by J. T. Edson
The master criminal was not left long in ignorance of the danger!
‘Unless I’m doing it, Kent-darling,’ announced a feminine voice from a distinctly masculine seeming shape, which lunged from the bushes close to where the response of the second horse originated. ‘I just loathe double dealing!’
Brought from his reverie by the words, their accent being that of a well bred Southron and imbued by a chilling vicious timbre, Bruce was only given just enough time to realize who was addressing him!
Even as the understanding sent terror flooding through the master criminal, but before he could start to think of escaping what he knew instinctively was coming, it was too late!
Holding her son’s Greener whipit gun at waist level in both hands, Jessica Front de Boeuf squeezed the triggers in rapid succession. Using such a specialized weapon at close quarters, there was no need for her to take a more careful aim. With a double bellow which came so close it formed almost a single sound, two jets of flame erupted from the shortened side by side barrels of the shotgun. Belched out ahead of the fiery muzzle blast, eighteen .32calibre buckshot balls spread like an opening fan as they passed through the air in their upwards angled flight.
Chance rather than deliberate intention caused the separate segments of molded lead to miss the horse. However, several struck the rider in his head and torso. Shying from the awesome commotion, the animal was further thrown off balance by the involuntary actions of the stricken master criminal. Knocked sideways by the multiple impacts, his feet remained in the stirrup irons for long enough to cause his mount to follow him down and roll over him. Several of his ribs were broken, but he was already dead and past feeling the crushing pressure against the unyielding ground.
Taking her right hand from the butt of the whipit gun, Jessica drew her son’s Colt Pocket Pistol of Navy Caliber—sometimes erroneously called the ‘Model of 1853’ and a five-shot revolver regardless of its name—from where she was carrying it tucked into the left side of her borrowed trousers’ waistband. Not until she was once more holding a fully loaded weapon did she walk towards where Bruce was sprawling limply on the trail and his horse was scrambling to its feet. She did not believe it would be needed where the master criminal was concerned, but wanted to be prepared if the man who had acted as his guide should put in an appearance. The precaution was unnecessary. Although she did not know, having heard the blast of the shotgun, Michael Murdock decided against carrying out even the first part of the orders he had been given and was already taking flight.
‘What a fool you were, Kent-darling,’ the woman remarked in a matter-of-fact tone, gazing with neither remorse nor revulsion at the motionless human body from which she had just taken life. Even without having deduced the intentions he had where her future was concerned, she would not have hesitated to kill him under the circumstances. ‘You could have avoided this and made so much money from what I had for you. But then, I always did hear you were greedy. It’s just a pity I had to finish you off outright. I’d have much preferred to have you alive, so you could really learn what suffering meant if any harm has befallen my boy.’
Bellowing, ‘Cave adsum!’ to provide an indication of his position in the room for the benefit of his cousin outside, Front de Boeuf discarded the slothful way in which he had behaved since being forced to leave the cell. Interlacing his fingers, he rose with great rapidity for one of his bulk.
Sending his chair and the table flying, he pivoted towards Quincy. Lashing around, impelled by all the power of his enormously muscular body, the interlocked hands crashed under the chin of the bogus peace officer. There was an audible pop as the neck was broken by the impact. Thrown bodily across the room, his head flopping limply, Quincy was dead before he crashed into the right side wall and bounced from it to the floor.
Swiftly though the big Southron had moved, he knew he was still far from being out of danger!
Already Gil was turning by the door and there was no way Front de Boeuf could cross the room in time to prevent him shooting!
Plunging through the gap he had made, Mark took in the situation with a hurried glance. Having heard the motto of the Front de Boeuf family had helped him fix the approximate position of his cousin before he entered. His scrutiny soon informed him where he must devote his attention.
For all that, it was a very close thing!
In fact, if Gil had not been distracted by the arrival of the blond giant, his plan might have failed to produce the desired result!
Seeing the enormous figure, the man at the door inadvertently turned his Colt away from its alignment. The margin was so slight that, in passing, the bullet cut off a lock of Front de Boeuf’s brown hair. Gil was not allowed to try again. Right, left, right, left, the ivory handled Peacemakers in Mark’s skilled hands roared alternately from waist level. In spite of this, every bullet flew true and anyone of them would have been fatal. Torso perforated by the lead, which had passed through to tear his back asunder, Gil went down with the revolver flying from his lifeless grasp.
‘Whooee, Cousin Mark!’ Front de Boeuf ejaculated, walking over and starting to go through the pockets of the man he had killed. ‘Am I pleased to see you!’
‘Something told me you might be,’ the blond giant replied dryly, then he raised his voice. ‘Are you all right, amigo!’
‘Got a bruised hip where I lit down on it,’ Red replied cheerfully from outside the cabin. ‘But I’m in a whole heap better shape than the other feller, ’cepting I’m going to chase after that god-damned claybank of mine. He’s lit out on me.’
