by J. T. Edson
‘And we reckoned he was some feller!’ a man growled.
The five old Kliddoe men and Cawther were ignored during the fight. They saw their chance now and dashed for the piles of weapons. One cut the rope and threw guns out to the others. From up the slope a rifle cracked; Cawther Kliddoe went down as he clawed up a revolver.
The crowd saw what had happened and scattered. The five Kliddoe toughs had their guns. These were firing at their erstwhile comrades, even as the Texans got into action. Billy Jack was the first man started, his right-hand gun throwing lead an instant ahead of Dude’s. Then the other men joined in. Three of the Kliddoe men went down in the first roaring Texas volley. The fourth crumpled up to a fast-thrown shot by Marples and the fifth sent Billy Jack’s hat flying from his head. Just who got this last man was never discovered. There were five holes in him, when the men checked. Any one of these would have been fatal.
Stepping forward, Marples handed Dusty his gunbelt. ‘Cap’n Fog, sir, there’s been a lot of foolishness done by men like Kliddoe since the war. He kept us thinking that we were still fighting you rebs. I reckon it was for his own profit, same as he fought in the war. I’ll give you my word that there’ll be no more head-taxing done on the border.’
Dusty buckled on his gunbelt again, then held out his hand to Marples. ‘That’ll be all right with us. Kliddoe and his old bunch have all gone under, I reckon you can tend to them. We’d best get back to the herd.’
‘Joe, walk the Cap’n’s paint until it cools,’ Marples snapped. ‘Bill, you saddle a hoss for him to ride back to his herd.’ Turning to the Kid, he took the old letter from his pocket. ‘I’d like to keep this. I aim to see that Colonel Bosanquet’s name is cleared.’
‘You’ll have trouble, friend,’ the Kid answered. ‘Custer and his bunch won’t want it showing one of their friends played both sides.’
‘I’Il do it,’ Marples promised, his voice grim. ‘I know a few folks who’d be willing to help. One of the Colonel’s friends is our Senator—he’ll see the truth is known.’
There were tears in Thora’s eyes as she shook hands with the big ex-sergeant. She knew that he would try and clear her father’s name. ‘I don’t care if they don’t clear him publicly,’ she said, ‘as long as our friends know father didn’t order that attack.’
The Kid looked at the letter, a half-smile on his lips. ‘You take good care of it, friend. I have all these years.’
‘You coming, Miz Thora?’ Billy Jack asked.
‘Reckon so.’ She turned her horse and followed.
Billy Jack turned to Dusty. ‘You nigh on skeered me to death, Cap’n. Back there, when that saber got bust. ’Course I knowed you could handle him.’
‘That why you near to poked my eye out with that ole Colt?’ Dude asked. ‘Trying to line on Kliddoe?’
‘Warn’t doing no such thing. I was just trying to see that my sights was on straight. Anyways, you’n Basin near to beat my head in waving your guns round.’
‘Sure. We was thinking our sights warn’t too straight neither,’ Basin drawled. ‘Taken all in all, I reckon we done a good day’s work.’
The horses were headed at a good pace, making for where the dust cloud marked their herd.
‘I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be pleased to know you three fellers,’ Thora remarked. ‘It was a lucky day when you came along. I’d almost made my mind up to tell you we didn’t need any men, back in Granite. I thought you looked too young to ride a herd. I’m pleased that you took on. I can’t believe that my father’s name is cleared. It’s hard to believe the Kid would keep that letter all this time.’
‘Lon’s a strange man,’ Dusty replied. ‘When you call him Comanche, it isn’t far out. He’s got the patience of any Injun. In all the years we rode together, he never talked much about Kliddoe; but, every time we took a trail herd north, I reckon he hoped to meet up with him. If we hadn’t one day, he’d have asked Ole Devil if he could go out and return the letter. And that would have been the end of it.’
They rode on in silence for a time, but Thora was too full of happiness to try and hold anything back. ‘You knew all along that I was hiding something, didn’t you?’
‘Sure, even half-guessed what it was. That was your third reason for wanting to come on this drive.’
‘Yes. I didn’t know we would meet up with Kliddoe. And I thought, if we did, that I might be able to prevent bloodshed.’ Her face flushed red, but she had to talk, and so went on. ‘My other reason is, I wrote a book about ranch life. It’s selling well. I wanted to do another about trail-drive work.’
