by J. T. Edson
The cookshack as they called it was actually a room in the back of the main house. The men were not armed, coming to a meal rarely called for it. Now they could hear the rumble of hooves they all wished they were carrying weapons. Yet there was no panic among them, just waiting for orders.
Red took charge of the situation, once more proving that while he was a hot-tempered, reckless young man who was likely to pitch into any fight he came across without much thought of consequences, he was cool and capable when the chips were down.
‘Get to the bunkhouse, boys. Go the back way, run for it and get your guns. Then stay in, if you have to shoot do it from the windows.’
The cowhands made a rush for the door. Red, Waco and Doc went for the house door and ran along the passage towards the front, door and the gunbelts hanging on the hooks. The hooves were very near now and Red doubted if they would be in time. He pulled one of his guns out, cocking it as he jerked the door open and lunged out. The porch was in the shadow, something he was grateful for. The moon was just gone the half and gave out enough light for him to see what he was doing.
There were nine or ten riders coming towards the ranch, riding fast, their identity covered by the hoods they wore over their heads. The leader of the group swung a blazing torch as he rode. Red and the other men on the porch watched this rider. He kept grabbing at the saddlehorn, to keep his uncertain seat, riding awkwardly and without the unconscious grace even a bad drunk cowhand retained. There was something unusual about him, apart from his awkward way of riding. He did not appear to be wearing range clothes and was not wearing a gunbelt. There was a fancy, white-handled gun thrust into the waistband of his pants, but he did not make any attempt to draw it.
Red heard a gasp and twisted his head to see Mary Anne by his side watching the approaching party. He growled deep in his throat. ‘Get back in there, gal. This’s no place for you.’
Mary Anne did not reply or move, she was staring at the torch-waving man. He sent his horse forward at a better speed, swinging the torch around his head wildly. She licked her lips and was about to speak when she heard Red hiss, ‘Just a little mite nearer, friend, and I’ll bring you down like a coon off a log.’
The rider was coming just that little bit nearer, the other men crowding up behind him and encouraging him with wild yells. Then from the riders behind this first one sounded a shot. The man’s back arched as lead hit him. He bowed his back in the sudden agony which welled up over him. Another rider was alongside, shooting out an arm to grab the torch and push the shot man from his saddle.
CHAPTER FOUR
A PROFESSIONAL’S GUN
THE shooting down of the man by a member of his own group made Red hold his fire for an instant. He could not see just what the attacking group were doing. The rider swinging the torch did not appear to be making any serious attempt to attack the ranch. The others hung back, the torch lighting up the scene and their horses fiddlefooting nervously as the hooded men milled around the man on the ground. Then one gave a rebel yell and sent his horse leaping forward. He swung back his torch ready to throw it.
‘Drop it!’ Red shouted a warning.
Flame spurted from behind the man, the bullet slapping into the wall of the house near Red. That was all the young Texan needed. His right hand Colt boomed loud, throwing flame at the leading man. The torch flew off at a tangent as the rider took lead, reeling in his saddle. From the other hooded men sounded fast shots, flame stabbing the dark and lacing at the ranch. Red was a wise hand at night fighting and knew better than to be where he’d been when he fired his shot. He slid to one side, crouching and hoping the porch furniture broke up his outline and made him a poorer target. He knew Doc was going to the other side and could guess just what Waco was doing.
Mary Anne stood by the open door. She was unable to tell what was happening and Red’s shot made her start back. She felt a hand catch her arm and shove her roughly back into the house, hearing Waco snap, ‘Keep in there, Rusty gal.’
With the girl taken care of Waco flung himself from the porch, landing on the ground with a gun in either hand, and saw the spurt of shots coming in a roaring answer to Red’s Colt greeting. In the light of the torch he saw a stocky man directing operations. Waco knew the best way to handle any group was no down the leader. His Colt came up and lined, crashing, and as it crashed so Waco rolled sideways. He saw the man he’d aimed at clutch his right shoulder, swing his horse and yell an order.