‘You should’ve tied him up like I did my blood bay,’ Mark answered.
‘I never thought of that!’ the fiery haired Texan claimed and, despite knowing there would not have been the levity if things had gone wrong, went on, ‘You manage your end all right?’
‘I’m fine, Red!’ Front de Boeuf announced, then turned his gaze to his cousin and straightened up. ‘Wouldn’t you know this bastard would forget to bring the keys for these handcuffs?’
‘We’ll cut them off for you,’ the blond giant suggested. ‘But you’ll have to pay Stan Markham to replace them.’
‘I’ll do that with pleasure,’ Front de Boeuf promised and meant what he said for once. ‘What’s more, I’ll have momma tell Aunt Cornelia how you saved my life the next time she writes home.’
While making the offer, the big Southron watched for any reaction it might elicit from his cousin. The woman to whom he referred was their aged and very wealthy maiden aunt. Despite believing she would leave her considerable fortune to them, having been robbed by Jessica, Cornelia Front de Boeuf had changed her will in favor of Mark. Learning of this, the beautiful and unscrupulous woman had already made and been thwarted in an attempt to have the blond giant killed. Although the change and its cause had not been circulated amongst other members of the family, Front de Boeuf was hoping to discover if the facts were known to his cousin. From what he could detect, he assumed they had not.
‘There’s no call for that,’ the blond giant protested, not realizing he was being subjected to a quest for information. ‘Hell, Tru, the world’d be a sorry sort of place happen members of a family can’t count on each other when they’re in trouble.’
Part Four
Unfortunately, space does not permit us to include one of the Ysabel Kid’s adventures in this volume. However, in addition to his other claims to fame, he acquired a reputation for being a pleasing singer. Therefore, in response to numerous requests from members of the J.T. EDSON APPRECIATION SOCIETY, we have decided to use the remaining pages to record the songs he has sung in various of our other works and a couple which he favored but have not yet appeared in print. Regrettably, we are unable to supply the music for any of these. We had hoped to have this produced by a musical associate from our ‘spiritual home’, the White Lion Hotel in Melton Mowbray. Hearing us give voice to the first, declaring he had no wish to be turned tone deaf, he disappeared and has not been seen since.
There are in all probability more verses for the first two songs, but we have been unable to learn them.
He’s the fastest gun in Texas and the bravest of them all,
On a street, you’d walk right by him ’cause he isn’t very tall,
Comes trouble, he’s the boldest, fights like a Comanche Dog,
He’s from the Rio Hondo country and his name is Dusty Fog.
I saw a big-pig Yankee marshal a’coming down the street,
He’s got two big pistols in his hands and looks fierce enough to eat,
Oh big-pig Yankee stay away, keep right away from me,
I’m just a lil boy from Texas and scared as I can be.
A Yankee rode down into Texas,
A mean kind of cuss and real sly,
He fell in love with sweet Rosemary-Jo,
Then turned and told her, ‘Goodbye’.
So Rosemary-Jo told her tough pappy,
Who yelled, ‘Why hombre, that’s bad,
In tears you done left my Rosemary-Jo,
No Yankee can make my gal sad.’
So he whipped out his trusty ole hawg-legs,
At which he wasn’t never slow,
When the Yankee done saw him a-coming,
He knowed it was time for to go.
He jumped on his fast-running speed horse,
And fogged like hell to the West,
Then Rosemary-Jo got left her a fortune,
He come back and said he loved her best.
‘Oh no!’ she cried in a minute,
‘I love me a Texan so sweet,
And I’m headed down to ole Dallas town,
My sweet Texan cowhand to meet.’
So the Yankee rode down to the border,
He met his ole pal, Bandy Parr,
Who run with the carpetbaggers,
And a meeting they held in a bar.
Rosemary-Jo for word to her pappy,
He straddled his strawberry roan,
And said, ‘From that ornery critter,
I’ll save Rosemary-Jo who’s my own.’
Now the Yankee got called out in Dallas,
Met her pappy out on the square,
His draw was too slow and as far as I know,
The Yankee’s still lying out there.
It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
When they robbed the Glendale train,
And the folks they all did say, for many miles away,
‘Twas the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.
Chorus:
Jesse had a wife who’d mourn all her life,
With children who’d be brave,
But the dirty little coward’s’d shot down Mr. Howard,
Had laid Jesse James in his grave.
It was Jesse’ brother Frank’s robbed the Galatin bank,
And carried off the money from the town,
And in that very place, they had a little race,
‘Cause they shot Captain Sheets to the ground.
Chorus:
Jesse was real kind, a friend to the poor,
He could never see nobody suffer pain,
He stole from the rich to give to the poor,
That’s why he robbed the Glendale train.