‘A book about this drive?’ Dusty looked startled.
She nodded, her eyes gleamed with delight. ‘Don’t worry—I won’t put anything in it to embarrass you and the boys. I didn’t when I wrote my last book about the Rocking H.’
‘A book—all this bunch in a book. Folks won’t believe it.’
The Ysabel Kid halted his horse and waited for the other two to catch up with him. ‘Waal, that’s Mr. Toon and Colonel Kliddoe done handled. Don’t but leave us Marshal Earp to tend to.’
‘That’s right,’ it was a shock to Thora to suddenly remember Earp’s warning to the herd. ‘What do you aim to do about him, Dusty?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Thora stared at the trail boss. ‘But he—’
‘He’s in Dodge, and we’re not there yet, so how can we do anything about him?’
‘But how about when we get there?’
‘Ah!’ Dusty looked wisely at the Kid. ‘That’s some different, isn’t it, Lon?’
‘Sure. Earp’s made a lot of talk about the Rocking H not coming to Dodge, but he can’t back it none. Earp never was a fighting man, except when he’s got the backing. Which same he won’t have in Dodge. He won’t try and touch us, now he’s lost the edge.’
It was Dusty who explained: ‘Dodge gets its money from three sets of folk. Texas trail drives, buffalo hunters and railroad men. So they want us in there—not chased off by some two-bit loudmouth.’
‘And it means that, if he chouses us off, the big, brave Mr. Earp won’t never get no shiny badge to pin on his chest—which same he wants so bad. See, Mr. Earp dearly loves to hide behind a star,’ the Kid finished.
‘You mean there won’t be trouble?’
‘Didn’t say that,’ Dusty warned. ‘Earp could likely get some help, happen he tried. I don’t figure Luke Short, Billy Tilghman, or Bat Masterson will side him in this, but he might get some others to join in. But apart from those three there isn’t one he could get who’s worry a weaned calf. Up to and including Doc Holliday.’
‘Doc Holliday?’ Thora frowned. ‘He’s a dangerous killer, isn’t he?’
The Ysabel Kid laughed, his wild Comanche laughter ringing out. ‘Ole Doc? Ain’t never killed anybody that I knows of. He knows how to look mean and happen he got loaded enough with brave-maker, he’d kill a drunk, but that’s all.’
‘Bat Masterson doesn’t like Doc; he’d be real pleased to get a chance to move him on again. Could do it, too,’ said Dusty.
They came up towards the herd; the hands had for once forgotten all about cattle as they gathered round the raiding-party, to hear the news. Mark rode out to meet his friends. He grinned as he saw the looks Dusty was giving the crew. ‘Meet Kliddoe?’ he asked.
‘Sure. See you’ve still got some of the herd.’
‘Nope, we lost all our’n. These belong to C.A.’
‘Way this lot are sat round, I’d say that was to be expected,’ Dusty growled and rode by. Thora called that she was headed for the wagon, and rode back along the line.
‘What happened?’ Mark inquired of the Kid.
‘You should have seen it, Ole Kliddoe allowed to get himself a real edge. Offered to take on all hands with a saber.’
‘Poor man.’ Mark suffered no illusions about Dusty’s skill with a saber. ‘I surely hope he knows better now.’
‘He l’arned. He l’arned.�
��
The trail crew was all excitedly talking and none noticed the grim-faced trail boss as they listened to Billy Jack’s stirring story of what happened to Kliddoe.
‘Gentlemen!’ The voice was cold and grimly incisive. The hands all turned to meet a pair of unpleasant gray eyes. ‘May I ask just what the hell you were hired for? I might be wrong when I allow it’s to ride herd, not to sit on your tired butt ends and whittle whang like old women at a dance.’ The crew looked sheepishly at each other and Dusty’s voice rose to an angry roar: ‘Let’s get the herd to Dodge, then you can talk your fool tongues out.’
The remuda was scattered for Lil Jackie was with the other hands. The youngster sat his horse and listened, tight-lipped but unspeaking as Dusty told him in pungent and hide-searing terms just what he thought of a wrangler who allowed the remuda to scatter damn near back to Texas.
