by J. T. Edson
‘Sit fast, coosie. We know who’s down there and we’re going to get him out.’
In the cellar two men sat at a table playing cards by the light of a lantern. Seated on a bed at the side of the small room a tall, slender, grey haired man, wearing the clothes of a Mexican hidalgo, sat reading a book by the light which came through the small window at ground level.
The cellar had been blown into the solid rock under the ranch. It was a small room, although fairly comfortable. Lit only by the lamp on the table and the small window and poorly ventilated, it was still habitable and Don Jose Estradre was not showing any signs of ill-treatment or ill-health through his imprisonment.
When the two knocks sounded the gunmen looked at each other, coming to their feet. One glanced at Estradre but the old man still sat reading his book and ignoring them.
‘It must be that damned fool cook,’ the taller of the men growled.
‘Yeah. You watch the old man while I go and take a look-see.’
The only way out of the cellar was up a flight of steps cut into the rock, leading to a platform and the door which opened in from the dining-room. The gunman went up the steps, hand on gun, even though he was sure it would only be the cook knocking. Gripping the door handle he pulled and the door swung towards him. Not seeing the cook he lifted his gun out and very cautiously started to look out of the opening.
The Ysabel Kid watched the door opening, hardly breathing, tense and ready to move as a hungry cougar lying on a limb above a whitetail deer. The man’s head came into view like a turtle taking a look out at the world. Lunging forward the Kid’s hands gripped the gunman by his hair and heaved. It was no time for fancy fighting. The man howled as he felt the pain. It was as if some Indian was trying to pluck his scalp out without making the knife cut first. With a startled yell he shot from the door and across the room like a cork out of a bottle.
The Kid did not wait. He saw the cook knock up Salmon’s gun hand, then grapple with the ranch foreman. Then the Kid was through the door and on the small platform above the cellar.
At the bottom of the steps the second gunman whirled from where he stood looking up. His gun came out and started to swing into line on the old Mexican. The Ysabel Kid saw all this and acted with Indian wild speed. From his lips came a Comanche war-scream which would have scared a tobacco store wooden Indian into dropping his cigars. His razor-edged bowie knife was in his hand as he hurled himself out into space and down at the man. The gunman panicked for a vital instant. The yell shook him and paralyzed him for that split second the Kid needed. The gunman hesitated as to his action, whether to down the old Mexican first or deal with the new and more deadly menace. His instincts told him he must kill this knife-toting stranger first, then he could drop the old man.
But by the time the decision was made it was already too late. The gunman’s gun was harmlessly pointing away from both the Kid and Estradre when the black dressed boy crashed full on to his body. They went down, the gunman’s gun sent a bullet into the wall. Then he felt something strike his side. For an instant agony filled him, then a dull numbness. His hand relaxed and the gun fell to the floor.
The Ysabel Kid rolled from the man, coming to his feet fast, the length of his bowie’s blade dripping blood. He heard a sound and looked up to where the second gunman stood, lining his Colt down. Lunging forward the Kid knocked Estradre aside, pushing the old man into a corner. In a continuation of the same move, the Ysabel Kid dived the other way, right hand dropping the knife and twisting back around the butt of his gun. The bullet hit the bed between the two men even as they separated. The Kid twisted in the air and landing started to fan his old Colt’s hammer as fast as he could, throwing lead up in the general direction of the platform. He shot, not for effect but to throw the other man off his aim. Flame and smoke belched from the yawning .44 bore of the old Dragoon. The gunman took an involuntary step back as the soft lead balls howled up, his eyes trying to pierce the smoke which lay like a fog below and hid the two men from his view.
That was what the Ysabel Kid hoped would happen, he knew that while fanning could be deadly done by an expert at close range, he was not expert enough to get a hit at that distance. His intention was both to prevent the gunman from getting a clear shot, and try to hide under the swinging powder smoke. Five shots he fanned off, the explosions booming loud in the room, their concussion putting out the lamp. Then he held his fire, for he had only one more bullet left in the old gun and his powder flask was in Thunder’s saddlebag. It was one of the rare occasions when the Kid would have preferred to be holding a cartridge loading gun instead of his old four-pounder thumb-buster.
