad shoulders and ...”

  “Hold hard.” He gripped her as she leaned her almost-naked body against him and smiled. She moved closer, but his suspicious scowl didn’t go away. “Let’s do some talkin’, sister,” he said tightly. “I sashay in here to chew the fat, and before I’m even warmed up you’re startin’ to act like you’re starvin’ to death and just heard the dinner gong. What’s this all about?”

  Her bottom lip protruded petulantly. “I am starved, big boy,” she confided, and Savage had to swallow as one creamy breast popped out of the unclasped bodice. “Starved crazy by a man who thinks more of his lousy railroad than he does of me. A man who’d rather make plans for a new spur line than ...” she paused, her eyes heavy-lidded as she moved her hips against his. “But why bother ourselves on such a boring subject as my work-crazy husband? What did you say your name was?”

  “Savage.”

  “Hmmm, sounds brutal. I like it. I’m Stella ...”

  “I know. And your old man is Ray Ruby, an engineer for the U and Z Railroad ...”

  “You talk too much, Savage,” she said, working a hand loose and slipping it inside his black shirt. “Way too much.”

  “Damn it, that’s what I came here for, woman. To talk.”

  She was fiddling with the big silver buckle of his belt. Savage reckoned he should have stopped her, but he didn’t seem to be thinking as straight as he had been ten minutes earlier when he first stopped off at the Ruby household to talk railroads.

  “You’re a liar, Savage.” She ran her tongue along her lips. It was small and pink and succulent. She made ‘liar’ sound like a caress. “Every second man in this street works on the U and Z, so why did you pick this house if you just wanted to talk?”

  “Luck of the draw.” Her bodice was gaping. Maybe Savage had seen fuller, firmer, whiter breasts in his time ... but he couldn’t remember when. “My ugly horse just happened to pull up at your gate.”

  “Liar,” she repeated. “You saw Mrs. McFish pegging out her washing and she has a face like a freight-train wreck. And Lilly on the other side weighs two hundred pounds ...” She smiled wickedly. “But you like them slim and pretty ... for your talking, don’t you, Savage? You think I’m slim and pretty?”

  There was no doubt she was pretty. Slim too, but not all over. She was plump where a woman was meant to be plump—and Savage knew what those places were as well as any man.

  His shirt was off, and his big silver buckle was unclasped. He was trying to think what the hell it was he’d come to talk about, but his mind was racing like an express.

  In the pleasant glow of the room, her body was like a satin flame as she slipped off the last silken garment and stood before him.

  There it was, the back of Savage’s mind told him, that funny, familiar feeling. No denying it.

  He moved closer, a big, dark-headed man with the muscles of a hard-rock miner and a hint of cruelty in his handsome face.

  “What time do you expect your husband back?”

  She was all sleek triumph as she reached for him again. “Later. He’s gone up the line to check his culverts.”

  Her body molded itself against his and her lips tilted to receive his mouth. But suddenly Savage wasn’t interested in mere kissing. His powerful arms swept her off the floor and she dug her white teeth into the column of his muscular throat as he carried her into the bedroom.

  The Rubys lived well. Pride of place in the room was a big brass double bed with a swansdown quilt and satin pillows. Stella sank deeply into it as he threw her down. The big bed looked incredibly soft, and was. But not as soft as she was as he claimed her ...

  The workshop foreman was apologetic. “I’m right sorry, Mr. Ruby, but I checked her out personal last night, and she was one hundred per cent shipshape.”

  “Well, it ain’t goddamn shipshape now, is it?” sweaty Ray Ruby panted, indicating the hand car with the smoking axle. “There’s a goddamn bearing gone and I had to near bust my goddamn back to get it back in from Five Mile Creek, didn’t I?”

  The greasy foreman hunkered down to inspect the offending wheel and axle. There was no doubt someth
ing had gone wrong, but he didn’t see why Ruby had to carry on so. But then, on reflection, he supposed he could guess. Ray Ruby, section engineer of the McCoy stretch of the U and Z, was a working fool. They said around the workshop that he would rather work than wench. As a consequence, his superiors loved him and his underlings wished he’d break a leg and get laid up for a month so they could take things a little easy. The McCoy section of the U and Z was considered the best run and most efficient length of line in the territory, and Ray Ruby took personal pride in keeping things that way.

  He refused to acknowledge any responsibilities at all for the recent spate of train robberies in his sector that was causing the U and Z bosses to tear their hair out, and railroad clients to take their business to rival lines. That was Security’s affair, and Ray Ruby was Maintenance. He reckoned if the security men handled their end the way maintenance men did theirs, the U and Z would not only be the most efficient railroad in the land but also the safest.

  “Uh-huh, you’re right, it’s a bearin’,” the foreman said, grunting erect. He tugged a swab of cotton waste from his hip pocket and wiped his hands. “I could have her ready for you inside a coupla hours, Mr. Ruby.”

  “And what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  The foreman thought fast. “Well, it’s gone noon. You could go grab yourself a bite.”

  Ruby swore at him. He never ate in the middle of the day. Damned waste of valuable time. But then taking another look at the useless hand car and the phlegmatic foreman, he realized that two hours was probably a conservative estimate. At the same time he grew aware that he did have a sharp appetite after pumping a clogged hand car along five miles of track.

  “The hell!” he said, stamping out. He might as well head for home as hang around there.

  He wondered what Stella was having for lunch ...

  She was astride Savage as he lay face down on the big, soft bed gently pooling scented oil in the well between his shoulder blades, then started to massage the liquid into his powerful muscles. He moved gently under her.