by J. T. Edson
‘Of course, Captain,’ she replied.
‘Mount up, then. You’ll ride at my right, Miss Chamberlain, you at the left, Miss Dodd.’
Jill swung astride her spirited buckskin gelding and Liz mounted the kettle-bellied bay mare assigned to her, feeling just a trifle self-conscious and aware that she filled out her borrowed pants rather well. However, none of the men appeared to be interested in how she looked and she concentrated on handling her horse.
On moving out from the destroyed camp, Liz found herself with Dusty at one side and Marsden upon the other. She realised that she ought to be showing some interest in his presence.
‘May I ask how you come to be here, Mr. Marsden?’ she asked. ‘Are you a prisoner?’
‘No, Miss Chamberlain,’ Marsden replied.
‘Then what are you, a traitor?’
‘You might say that,’ Marsden agreed.
A low hiss left the girl’s lips and anger glowed in her eyes. ‘Do you think betraying your country and your honour is worth the monetary gains you receive?’
‘I’m not doing it for money,’ Marsden replied.
‘Then why do you, a supposedly loyal Union officer, betray your own country?’
‘Because—’
‘He has a good reason, Miss Chamberlain,’ Dusty put in. There was no point in letting the girls know the true nature of the assignment. Even now there might be a chance of a south-bound party to take the girls off his hands, in which case they probably would talk and he did not wish to start panic among the people of Texas.
‘I’d like to hear it,’ Liz snapped.
‘Maybe you will, one day,’ answered Dusty.
Sensing that further questions would be ignored, Liz let the matter drop and Concentrated upon handling her horse. Holding to a steady trot, the party covered three miles before Liz saw a chance to put her delaying tactics into operation.
‘Dismount and walk,’ Dusty ordered.
Every eye turned to Liz as she remained in her saddle when all but she and Dusty swung to the ground.
‘I won’t!’ she stated. ‘I refuse to walk!’
She took a gamble on her knowledge of southern chivalry. With the camp back on the stream destroyed, and no sight of human habitation from one horizon to the other, the men would not leave her behind. So she aimed to delay them by argument, stir up trouble among them. If Dusty Fog allowed her to ride, it would make discontent among the others. Also riding would tire her horse—to be fair, she took no pleasure in the thought of inflicting suffering upon her mount—and she knew the speed of the party could be no faster than the pace of the slowest member.
So Liz prepared for a clash of will with Dusty Fog, looked forward to testing him and learning just how far she might go.
Edging his horse towards Liz’s mount, Dusty suddenly reached out and gripped her by the waist. Like many people when first coming into contact with Dusty, Liz failed to appreciate the powerful nature of his frame. Taken by surprise both at Dusty’s prompt action and his strength, Liz felt herself lifted, swung from the saddle and lowered to the ground.
‘I still won’t walk!’ she shouted and flung herself into a sitting position on the ground.
Dusty did not even give the girl a glance. ‘Sergeant-major!’ he snapped. ‘Take Miss Chamberlain’s horse.’
‘Yo!’ Billy Jack replied.
‘I refuse to walk!’ Liz warned, conscious that every eye was on her.
‘Give me the word and I’ll drag her along by the hair, Captain,’ Jill said.
‘Move out!’ Dusty ordered, ignoring the girl’s suggestion. Only Jill failed to obey the order immediately. As the men stepped off, she stood for a moment, throwing glances first at Dusty, then towards Liz. Although town-raised, Jill had heard often enough of the dangers of being left afoot on the open plains of Texas. Since leaving the camp, the party came across several large bunches of half-wild longhorned Texas cattle and Dusty warned that such animals feared only a mounted human being; and the cattle were but one of the dangers to a girl afoot.
‘Don’t be a fool, Yankee,’ she urged. ‘Captain Fog’s not bluffing.’
‘And neither am I,’ Liz replied grimly.
Giving an angry snort, Jill started to turn. Then she gave a shrug, drew the. Tranter—picked up by Billy Jack at the camp—and offered it butt forward to Liz.
‘Here, you’re more likely to need it than I am.’
For once in her life Liz felt at a loss for words. Taking the Tranter, Liz watched Jill turn and walk away leading the buckskin. Setting her teeth grimly, Liz prepared to call Dusty Fog’s bluff.