Red’s victim was down and from all around sounded the sporadic crash of shots as the men took a hand. They were shooting fast but with little effect that Red could see. The hooded men were turning now but the swaying, wounded man shouted something and they brought their horses around, shooting fast. Two of their number swung down from their horses while the rest kept up a fast covering fire. They dragged Red’s victim up and shoved him across the saddle of a horse. As they ran by the man one of their party shot to their own horses and mounted again, riding off into the blackness.
‘Anybody hit?’ Waco called, liking the way the ranch crew held their fire until Red opened the ball. It showed they could be relied on not to spook if it came to trouble.
From the various places where they’d taken up fighting positions the answers came back. Everyone appeared to be all right. Red Blaze was moving forward, gun in hand as he stepped from the porch. He could see other shapes moving and called, ‘Stop down, all of you. One target’s enough at a time. More’n enough if I’m the target.’
For all the levity in his tones Red was moving like a trained lawman. The first thing he did was kick the ivory-butted Colt from where it lay by the fallen man, having slid out of his waistband. That gun was a deadly danger to Red. It was a simple precaution to remove it and the temptation it offered if the man were shamming. Then Red saw the hole in the centre of the man’s back and knew there was no trickery here. That man was dead, dead as he could be when two hundred and fifty-five grains of lead smashed through his spine and into his body. There was little or no blood seeping through the hole and on to the coat as yet, but Red knew this man was dead.
‘Doc, come over here.’ Red straightened up and thrust his gun into his waistband.
Doc advanced fast, gun in hand and ready for action. He joined Red, looking down at the body, then shoved his gun into Red’s hand, bent down and rolled the body over. The clothes were not the sort a cowhand would be wearing: an old, crumpled, sober black suit, a collarless shirt, white and not too clean, and fastened at the neck by an inexpensive stud. His boots were heavy, square-toed and low-heeled; no cowhand would ever wear such boots for he would never willingly perform any task which did not entail sitting the back of a horse.
Waco turned back into the house and returned his guns to the holsters then gave Mary Anne his attention. Lee Chan came out of the kitchen with a lamp in his hand, illuminating the scene. The girl was standing flattened back against the wall but there was both anger and annoyance in her face.
‘Had fun?’ There was a grim note in her voice.
‘Why sure,’ Waco agreed, grinning.
‘Good. Listen to me now, lil brother. I’m the big one in this family. Next time there’s some shooting don’t you go shoving me back into the house like I was some twittering, blushing Eastern biddy. You long . . .’
‘Sure honey.’ Waco grinned still. Ole Rusty gal hadn’t changed one little bit. She was still pawing the ground and bellowing if she wasn’t allowed to take her full share in anything that came up. ‘Let me have the lamp, Lee. I want to go out there.’
Taking the lamp, Waco left the room, the girl following and telling him just what she thought of him, his friends, their friends and anyone who was even distantly associated with him. They crossed to where the cowhands were gathered around the body. Waco forced by them and held the lamp, looking down. Mary Anne was by his side, her face just a shade pallid as she looked at the first man she’d ever seen dead by violence.
‘Did you kill him, Red?’ she asked.
> ‘Not unless my bullet went round the back and in him,’ Red replied. ‘It was one of his bunkies shot him.’
‘Why’d he do that?’ Mary Anne asked, then realised she’d let her tongue slip again.
‘Maybe they play it different up this way,’ Red replied, winking at Waco. ‘Each side shoots their own men, saves bullets that way.’
Waco was not in the mood for levity right now. His brain was working fast, turning over every detail of what he’d seen out there. He was never willing to accept anything at its face value but always delved deeper, seeking out the inner whys and wherefores. He bent forward and pulled the hood from the dead man’s head. In the light of the lamp a thin face showed. It was a face twisted in agony and Waco looked up at the surrounding men. ‘Any of you know him?’
Larry leaned forward, examining the face closer. ‘Sure I know him. It’s Ben Silver. His paw’s one of the nesters across the river. Kind of a preacher. But what’s his boy doing riding with a bunch like that. I never even saw him pack a gun.’