The gunman looked down, knew the game was up and turned to run. He came through the door, swinging his gun towards the two struggling men. Tug Salmon saw the man emerge and with a surge of his muscles threw the cook backwards, right into the bullet the gunman threw at him. Salmon went to the floor in a dive, landing and firing two fast shots. The first made a hole in the wall an inch from the gunman, the second from the swinging barrel stiffened the hired gun up, a hole appearing in the center of his shirt. He staggered back to the wall and a third bullet brought him sliding down to sit in a lifeless huddle.
Hurdling the groaning cook Salmon ran to the door of the cellar, the whirling smoke was eddying up and he yelled. ‘You all right, boss?’
Two coughing shapes came up through the smoke, Estradre leaning on the Ysabel Kid’s arm and trying to wipe powder-induced tears from his eyes. The Kid lowered the hammer of his old gun and grinned at Salmon. ‘Lucky you yelled, I was all set to shoot.’
Salmon leapt forward to help his boss up the steps and the Kid returned into the smoke to fetch his knife. He came up again and wiped the blade on the shoulder of the dead man with Comanche indifference. Then he looked to where Salmon was helping Estradre into a chair and pouring out a drink from Lanton’s best bottle.
‘You all right, boss?’ Salmon asked. ‘When I heard that damned yell I thought they’d got you for sure.’
‘I was close, Tug. Very close. This young man arrived only just in time.’
‘They treat you all right?’ Salmon glared at the cook, debating what action to take if his boss gave a negative answer.
‘Well enough. I lack for exercise, that is all. Where is Juanita now?’
The Ysabel Kid went forward, rolling the cook from hands and knees on to his back and looking down. ‘Where is she, hombre?’
The cook looked up again. Those eyes were even more savage now and he could not think how he ever felt that was an innocent face. ‘To KH!’ he screamed. ‘Get me a doctor.’
‘To KH?’ the Kid growled. ‘Why’d they take her with them?’
‘She knows a tunnel that’ll take them into the house.’
The Kid slammed the man’s head back to the floor and got up. A tunnel leading to the KH house. What a fool he’d been. Nearly every old Spanish style house had such a thing, a precaution against attack. His knife came out and it took all his willpower to prevent the blade sinking into the cook. He shoved the knife away and turned to Estradre. ‘I ride to KH. Do I ride alone?’
Fourteen – The Fight for KH
The lights were still burning at the KH even though the hour was long past midnight. Outside Waco and Red were patrolling, alert and watchful. In the house the others waited for Doc Leroy to give the word that Painthoss could speak and tell them what they needed to know. Gloria, face lined with anxiety, kept the coffee pot boiling for the men. Brazos was with her, his old face lined and looking even older. In the days since her arrival Rene had become as dear to the old-timer as Gloria was.
Waco came in from his patrol and took the steaming cup of black coffee the girl offered. He looked down at her and grinned. ‘Now don’t you go to worrying. It’ll be all right.’
‘It’s easy for you to talk!’ Gloria snapped, then by a conscious effort got hold of herself again. She knew Waco was only trying to cheer her up. ‘I’m sorry, Waco. It’s—’
>
‘What about? Sure it’s easy for me to talk. I learned real young and learned real good.’
Dusty and Mark entered the kitchen and looked at the clock on the wall. The fingers were pointing to half-past three. Mark came to the girl and dropped a hand on her shoulder. ‘Nothing yet, redtop. Dusty, I still allow we should head for town.’
‘He’ll likely be there,’ Dusty agreed. ‘But this is one time we daren’t take chances. It isn’t just a straight swap Lanton’s after or we’d have heard from him before now. I’d take a chance and send the boys to make a search of every place they might be holding her but there isn’t the time and we need them all here. It’s no use you and me riding off half cocked to the town then Painthoss recovering and telling Doc they’re holding her some other place.’
‘You take all the boys if you want,’ Gloria gasped. ‘I don’t care what happens to the ranch if we get Rene back safe.’