‘You can’t just walk away and leave her,’ Jill said, catching up with Dusty.
‘It’s her choice,’ he replied.
Like Liz, Dusty knew the clash of their wills had begun. While he could appreciate her motives and admire her guts, he refused to be swayed from his purpose. If he showed weakness, Liz would come to expect it. For the sake of his mission, he must break the girl’s defiance and aimed to do it.
Nursing the Tranter as she sat on the ground, Liz watched the party walking away from her. Not one of them gave a sign of being aware of her absence and she set her face in an expression of determination. Slowly she looked around and a feeling of awe crept over her as she studied the vast, open, rolling miles of land around her. Apart from the party walking away, she could see no sign of human life, not so much as a far-distant smudge of smoke hinting at a house’s presence.
A momentary fear crept into her as she realised how precarious her position would be if the small Texan refused to back down. For hundreds of miles all she could expect would be deadly danger. The buffalo wolf, the black bear, even the mountain lion under certain conditions, could be dangerous to a lone traveller. Nor would many of the human beings she might meet prove any more of a blessing. She had escaped rape at the hands of the bushwhackers once, but what if they found her alone and without Jill Dodd’s protection? True Liz held a gun, but she knew just how little defence it would give in her unskilled hands.
‘Take hold of yourself, girl,’ she told herself. ‘He’ll break and come back for you.’
‘Keep moving, Miss Dodd,’ Dusty growled as Jill slowed her pace and started to turn her head. ‘Don’t look back!’
Jerking herself around, Jill turned a worried, pleading face towards the small Texan. ‘You can’t just desert her, Captain.’
‘And I can’t waste time on her little games either,’ Dusty replied.
‘Is what you’re doing so important that it’s worth the life of an innocent girl?’ Jill demanded hotly.
‘Take my word, Miss Dodd,’ Marsden put in. ‘It is important.’
‘How would you know?’ Jill snapped, her smouldering hate of Union supporters driving her on.
‘Because Mr. Marsden gave up his career, and that’s as important as his life to him, to bring us news that started this mission,’ Dusty growled.
‘Then you are one of our spies,’ the girl gasped.
‘No, ma’am!’ Marsden replied.
‘Then why—’ Jill began, stopping speaking when she realised that she could not make herself continue with the question of why he turned traitor.
‘Because Mr. Marsden learned something real important, Miss Dodd,’ Dusty explained, and Jill writhed at the scorn and fury in his voice. ‘Something that, unless stopped, will cost thousands of innocent men, women and children their lives. That’s why he turned “traitor” and came to us.’
Contrition bit into the girl and she looked at Marsden. ‘I’m sorry. More sorry than I Can tell you.’
‘Forget it, Miss Dodd,’ answered Marsden. ‘And remember that Captain Fog is doing what he must.’
‘Couldn’t you have told the Yank—Miss Chamberlain about your mission, Captain?’ asked Jill. ‘Surely if she knew how important—’
‘She might not try to delay us,’ Dusty admitted. ‘But I can’t risk taking time to explain and then have her cause me more trouble to delay m
e.’
‘Would she still try if she knew?’ Jill said.
‘Put yourself in her place,’ Dusty answered. ‘Suppose you learned something that put you in a position to help the South to victory. Would you try to do it?’
‘Of course.’
Even after so short a time Dusty had come to know enough bout Jill to make an argument she would understand. He wanted to stop her talking about Liz and reckoned that such an argument might bring off the desired result.
‘So would Miss Chamberlain,’ he said, cementing the idea in Jill’s head. ‘And that’s why I won’t let her delay us.’
Suddenly Jill realised what a strain Dusty must be under at having to make such a decision. Being born and raised in Texas, he knew even better than Jill the dangers to a person left afoot on the range. Jill set her teeth, fixed her eyes on the forward horizon and fought down her desire to look back. Flickering glances at the men on either side of her she read their concern from the tight-set faces. Only the knowledge of their mission and the respect they felt for their leader kept them walking on, leaving Liz behind, as Dusty ordered.