‘He was this time,’ Red remarked, picking up the Colt Silver dropped when he came off the horse.
‘Tote the body down to the barn for the night, Larry.’ Waco spoke up. ‘He been drinking. Doc?’
‘Why sure. Smells like a moonshine still.’ Doc straightened up. ‘You on to something. boy?’
‘Just thinking.’ Waco lifted one of the dead hands, looking at it in the light of the lamp. He let the hand fall loose and nodded to Larry who, with three more of the cowhands, lifted the body and carried it off towards the barn.
They gathered in the cookshack again and Waco laid the revolver on the table and the hood by it. The rest of the ranch crew came in soon after he’d done it. Waco was looking thoughtful. He gripped the girl’s hand in his and shoved her gently into a chair. Lee Chan brought coffee in, pouring Mary Anne a cup then standing back.
‘You ever had trouble with the nesters before, Larry?’ Waco asked.
‘Nope, not more’n the occasional fist fight in town. Don’t get on bad with them most times. Never see much of Ben Silver. He don’t go to the saloon like the others do. Told you, his paw’s a kind of preacher. Real strong against sin of all kinds.’
‘Only thing not being sin is breathing, way he sees it,’ another cowhand put in. ‘Always on about saloons. Never thought to see his boy there drunk.’
‘Or with a gun. Never thought his pappy gave him enough money to buy one.’
‘He didn’t buy this gun.’
All eyes went to Waco. The young man was holding the gun, turning the chamber and emptying it. Mary Anne sniffed. ‘I suppose he told you?’
‘Doesn’t have to.’ Waco held the revolver in his palm, hefting it and feeling the balance. ‘This here’s a real fast man’s gun.’
‘Are you just guessing, boy?’ There was pride in Mary Anne’s voice. She was satisfied with the way her little brother was growing up.
‘Nope. The inside of the gun’s been worked on. The safety notches on the hammer filed out. Look at the hammer spur here, the checking’s been filed smooth. The gun’s been used by a real fast man and that hombre in the barn isn’t a fast gun. I looked at his hands, they’ve seen too much rough work for them to belong to a fast gun. This isn’t his gun at all.’
Mary Anne looked at the Colt. To her eyes it was no different from any other. Waco held the smooth, hand-fitting butt in his grip and held it out to her. The ivory grips were smooth and the gun itself was made in the deep blued, best citizen’s finish. She could see it was a gun which cost money and which had been well cared for. Then she saw the rough checking which usually tipped the hammer spur was filed down smooth. It was a trick she’d heard her brothers talk of, allowing for faster firing of the gun. It was not a thing a man did unless he was good with a gun. She watched as Waco drew the hammer back under his thumb. She could see the ease with which it worked, ease which made all the difference between life and death in a down grab and shoot affair.
‘You seem real sure, boy.’
‘I’m sure enough. I’d say this was one of a brace, could be wrong though.’ With that he held the gun close to the lamp, turning it over and looking at the ivory grip. ‘Man’s worn it at his left side most all the time. The left grip shows just a shade more weathering than the right. You have to look real close to make it out. But it’s there if you look.’
Mary Anne accepted the gun and looked down at the grips. In the light of the lamp she could make out, faintly but there all the same, that the left-side grip showed the faintest darkening. Waco asked Doc to fetch along his gun and when the slim man returned held out the ivory-handled Peacemaker for her to look at. She saw the darkening on the right side and knew Waco was right. The gun Silver had carried must have been regularly in the holster at the left side. Doc thrust his own gun away and the girl asked, ‘Know anything more about it?’
‘Don’t know a thing about it at all. Just guessing.’
‘Guess some more then,’ she went on.
‘Waal, I’d say it was one of a brace. It’s been worked on, grip altered. I’ll bet that some place there’s a gun that’s the mate to this one. Some place real close.’
The girl was silent for a moment, thinking over what he’d said. Red Blaze was whistling, watching Waco with the tolerant air of an elder brother watching a creditable performance by a younger. He asked, ‘Are there many two-gun toting gents hereabouts, Larry?’