Dusty caught one of his string and saddled it, then looked round to make sure everything was meeting with his approval. The hands were shifting the cattle once more, and the remuda was collected. Then he headed back to the wagons. Thora’s excited story of the raid was interrupted in mid-flight by a voice.
‘Howdy, Mr. Ballew,’ Dusty greeted sarcastically, almost mildly. ‘Would it be asking too much for you and your fool louse to get moving so that comes bedding-time you’ve got a meal for the hands?’
Salt twisted round to observe the trail boss eyeing him. ‘Yes, sir, Cap’n. I means no, sir, Cap’n. I’ll do just that.’
‘Today’d be real nice,’ Dusty growled. ‘I know Thora here’s a woman and can’t help jawing, but you’re a man and can.’
Thora poked her tongue out, turned her horse and headed for the herd. Halfway there, she remembered that she had not changed mounts and turned for the remuda. She found Lil Jackie subdued, but not over worried by the bawling out.
Dusty sat easily in his kak and watched Hobie sprinting to his wagon. Then, hearing a horse approach he turned to find Ysabel Kid riding up. He looked the dark youngster over in disgust and said, ‘Huh! The scout, and what may Mr. Loncey Dalton Ysabel be scouting back here?’
‘Now don’t you go abusing me, Cap’n, suh,’ the Kid warned. ‘You’ll likely make me wet my pants. I heerd all the ruckus down here and thought the Injuns had jumped us. It warn’t but you abusing the poor, fool ole cook. I’ll light out after we’ve had a bite to eat.’
‘Thank you most to death,’ Dusty replied. He turned in his saddle to look round and make sure everyone was working. Seeing nothing to offend his sense of things, he relaxed. ‘There’s no need for you to go out. Besides, Thora told me she aims to write a book about the drive, and wants to know all about trail-driving.’
‘Not from me she don’t!’ The Kid was emphatic. ‘I don’t want my name in no book.’
‘Why not? I’ll ask her to write you up real good. She can tell a few lies about you. Make you out a real nice young feller instead of a dead mean ole Comanche Dog soldier.’
‘It ain’t the lies that’d worry me,’ the Kid objected. ‘She might tell the truth about me.’
‘Well, who’d that hurt?’
‘Me! If word gets out I’ve been herding legal cattle, and by daylight, all my kin down on the border’ll cut me dead when they see me.’
Dusty slapped the Kid on the shoulder. ‘Say, now we’ve got these loafers to work, happen we’d best head up to the point and tell Mark what happened today.’
Salt watched Dusty and the Kid ride off towards the point and pulled aside to allow his assistant to catch alongside. Hobie gave a scared glance ahead to make sure the trail boss couldn’t see them idling, then waited to hear what his lord and master had to say.
For a time Salt Ballew was silent. Then he spat out his chaw of tobacco and spoke: ‘If you lives to be as old as me, which same ain’t likely, you’ll never work for a better man than him. He ain’t tall, and he ain’t the loudest talking man you’ll ever see. But son, he’s a trail boss.’
The chuck wagon lurched forward again and Hobie started his own team to follow. The cook’s louse wasn’t given to deep thinking, but he agreed with what Salt had just said.
Captain Fog was a trail boss.
Thirteen – Mr. Odham Has A Plan
Dodge City got the news over the prairie grapevine. A trail drive was within two days of the town. The word ran through the saloons, gambling houses, dancehalls and other places of business around the cowboy capital. They heard the word from the former Kliddoe tax-collectors. That Kliddoe was dead interested them but little: he had been a menace who had slowed down the flow of money into the town. Of the word in the letter they took little interest; the War was long over and Texas money was badly needed in town.
Throughout Dodge the news was greeted with hurried checks on the items for sale.
It was a time of feverish activity in Dodge, the local citizens making the preparations. Doc Holliday spent time practicing with his new, shiny faro box, checking that it would, in the words of the crooked gambling house catalogue: ‘Bear any inspection while ensuring the top card was always under control and would prevent any flash from the bottom card whilst it was being dealt.’ At the Texas House, first call of every herd-crew, Sam Snenton cleaned the head of his famous SS brand, in readiness for burning his mark on the sourdough keg of each spread. His pretty, dark wife, Selina, ran a final check that the kitchen held all the choice delicacies the Texans and the cattle-buyers would require, and ran an approving eye over the eight pretty girls who waited at the tables.