‘It’s not that easy, Gloria,’ Dusty answered. ‘Lanton’s got her and he’s got more in mind than a straight swap, her for the KH. If that was his idea we’d have heard from him by now. He’d want us to know and make a deal before we could think out a move against him. Besides, Painthoss isn’t any kind of saint. He’d have stood for a straight swap, but not for—’
Dusty rose and paced the room, his mind working furiously. He was trying to put himself into Lanton’s place, to think as the fat man would be thinking. He came to a halt, the others saw the change in him, his hands dropping towards the guns at his side, cold murder in his eyes.
‘What is it, Dusty?’ Gloria was suddenly afraid.
‘Mark, go see Doc. If Painthoss can’t talk we’re going to town without waiting any longer.’
‘Why?’ Mark asked. He was scared, too, for he’d never seen Dusty so dangerous.
‘Lanton aims to marry Rene.’
‘Why should he?’ Gloria gasped. ‘She’d never do it.’
‘She’ll do it, gal. What’d you do happen you were in the same predicament and Lanton told you it was marry him, or Brit’s life?’
For once the girl did not howl out at the reference to herself and Brit. She knew there was only one thing she would do. ‘You’re right. I’d do it and so would she.’
‘Why’d he want to make her marry him?’ Mark asked. ‘Remember in the barn. She made him look two inches tall when she called him down. This’s the way of getting his own back on her.’
Doc came in. ‘Dusty, he’s awake, but he’s dead weak. Should be sleeping but he won’t until he’s seen you.’
Dusty went upstairs fast, followed by Mark and the girl. They entered what had been Knight’s bedroom. Painthoss lay in the bed, his face colorless but his eyes were bright. ‘They took the gal to town, Cap’n Fog,’ he said. ‘He’s going to make her marry him. I’ve been bad in my time but I wouldn’t stand for that. I was coming here to warn you. Forgot Lanton’s lil stingy gun. Young Juanita yelled a warning. He winged me but I still came here to warn you. That gal’s sure got Lanton fooled, I saw her wigwagging to the Kid but I don’t know the sign talk she was using.’
‘You get to sleep, amigo,’ Dusty ordered, ‘and ole Doc’ll do all he can for you.’
‘Lanton’s men’ll be here in the morning. Happen you send word, I’ve got eight men who’d be more’n pleased to take sides with you against Lanton and his guns.’
‘No time to fetch them and I haven’t a man to spare,’ Dusty replied, he held out his hand. ‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘You know me?’ Painthoss asked as Dusty turned to go. ‘Knew a man like you once. He’s dead now. Fact being my pappy’ll be sending out word that Cullen Baker’s dead and the law might as well rip up their dodgers on him. Lanton’d hold a thing like that over a man’s head if he knew about it.’
Painthoss’s face showed his gratitude. A law man of the reputation of Dusty’s father, Hondo Fog, had influence. If he said the old-time Texas outlaw, Cullen Baker, was dead, others would believe it. Painthoss could look ahead to a life of peace.
‘Where’re you going, Dusty?’ he asked.
‘To town, Mark and me.’
‘Give ’em hell, boy.’
Dusty Fog and Mark Counter went downstairs again and into the kitchen. They took out their guns and checked them over, examining the loads. Gloria watched them, her hands clenching and unclenching again. Brit came and stood by her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently.
‘Take Waco and some of the others,’ she said.
‘Nope, you’ll want them all here,’ Dusty answered. Red was here now and the men of the KH looked to Dusty for orders. He told them what he knew and the angry, almost animal growls of the young men came to his ears. ‘The rest of you’ll stay here, Brit, I’m leaving you in command.’
There was no time for the others to say anything for Dusty was already walking to the door. Brit opened his mouth to object, then closed it once more. He was an Army man who knew the value of obedience to orders. He followed Dusty and Mark out to the corral where they saddled their horses. ‘Any orders, Captain?’
‘Sure, turn the remuda loose, scatter them. Waco’s paint’ll come back to him when he whistles. Anyways we’ll be back in time to help you bring the horses back in. Then get the house ready. They’ll likely attack at dawn, don’t rely on it. If they aren’t here at dawn, don’t count on their not coming at all.’
Mark and Dusty swung into their saddles. Mark leaned down and gripped Brit’s hand. ‘Take care of ole redtop, Brit. Tell her we’ll fetch Rene back here unmarried.’
