Alvin Fog, Texas Ranger

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Howdy, Tombstone,’ the tallest cowhand drawled, speaking louder than when he had addressed his companions, his tone and bearing implying that the elderly man was a person for whom he had considerable liking and respect. Reaching down, he lifted the footwear which had aroused Alvin’s interest and went on, ‘We heard from poor ole Ewen’s momma this morning and she allowed’s how we should give all his working gear away. So, seeing’s you-all took such a shine to these galoshes of his, you may’s well have them.’

  ‘Why that’s right neighborly of you boys,’ the newcomer declared, as the other two nodded concurrence. His Texas accent had a timbre that supplemented the jovial lines of his leathery, tanned face. Accepting the gift he was being offered, he continued, ‘Digging graves after there’s been rain’s sure painful for my tired old feet. They don’t take kind to getting wet no more.’

  ‘Poor ole Ewen’s momma was always worrying about him getting his feet wet, seeing’s how that was what took his daddy off just after he was born,’ the shortest of the trio commented in a bitter tone. ‘Which’s why she sent those damned things to him. And’s she’d come over to visit with him ’n’ he’d just seen her headed back to home was how come he’d got ’em on when he come in here that night. If he hadn’t been—’

  ‘Don’t start going into that again, amigo,’ the third cowhand requested soothingly. ‘Ain’t nobody, ’specially his momma blames you-all. He was mighty set on going out to the canyon hunting for ole Brixton’s ghost afore you—and the rest of us—started in to hoorawing him for having to wear ’em.’

  ‘Why sure,’ seconded the tallest of the three and glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Anyways, we’d best finish our beer and get going. The boss’ll be through at the store by now and he said for us not to keep him waiting.’

  ‘See you-all around, Tombstone,’ the third cowhand promised, when they had carried out his companion’s instructions.

  ‘Allus pleased to see you young ’n’s, just so long’s it’s not in my official capacity,’ the elderly man replied, placing the galoshes on the floor by his feet and reaching for the schooner of beer Softly had filled without needing to be told. After the cowhands had set off towards the street, he swung his gaze to rest briefly on the table at which the small Texan was sitting and went on, ‘I didn’t know’s you’d took to serving food in here, Abel.’

  ‘It’s only while they’re giving the dining room floor a good scrubbing,’ the man behind the counter answered, throwing a glance towards the lobby.

  Allowing himself to relax as the trio walked by without paying the slightest attention to him, Alvin looked in the same direction as Softly. He saw nothing beyond the entrance to the bar-room and once more wondered whether he was imagining the danger. In spite of his apprehension, the cowhands had only been waiting to present the galoshes to Tombstone. From the conversation he had overheard, he deduced these had belonged to the young man who was found dead in the Badlands and had been worn on the night that the incident had taken place.

  Much as the small Texan would have liked to discuss the situation with his partner, he realized that deviating from the original plan would make this difficult. As they had not shown any sign of recognizing each other when he arrived, it might arouse Softly’s suspicions if they should do so now. Being uncertain of how to act, he decided the best course was to do nothing until a suitable moment came for them to establish contact. Seeing the waiter coming from the kitchen with his meal on a tray, he concluded that he might as well eat while awaiting an opportunity.

  Then a disturbing thought struck Alvin.

  Suppose the food had been tampered with in some way?

  Being so highly spiced and fiery to the palate, chili con came would be ideal for masking the taste of any kind of noxious potion.

  ‘Take a hold of yourself!’ the small Texan ordered silently. ‘There’s no way they could know what I’d order, or even if I’d be eating here.’

  For all that, Alvin drew only slight consolation from the thought. It was, he realized, far from as comforting as it had appeared at first. The odds favored him eating at the hotel. Finding a table prepared in the bar, with the dining room fortuitously closed, lent strength to that supposition. What was more, he recollected how the waiter had tried to dissuade him when he ordered the chili. However, the remembrance aroused further speculation. If the food had been tampered with, why had it been considered necessary to have him eat in the bar?

  It was not, if the remarks Alvin had overheard passed between Softly and the elderly man were any guide, because this was the usual day on which the dining room’s floor was scrubbed. The fact that that explanation had been required suggested it was not closed for such a purpose on other occasions.

  Before the small Texan could give any further thought to the matter, or come up with a satisfactory reason for testing his theory regarding the possibility of tampering with the food, the waiter reached the table and set down the tray.

  ‘Hey, this looks good,’ Alvin enthused as the bowl of steaming red chili was placed in front of him, but he was watching the Mexican’s face and not the food.

  ‘Si señor,’ the waiter responded. ‘The coffee isn’t ready yet—’

  ‘Fetch it as soon as it is,’ Alvin replied, unable to detect any suggestion as to whether his latest suspicions were justified or that the excuse about the coffee was genuine.

  ‘Si, señ…’ the waiter began, but the words broke off as he stared at the entrance from the lobby. Giving a gulp of alarm, he went on hurriedly as he started to back away, ‘I’ll fetch it for you!’