With growing disbelief and anxiety Liz watched the party continue to walk away. A quarter of a mile separated them and grew on to the half-mile mark. Every step they took, Liz expected to see them halt, look back, possibly one of them return to plead with her for a change of mind. Yet each step saw them going further from her, increasing the distance with relentless precision.
A movement to her right caught the corner of her eye. Swinging around, she saw a small band of pronghorn antelope stepping daintily through the bush-dotted range about two hundred yards away. Even as she looked, something startled the animals and they broke in a wild, scattering, leaping flight. Liz felt a momentary panic, wondering what spooked the antelope and knowing she could not equal their speed should the unseen menace come her way.
‘He’ll turn back soon,’ she told herself, but with less conviction than on the last occasion she used the sentiment.
At that moment her eyes caught another movement. Turning, she gave a low cry of horror and stared at a diamondback rattlesnake all of three foot long as it glided through the buffalo grass some yards from her. Liz came hurriedly to her feet. The vibrations of her rising halted the snake, bringing it into a defensive coil while the interconnecting horny caps which formed its rattle giving out their vicious buzz-saw warning. Choking down a little sob, Liz started to walk a fast as she could after the departing party.
‘That’s a might stubborn lil gal, Sam,’ Billy Jack remarked after they had covered something over half a mile since leaving Liz.
‘Sure,’ agreed Ysabel. ‘Only this time she’s met somebody a damned sight more stubborn.’
If Dusty heard the men, he ignored them. Mouth set in grim, determined lines, he fought down his inclination to turn back. However, one of the party had not been under Dusty’s kind of discipline long enough to stick rigidly to obedience of orders. Having fought down the inclination as long as she could, Jill chanced a quick glance to the rear.
‘She’s coming after us!’ Jill said, letting out a gasp of relief and showing neither jubilation nor derision at Liz’s defeat.
‘Keep your eyes to the front and stay marching,’ Dusty growled.
Catching the faint note of relief in Dusty’s voice, Jill felt no resentment at his brusque tone. Was it her imagination, or did Dusty slow his pace? She could not be sure. With a woman’s instincts, she saw beneath the stony exterior and grim determination, reading Dusty’s feelings at the course of action forced on him. Whatever business took him west, it must be mighty important to make him treat a girl as he had Liz. A shudder ran through her as she remembered what Dusty said about the thing he must stop costing thousands of innocent lives. While she could not imagine what it might be, she felt the growing urgency with which Dusty pressed on to the west and knew he meant what he said.
Behind the party Liz increased her pace to a fast walk. Her cheeks reddened a little as she wondered what kind of reception the others would give her. Probably they would mock her. That little rebel slut was going to— The weight of the Tranter stopped that line of thought and Liz remembered just how much she owed to Jill Dodd.
Going down a slope which took them out of Liz’s sight, Dusty looked at his party. ‘Halt!’ he called. ‘We’ll rest up here for a spell.’
‘I need it,’ Jill groaned.
‘The hosses get the rest, ma’am,’ grinned Kiowa. ‘We work.’
‘Billy Jack, tend to Miss Chamberlain’s horse this time,’ Dusty ordered.
‘Yo!’ the sergeant-major replied. ‘Get your hoss’s nose-bag out of the saddle-pouch, Miss Dodd. Sam’ll give you the grain.’
Clearly the men knew their duties, for none needed telling what to do. Each of them took his horse’s nose-bag from the saddle-pouches and Sam Ysabel led the way to one of the pack animals. Carefully he opened one of the grain sacks on the right of the pack saddle and started to pour a quantity of food into each bag as it was offered to him.
‘Round the other side, ma’am,’ he said as Jill came up in her turn.
For a moment the order puzzled Jill, then she realised that the load must be balanced if the horse’s back was to be kept free from injury. Jill did not know it, but a difference of as little as two pounds in the weight of the packs could injure the horse. However, of necessity, Sam Ysabel had learned the pack train trade very thoroughly and could gauge a balance with his eyes as well as many men would do with a set of scales.
Taking the feed-bag to the buckskin, Jill happened to glance inside as she prepared to place it into position. She saw something brown among the grain and reached in to extract a small ball of what appeared to be wood.
‘What’re you doing, gal?’ asked Billy Jack as she prepared to toss the object away.