The cattle-buyers were there, well-dressed men from the Eastern syndicates. They came in for the season, wallets bulging with notes and bank drafts, ready to buy the longhorn cattle the Texans brought into the shipping-pens.
Maurice Odham wasn’t one of the big buyers. He was a hanger-on, like a wolf following the flanks of a buffalo-herd. He would hang on in Dodge, ready to flash in and cut any small profit he could for himself. He reached Dodge a week or so before the big buyers, in the hope that a small herd might turn up for him to buy. In the time he spent wandering round the saloon, he heard much that interested him. Now, as he made his way to the Texas House on Trail Street, he had an inspiration.
The Texas House was faced, across the street, by Ed Schieffelin’s Buffalo House. The Texas House was Odham’s original destination, but he remembered all he had heard. The man he wanted to see was not to be found in Sam Snenton’s place.
Crossing the street, the small cattle-buyer pushed open the batwing doors of the Buffalo House and looked round. The man he wanted was standing at the bar. Wyatt Earp glanced at Odham, then ignored him. The big cattle-buyers were important people in Dodge, and Earp was always polite to them. Odham wasn’t one of the important ones, and could have no use to anyone with plans, so Earp ignored him.
‘Howdy, Marshal Earp.’ Odham knew the other liked to be addressed as if he was a regular marshal. ‘Barkeep, two drinks.’
‘What do you want, Odham?’ Earp growled.
‘I heard the Rocking H was down trail. They didn’t take your warning. They’ll be here in a day or so.’
Earp grunted and moodily took his drink. He knew Rocking H were coming, knew it all too well. ‘So?’
‘Well, after all you’ve said about them, folks are wondering what you aim to do.’
‘When I’m ready, I’ll tell them,’ Earp replied. Yet, for all of that, he knew what he was going to do. When definite word had reached Dodge that Rocking H were headed for the shipping-pens, and would be first herd in, Earp made a round of the town. He found a startling lack of enthusiasm amongst his friends when he mentioned stopping the herd.
He’d tried every man he could think of, knowing that top hands would be needed to handle the crew of the Rocking H. Luke Short, Doc Holliday, Dave Mathers, they all had the same answer: They didn’t aim to stop the first herd coming in, as they were feeling the financial pinch along with the rest of the citizens of Dodge. The final blow had been delivered by Bat Masterson, sheriff of Ford County. Bat
and Earp were friends, but the sheriff had his position to think about. He was a different kind of man to Earp, with none of the other’s sanctimonious piety. More, he was popular with all classes in Dodge, liked and respected by the Texans as a fair and honest man. Bat’s words struck a chill into Earp’s heart. The City Fathers didn’t consider it advisable to hire Earp as assistant deputy marshal any more. They would also look with some disfavor at a man who caused any delay in the arrival of the first herd.
So Earp found himself in an unenviable position. He had sent word out against the Rocking H, in the assumption that Ben Holland would not last the long trip back to Texas—or, if he did, couldn’t send a herd again for some time. Now Earp was left, without the protection of a law badge, to face the consequences.
Odham watched Earp’s face, then turned to the bartender. ‘Any skin-hunters left around town?’
‘Shag Moxel and his boys,’ the bar-dog answered. ‘They lost their stake, bucking the tiger. Camped over towards the creek.’
‘Thanks!’ Odham murmured and left the room.
For a time Earp stood silent. Then he tossed some money on the bar. ‘Len, I’ve got to go down track to Kansas City for a few days. If Shag and his boys come in, let them drink that up.’
Len watched Earp leave the room and dropped the glasses into the tub under the counter.
Odham drove the livery barn buggy across the range at a fast clip. He whistled a tune and watched the cloud of dust which marked the progress of the first herd to Dodge. In his mind was an idea that he had used many times before in other trail-end towns. They had been good days—just at the start of the trail herds when every man could throw a herd together in Texas did so and headed north.
The livery barn horse kept up a steady trot. Odham handled the reins with half his attention on what he would say to the woman who owned the herd. The crew might not listen to him, but she would.