  While the Mexican was turning to walk rapidly away Alvin swung his gaze across the room and studied the three men who were entering. All wore cowhand style clothing that he suspected was grubby and untidy by choice rather than through being worn for work, but they were a far different proposition from the trio who had presented Tombstone with the galoshes. The one in the lead was the oldest, being in his forties, of medium height, thickset and had a brutish, scowling face. Taller by two and three inches respectively, his companions were lean, with surly features in need of being shaved and were clearly brothers. There was something arrogant and truculent about all three of them. It could have been accounted for by their slightly lurching gait, which implied they had been drinking elsewhere before arriving in the hotel.

  Alerted by the waiter’s reaction at the sight of the trio, the small Texan sensed that the situation he had envisaged might be commencing. He noticed the calculating way they were looking at him as they approached, still in the loose arrowhead formation, and he guessed their purpose was similar to that which he had suspected of the cowhands. Running his trained gaze over each in turn, he spotted a significant bulge at waist level under the left flap of the leader’s open jacket. However, he could not detect anything to suggest either of the other pair was armed.

  While conducting the survey, Alvin picked up the tablespoon with his left hand and lifted the bowl of chili on his right palm as if about to start eating. Instead, he sat still and without allowing any trace of his awareness regarding their possible purpose to show. Then all doubts about their motives ended as the stocky man came to a halt at the opposite side of the table, but his companions continued to walk until they were level on the small Texan’s right and left.

  ‘Hey, four-eyes,’ the leader said, teetering truculently on his heels. His name, Alvin learned later, was Fred Mulley. ‘You’re sitting at our table.’

  ‘I didn’t see any reserved sign when I took it,’ the small Texan replied, in the silence that fell following the stocky man’s words. He sensed that every eye in the room was turned to the table. Without laying down either the spoon or the bowl, he moved his chair back slightly as if meaning to rise and went on equally mildly, ‘But that being so, I’d best let you have—’

  ‘Don’t pull that gun!’ Mulley bellowed, lunging forward confident that David Skinner to the intended victim’s left and his younger brother, Dennis, on the right would le
ssen the chances of the room’s other occupants seeing that such an action was not taking place.

  Ready for the first act of hostility, Alvin swung his right arm. Exhibiting an accuracy equal to when firing his Colt Government Model automatic pistol, he flung the bowl so its contents gushed out to meet the oncoming man. Caught in the face with the stew-like liquid, which was hot from cooking as well as by virtue of the spices it contained, Mulley might have thought himself fortunate that his eyes had closed instinctively an instant before it reached him. Despite this, he let out a howl reminiscent of a cat that was being scalded and his aggressive advance became an anguished retreat. Rising swiftly, their original purpose forgotten, his hands began to paw at and wipe the thick red chili from where it was burning his face. As he went, displaying a rapidity which matched the throwing of the bowl, his would-be victim’s spoon-filled left fist hooked beneath the edge of the table and pitched it over after him.

  Such was the alacrity with which the small Texan responded to what they had believed would be an unanticipated assault, the Skinner brothers stood and stared instead of attacking the moment things began to go wrong. In exculpation, neither had expected there would be any need for them to participate in such a manner. On hearing how small the potential victim would be, it had been decided to let Mulley carry out the disablement. The brothers’ presence should have been to support his assertion that the man who had aroused Softly’s animosity provoked the fight by trying to draw a gun, and also to act as a reminder of the danger of reprisals if anybody offered to disprove the excuse.

  Seeing the table overturned and Mulley blundering backwards, Dennis recovered from his state of surprise somewhat more quickly than his elder brother. Taking a couple of paces closer, he thrust out his hands. The right caught hold of the Norfolk jacket’s off side lapel and the left grabbed Alvin’s right arm. As he began to pull his captive from the chair, he became conscious of just how bulky and hard a bicep he was grasping. Realizing that the small Texan was far from being as puny as he had imagined, he was not sorry to see his sibling start to move forward with clenched fists.

  Bending the motion smoothly with the strain being exerted to lift him from his seat, Alvin rose faster than he was being pulled. As the chair went flying behind him, he brought his straight left arm around and up in a wide arc to rake the head of the spoon he was still holding across his attacker’s face. Although the tip only just grazed Dennis’ nose he could not prevent himself from jerking back his head and relaxing his grip slightly. The small Texan’s arm, having gone by, bent and its elbow rammed into the man’s chest with sufficient force to effect his release.

  Nor was Alvin a moment too soon in attaining his freedom. A glance over his shoulder as he delivered the elbow blow warned him that the elder brother was closing with him. Setting his full weight on the slightly flexed left leg, he raised and folded the right beneath him. By inclining his torso forward, he avoided the left fist which was driving in his direction. Stabbing to the rear with the elevated boot, he caught his would-be assailant hard and where such an attack would produce the best result. Even as agony ripped from David’s groin and he was brought to a halt, his discomfiture was not at an end. Descending immediately after delivering the kick, the small Texan’s foot served as a pivot upon which he swiveled. Given added impetus by the turn, his open left hand was sent in a slap to the side of the head which knocked its recipient in a twirling sprawl to crash on the floor. Already in considerable pain, the impact jolted all the breath and any semblance of cohesive thought from David.