Chorus:
They went to a crossing not very far from there,
Again they took a train,
And the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys,
To those outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.
Chorus:
It was on a Saturday and Jesse was at home,
Talking with his family so brave,
When a man came along, like a thief in the night
And laid poor old Jesse in his grave.
Chorus:
The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse’s death,
They wondered how he ever came to die,
It was at a traitor’s hand, a member of his band,
Who had shot poor old Jesse on the sly.
Chorus:
They call him Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
And I wonder how he does feel,
For he’d eaten Jesse’s bread and slept in Jesse’s bed,
Then snuck up and shot Jesse from behind.
Chorus:
Jesse went to his rest with one hand upon his breast,
But the Devil won’t be sitting on his knee,
He was born one day in the County of Clay,
And he came of a solitary race.
Chorus:
Folks feud down in Jack County, Texas,
Worse than any other place in the world,
But, ’stead of looking to his gun, Ole Bert Taggert’s son,
Had soft thoughts for Tobe Wilson’s girl.
Young Bart had grown up in Jack County,
His paw raised him to live by what’s thought right,
Had him sworn on the morn of the day he was born,
To shoot every Wilson on sight.
‘Powder and shot for the Wilsons,
Don’t even spare a hair on their heads,’
Old Bart Taggert cried as he laid down and died,
With Young Bart stood right by his bed.
Young Bart took that oath from his pappy,
He swore he would kill all that clan,
His head was in a whirl for love of the girl,
But he loaded up his six-shooting gun.
All over the rangeland he wandered,
This son of a Jack County man,
With blood in his eye and a Colt at his thigh,
He went looking for Tobe Wilson’s clan.
Shots ringing out through the woodland,
Shots thundering down on the breeze,
Until Bart Taggert’s son stood with smoke in his gun,
And the Wilsons were all down on their knees.
The fame of old Jack County’s feuding,
Has gone far and wide o’er the world,
Since Bart Taggert’s son wiped a clan out to a man,
But he brought back Tobe Wilson’s girl.
We would like to point out that there may be changes in the words from other versions of these songs which have appeared in our works. This is because the Ysabel Kid was a natural and untrained singer, so never felt the need to be restricted to repeating the lyrics identically.
About the Author
J. T. Edson was a former British Army dog-handler who wrote more than 130 Western novels, accounting for some 27 million sales in paperback. Edson’s works - produced on a word processor in an Edwardian semi at Melton Mowbray - contain clear, crisp action in the traditions of B-movies and Western television series. What they lack in psychological depth is made up for by at least twelve good fights per volume. Each portrays a vivid, idealized “West That Never Was”, at a pace that rarely slackens.
The Floating Outfit Series by J. T. Edson
The Ysabel Kid
.44 Caliber Man
A Horse Called Mogollon
Goodnight’s Dream
From Hide and Horn
Set Texas Back on Her Feet
The Hide and Tallow Men
The Hooded Riders
Quiet Town
Trail Boss
Wagons to Backsight
Troubled Range
Sidewinder
Rangeland Hercules
McGraw’s Inheritance
The Half-Breed
White Indians
Texas Kidnappers
The Wildcats
The Bad Bunch
The Fast Gun
Cuchilo
A Town Called Yellowdog
Trigger Fast
The Trouble Busters
The Making of a Lawman
Decision for Dusty Fog
Cards and Colts
The Code of Dusty Fog
The Gentle Giant
Set-A-Foot
The Making of a Lawman
The Peacemakers
To Arms! To Arms! In Dixie!
Go Back to Hell
The South Will Rise Again
The Quest for Bowie’s Blade
Beguinage
Beguinage Is Dead
The Rushers
Buffalo Are Coming!
The Fortune Hunters
Rio Guns
Gun Wizard
The Texas
Mark Counter’s Kin
Old Moccasins on the Trail
The Rio Hondo Kid
Waco’s Debt
Ole Devil’s Hands and Feet
... And more to come every month!
Other Series to enjoy by J.T. Edson
Bunduki
Calamity Jane Series
Cap Fog – Company Z
Dusty Fog’s Civil War
Ole Devil Hardin
Rockabye County
Waco
Waxahachie Smith
Stand Alones
But the adventure doesn’t end here …
Join us for more first-class, action-packed books.
Regular updates feature on our website and blog
The Adventures continue…
Issuing new and classic fiction from Yesterday and Today!
More on J. T. EDSON
i While paying a visit to the United States—some details of which are recorded in: BEGUINAGE IS DEAD!—British criminal Amelia Penelope Diana ‘Benkers’ Benkinsop also made use of a monocle to add a touch expected by many Americans when meeting with one they believed was a member of the English aristocracy. See, Part Three, ‘Birds Of A Feather’, WANTED! BELLE STARR.