Outlaw Trackdown by Jon Sharpe Page B

said we do this fair and I meant it.” He reversed his grip on the knife and extended it, hilt-first, to Rufus. “Take this.”
    As if he were gripping a rattler, Rufus obeyed.
    Hoby turned to Semple. “You still got that foldin’ knife you always carry around for pickin’ your teeth and cleanin’ your nails and such?”
    Semple nodded and stuck several fingers in a pocket and produced the small folding knife in question. “This?”
    â€œThat.” Hoby grinned and pried the blade open with his thumbnail and held it out to Fargo. “This is yours to use.”
    Fargo took it. The blade was about two and half inches long, whereas the blade on Rufus’s knife had to be eight inches or better. “You call this fair?”
    â€œYou did hear me say I’m bored?” Hoby chuckled and moved farther back. “Give them room, everybody. Rufus, you cut Abe loose so he can scoot out of there. Semple and Granger, keep your guns on the scout in case he tries to be tricky.”
    Fargo was tempted to reach into his boot for his Arkansas toothpick but he didn’t want them to know he had it. Moving back a couple of yards to give himself more room to move, he hefted the folding knife. As weapons went it was pitiful.
    As for Rufus, he was smiling like a kid who had been given the greatest gift ever. “Your little knife against this?” he said, and wagged his. “I’ll carve you to pieces.”
    â€œThat’s the spirit,” Hoby said.
    Rufus took a step but stopped when Hoby said, “Ah, ah.”
    Puzzled, Rufus said, “What now?”
    â€œNot so fast, you eager beaver, you,” Hoby said. “You haven’t heard the rules yet.”
    â€œIn a knife fight? There aren’t any that I ever heard of.”
    â€œOf course not,” Hoby said. “I just made them up.”
    Semple and Granger thought that was hilarious.
    Fargo was glad they were having so much fun. They might let down their guard. It was a straw but it was something.
    â€œDo I want to hear these rules?” Rufus asked.
    â€œProbably not,” Hoby said. “You see, the problem with most knife fights is that they’re over too quick.”
    â€œOh God,” Rufus said.
    â€œThere you go again,” Hoby said, “blubberin’.”
    Rufus clamped his mouth shut and seemed to regain some of his confidence by staring at Fargo’s small knife.
    â€œNow then,” Hoby said, “this is how it will be.” He paused. “When I say go, you go at it. If I say stop, you stop.”
    â€œIn the middle of the fight?” Rufus said.
    â€œIf you don’t, Semple is to shoot you.”
    Semple said merrily, “Pleased to.”
    â€œThose are the rules?” Rufus said.
    â€œSilly man,” Hoby said. “That was just the first. The second is that there will be no stabbin’ or cuttin’ above the waist. You do and Semple will shoot . . .”
    â€œWhat?” Rufus interrupted. “No goin’ for the neck or the heart? What kind of knife fight is this?”
    â€œA damned interestin’ one,” Hoby said. “I want you to go for his pecker and him to go for yours.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSay that one more time. I dare you.”
    Rufus opened his mouth, then closed it again.
    â€œNow then,” Hoby continued. “The only place you can stab the other fella is in the pecker or the leg. Anywhere else and Semple will shoot you. It’s the pecker to win and only the pecker.”
    â€œJust the pecker?” Rufus said.
    â€œI swear,” Hoby said.
    â€œWhat?”
    A flick of Hoby’s hand and his Colt was in it. He pointed it at Rufus’s leg but after a couple of seconds he twirled it back into his holster. “No. You’re already hurt. It wouldn’t be right.”
    â€œWhy would you shoot me?” Rufus asked.
    Hoby looked at Fargo. “I hope you