  Granted a brief respite by the brothers’ intervention, Mulley contrived to partially clear his vision. Having done so, he could hardly believe the sight that met his eyes. Discovering that his companions had met with even less success than he had when coping with their proposed victim, he darted forward with the intention of resuming his attack. Alert to the possibility, Alvin turned and dealt with it in much the same way he had when rendering Hubert Blitzer hors de combat in the cabin of the hotel at Austin.

  Finding his left wrist caught by two powerful hands, which gave a mighty heave to propel him across the bar-room, the leader of the would-be attackers could neither halt his headlong progress nor retain his equilibrium. He had a vague idea that he was rushing in the direction of a tall, lean, leathery faced figure which was rising from a chair against the wall. Clad in ancient range clothes, the man in question was reaching beneath his jacket with his right hand. However, at that moment Mulley was too concerned by his own predicament to devote any thought to what the other was doing or anything else for that matter. So he failed to notice that the man towards whom he was approaching, while without any human companions, was not alone.

  Although Mulley had never done any more work than was necessary, he had of necessity acquired a horseman’s skill in breaking a fall. Feeling himself going down, he instinctively ducked his left shoulder and contrived to alight rolling until coming to a halt a few feet from Sergeant Branch’s table. He was shaken, but not so severely injured that he was unable to force himself into a sitting position facing his intended victim. Then, snarling with rage, he sent his right hand towards the revolver which was to have been planted on the geologist to excuse the attack.

  Driven backwards for a few steps by the impact of the elbow upon his chest, Dennis Skinner saw what he considered to be his chance. However, he had noticed how the small man had served his brother and was handling Mulley. Having a strong streak of cowardice under his viciously bullying nature, he was disinclined to tackle such an obviously competent antagonist with his bare fists. So, instead of advancing immediately as his stocky companion was flung towards the wall, he dipped his right hand into the pocket of his Levi’s pants. Not until his fingers were entering the holes of the brass knuckle-duster which reposed therein did he offer to move forward.

  Just as Mulley’s fingers were enfolding the butt of the revolver, he heard a deep and menacing growl rumbling from close behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he found himself confronted by the snarl-rippling and powerfully toothed mouth of a big blue-tick coonhound which was standing beneath the table. Its eyes were fixed upon him and its sleek, well-muscled body seemed to be quivering with a desire to spring forward.

  ‘I’d leave it be, was I you-all,’ remarked a dryly sardonic drawling voice. ‘Lightning there don’t take kind to having guns waved about near him.’

  Without waiting to discover what the third of his attackers meant to take from the pocket, Alvin darted in. Bending at the waist, he wrapped his arms around Dennis’ legs just above the knees. Clamping them together, he straightened up and lifted, then threw his captive from him. The tall man landed on his feet, but that did not prove to be any advantage. He staggered a couple of steps to the rear, the hand emerging to join its mate in a flailing attempt to keep his balance.

  Following Dennis on the run, the small Texan leapt to deliver a thrusting kick with the left foot. Struck in the center of the chest and feeling as if it was being caved in, the attack ruined whatever chance he might have had of remaining erect. Sent spinning towards the entrance to the lobby, his spine collided with the frame of the door and the back of his head met the wall hard. Rebounding, he went through to collapse unconscious at the feet of the man who was approaching from the now wide open door of the manager’s office.

  As he twisted his head around, the first thing to meet Mulley’s gaze appeared to be a contradiction of the warning that had been uttered. His still smarting and running eyes took in the sight of a Colt Frontier revolver, its hammer drawn to the fully cocked position, dangling in a deeply bronzed hand that looked as strong and hard as granite. Nor did he miss the point that, while the weapon was in plain sight, the blue-tick paid no attention to it despite what had been said on the subject. So, raising his gaze to the hard and unsmiling features of the speaker, he left the revolver thrust in his waistband and exposed the empty hand. The dog stopped growling, but it remained on its feet and continued to display an alert readines
s he felt sure would change into an attack if he made the slightest hostile gesture. With that disconcerting thought in mind, except for looking from the speaker to the entrance to the lobby, he sat as if turned to stone.

  Alighting from delivering his version of the yoko tobi geri (side jumping kick) of karate, still without his exertions having dislodged the horn-rimmed spectacles, Alvin decided its recipient would not require any further attention. So he swung around to find out whether he would need to continue defending himself against the other two. By the time he had completed the turn, halting in a defensive posture which was strange to Occidental eyes, he was equally confident that there was nothing more to fear from either. Although the stocky man might have been physically capable of resuming the attack, Branch and Lightning were clearly acting as effective deterrents and the second of the brothers sprawled limply where he had fallen.

  Satisfied that the fighting was over, the small Texan allowed his hands to drop and turned his gaze to the other occupants of the room. Not for the first time, he felt grateful for the process of hereditary reproduction which had given him such an unobtrusively powerful physique. As in the case of his maternal grandfather, he found his outward appearance was a tremendous asset when backed by the thorough training he too had received in the unarmed combat techniques of the Japanese martial arts. These qualities combined to offer an initial edge when he was in contention against larger men who were unaware of their existence.