‘I found it mixed in with the grain,’ she explained.
‘Sure. We put it there. It’s meat.’
‘Meat?’ Jill gasped. ‘But horses don’t eat meat.’
‘Don’t set down and carve a pot-roast, ma’am,’ agreed Ysabel. ‘But the Comanches learned way back that slipping some small balls of meat in with the other food helps a hoss to keep going when it’s travelling fast.’
‘Get those nose-bags on there,’ Dusty called. ‘Buckle it up good and tight, Miss Dodd, so he doesn’t have to toss his head to get at the grain and lose most of it.’
Removing her horse’s bit, Jill fixed the nose-bag in position and drew it up tight. The horses had been allowed to drink when crossing a small stream some three hundred yards back and the buckskin started eating as she drew on the bag. After caring for her own mount, Jill looked around to see if she could help with any of the others. Finding that the men had cared for all the stock she gave thought to her own needs.
‘I’ve got to go into the bushes,’ she remarked, and Dusty nodded.
‘Let me take your horse, Miss Dodd,’ Marsden offered. Jill’s fingers brushed against Marsden’s as she handed over the reins. A tingling sensation ran through her and she lifted her eyes to his. Then she remembered that the Yankees had murdered her brother and tried to fight the feeling down. Turning, she walked hurriedly up the slope and into a clump of bushes near the top. Since joining the bushwhackers most of her toilet arrangements were made in a similar manner. Then she always kept her Tranter handy and felt uneasy at the thought that the gun was in Liz’s hands. However, she guessed that the Texans would respect her privacy and went out of sight to attend to her business.
With set face and grim bearing, Liz walked down the slope towards the men. Jill came from the bushes adjusting her waist belt and Liz braced herself for the first of the expected taunts.
‘I’ll take the Tranter, Yankee,’ Jill remarked in a neutral tone. ‘And if you want to go, I’d go now, Captain Dusty’ll be wanting to move off real soon.’
Handing Jill the gun, Liz disappeared into the bushes and soon the two girls walked side by side down the slope. Although Liz’s ba
ck remained stiff with defiance, she found none of the expected derision. A feeling of pique hit her, a touch of disappointment, as she found she could not even feel like a martyr suffering at the hands of a vicious enemy.
Looking around, Dusty saw that his force had everything ready to move and so gave the order to march. Liz swung into her saddle and wondered at the sense of security the touch of leather and presence of the rest of the party gave her. Quick thought warned her not to try any more delaying tactics right then. When they made camp for the night might offer greater opportunities. However, her annoyance at being ignored—when she had worked herself up to take derision if not actual abuse—drove her to pick on somebody. Marsden, in his Union-blue uniform, provided her with the best target.
‘Mr. Marsden,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you command the rear-guard action at Poison Springs?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You handled it magnificently, so I heard. There were many rebel casualties,’ she went on in a carrying voice, then turned to look at Kiowa. ‘Were you at the action, Sergeant?’
‘No, ma’am,’ Kiowa answered.
‘Were any of the Texas Light Cavalry?’
‘Three companies.’
‘Did you see any of them, Mr. Marsden?’ Liz asked.
‘If you mean, did he help kill any of our outfit,’ Dusty put in coldly. ‘I’d say it was likely. A soldier’s duty is to kill his enemies. Only we’re not fussing with him for what happened in the past.’
A flush crept over Liz’s face as she realised that she had instinctively made a move to split up the party, and saw it fail. Once more her anger turned on Marsden. ‘I fail to see why a man like you turned traitor and renegade!’ she snapped.
‘You leave him be, Yankee!’ Jill shouted across Dusty. ‘He must’ve had real good reason.’
‘He had, ma’am,’ agreed Billy Jack. ‘If Castle gets them Injuns—’
‘Billy Jack!’ Dusty roared, but knew that the damage had been done. ‘That’s why we’re heading west in such a hurry, ma’am. Two of your officers are trying to stir up an Injun uprising in Texas.’
‘Carney Castle’s scheme!’ Liz gasped. ‘I heard him mention it. Why it would bring about the withdrawal of all the Texas troops from the rebel army. You lousy traitor, Marsden. You told the rebs—’