‘A few. Two more rode in tonight.’
‘Apart from us,’ Red answered.
‘There’s a few hang around town, work for Brarsand as either table men or dealers. He’s got Cholla Jocelyn, allows to be real good with a gun. Then there’s Dave Tull, he is good. You heard of him?’
‘Some,’ Waco agreed. ‘They say he’s tolerable fast.’
‘Well, he works for Brarsand, boss dealer. There’s a few more of them all fair to good.’
‘How many of them have a brace of ivory-handled guns though?’ Red inquired.
‘Tull, two or three of the others.’
‘You know, this Brarsand sounds like a real important man,’ Waco remarked. ‘He a rancher?’
‘Runs a saloon in Whittle and hires him good guns like Tull to handle the tables. Or has Whittle grown up some since I was last there?’
‘Sure it’s grown. There’s three more houses at least now.’
‘And this gent runs a saloon there, gets him enough trade to keep all them many men going?’ Waco sounded puzzled.
‘Shucks, there’s our crew, Wilmont’s and the other two spreads. Then there’s the nester families on the other side of the river,’ Larry objected. ‘They must take in a fair piece of money.’
‘Not enough to pay for a big staff, for the likker and the upkeep of the place, if it’s anything like.’
‘Anything like.’ Larry’s pride in Whittle rose to the fore. ‘I tell you, Waco, that place is as good as the best I’ve ever seen. Why I bet there ain’t another small town like Whittle got such a place.’
‘That’s what I mean. Whittle isn’t a big place at all. Now you allow there’s a real fine saloon in town. You’ve got me all interested now, Larry.’
Mary Anne chuckled. She’d been thinking the same thing all the time, wondering how Brarsand managed to make a big, fine-looking saloon pay in such a small place. Even if all the cowhands spent all their pay over the bar every month it would hardly do more than meet the payroll of the saloon’s hired help and cover the cost of upkeep. She couldn’t see how the place could pay or. with bigger, more prosperous towns growing up all over Texas, why Brarsand chose Whittle to build.
‘Did you get any of them?’ Larry asked. ‘I thought I saw one go down when you started shooting.’
‘Red got one and I put a bullet into another’s shoulder,’ Waco replied. ‘But they toted him off with them.’
‘Pity. We might have recognised him.’
‘That’s why they toted him off.’ Larry made the obvious remark.
‘The
n why did they leave the other one?’
Once more all attention came to Waco as he spoke. Red could see the young man was thinking out the reasons behind the actions again. Waco was like that; he was never content unless he was delving into anything which was a little out of the ordinary.
‘Maybe didn’t have time to tote him along with them.’ Larry and the other cowhands were more willing to go for the obvious and easy answer. ‘Them nesters are . . .’
‘There was only one nester riding and they left him dead. The rest of them, even if they weren’t cowhands, rode better’n most any nester I ever saw,’ Waco answered. ‘They knew at least some of you boys would recognise Ben Silver and they still left him. Yet they toted off the other man we downed. In fact they went by Silver’s body to get that one and under fire at that.’
‘What do you make of it then?’ Mary Anne wanted to know.
‘You told me about what happened in town. Looks like somebody wants you out of the way, Rusty gal. This try tonight was aimed to scare you off, or stir up trouble between you and the nesters. Either way you’d likely give up the spread. The boy’s wouldn’t want to follow a woman and with a range war brewing they’d likely want to be getting out of it. You’d be left without a crew, Rusty gal. Then you’d have to sell out.’
‘That means Brarsand!’ Mary Anne snapped the words.
‘He’s one, could be any of a dozen others. Don’t you go pawing earth, gal. Who’s town law now?’
It was Larry who answered. ‘Mean cuss called Talbot. Got him elected on the last time. Reckon the nester vote swung him in, there being some talk going round that Lafe Sanger was too old for the job.’
‘Lafe’s the best Town Marshal Whittle ever had,’ Mary Anne snorted. ‘Too old for the job indeed!’