‘Or a widow,’ finished Dusty Fog, then horses were running for town.
Brit returned to the kitchen and looked at the circle of anxious faces. ‘First,’ he said, ‘I’d like to say I don’t approve of being placed in command and feel it would be more in the democratic principles of you colonials to put it to vote who leads us.’
Waco grinned back at the tanned young Englishman. ‘Ole Dusty, he done held him an election, took a vote and he voted it unanimous that you takes over us colonials.’
‘And ole Dusty’s like to get real mean if he don’t get his way. I reckon his mammy spoiled him when he was young,’ Red went on.
The men were solidly behind Dusty’s decision to place Brit in charge of the ranch. Waco and Red were fighting men from soda to hock but they knew they were reckless and needed a steadier hand to guide them. Doc was slightly older but he would be too busy handling any wounded to take control of the others. Brazos never thought of himself as a leader, and he was more than willing to let Brit give the orders.
‘All right, chaps, get to it. I want the remuda scattering. Then we need some rest. We’ll have one man in Painthoss’s room to keep watch and also to keep an eye on Doc’s patient. There are two windows in the room which cover the front of the house and the corrals, the other the bosque!
‘Two of us watching might be better. The windows in my room at the back of the house covers the other two sides,’ Gloria remarked.
‘Not having entrance to your boudoir, Gloria, I wouldn’t know about it.’ Brit ignored the sniggers of the other men.
‘Waco, get the remuda out and away. Doc, you and I will take the first watch. You take the front and I’ll take the rear. The rest of you get some sleep.’
The group broke up, heading for the different duties or to try and snatch some rest. Brit waited for Waco to return from scattering the remuda then they made a round of the house to make sure all was secure.
The sun was high in the heavens when Gloria woke, laying fully dressed on the bed in Hamilton’s room. She had hardly slept until the first light of morning. Sitting up it took her a moment to remember where she was and what was happening. She went to the door and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. All the men except for Red were seated at the table, eating a meal. Brit rose as she entered and pulled out a chair for her.
‘Take a pew, dear girl. Brazos is cook today. We’ve elected him as he’s been riding in the wagon for days now. Do the old blight
er good to have some work.’
‘Didn’t they come?’ she asked, looking around.
‘Sure,’ Waco jeered. ‘They’s come, we shot them all, they shot us all. Then they lit out and we let you sleep through it all.’
‘You can tell she’s kin to ole Mark,’ Doc remarked. ‘All that clan can sleep.’
Gloria made a rude noise through her lips, then sat at the table next to Brit and ate her breakfast. Pushing back her plate she looked at him. ‘What’s worrying you?’
‘S Star. Their tactics should have been a dawn attack. They didn’t come. I can’t understand it. Painthoss was sure they’d be here.’
‘It could be a trap.’
‘Why sure,’ Waco scoffed. ‘Ole Painthoss, he says to Lanton. “Let’s us lay a trap for KH. Just you sorta shoot me in the shoulder and I’ll head across the KH bleeding
like a throat cut shoat
‘Thereby raising all kinds of fear and false apprehension amongst them,’ Brit interrupted Waco, watching the anger rising the color in Gloria’s face. ‘It could have happened, although I gravely doubt it.’
‘So do I,’ Gloria answered, holding her voice to a fair imitation of his accent. ‘Actually, old chappie.’
Time dragged by without any sign of the S Star men. Brit kept his men on the alert all the time. However, he did not mean to relax, for he remembered what Dusty told him.
Just before noon Gloria took a coffee pot and went the rounds of the men. Waco was in the bunkhouse room, covering the forge and backhouse. Brit and Doc in the sitting-room, by the windows. Brazos in the kitchen and covering the other side. She went upstairs and entered the room where Painthoss lay in his bed, eyeing Red Blaze who was moving between the two windows. The rancher tried to sit up, fuming at his inability to get up and help the KH fight off the attack when it came.
‘Look,’ his voice held some of its old paw and bellow. ‘I fit Injuns and Yankees, I’ve been wounded wuss than this itty bitty scratch. Gimme a rifle, Miss Knight and I’ll get up—’