by J. T. Edson
From his side came four rapid crashes, so fast that they sounded almost as one. Flame lanced from the gun which Waco held waist high, locked tight against his side while his right hand fanned the hammer. Keith gulped. He saw splinters kicking from the tree and then gazed down at the gun Waco held.
‘See, Chicago,’ Waco said, friendship in his voice, not mocking in any way. ‘With a gun you’ve got to be fast.’
‘Fast!’ Keith gulped. ‘I’ve never seen anything so fast in all my life.’
‘Yeah, the boy’s fast,’ Mary Anne chuckled. ‘There aren’t many faster, are there, Molly?’
‘I’ve never see faster.’
‘There’s three,’ Waco said seriously.
‘Who are they?’ Keith wanted to know all he could about the West.
‘Dusty Fog, Mark Counter and Doc Leroy.’ Waco replied. ‘Come on, settle down by the fire and clean your gun.’
They came into Whittle City in the early morning and rode slowly along the main street. Keith looked the part of a Texas cowhand, even sat his horse like one. He brought his horse to a halt and pushed back his hat. A man was coming along the street towards him. Keith stopped talking to the others and studied the man. Then he rode forward and halted the horse, looking down at Brarsand.
‘Why, it’s Mr. Jackson. I thought you were in Denver.’
Brarsand stopped in his tracks, his face, long schooled in frontier poker games, showing nothing of his thoughts. Then he looked up at Keith with the right expression for a man mistaken for some other person. ‘Sorry, friend. You’ve got the wrong man. The name’s Brarsand, I’ve never been to Chicago in my life.’
Keith frowned. He’d worked in his father’s business and developed an ability to remember faces and names. It annoyed him that he’d made a mistake and of course it must be a mistake. Jackson was a gentleman, the Streeterville Sporting Club was exclusive and kept a high standard of its guests. This man here wore what Keith had seen to be the dress of a froptier gambler. He inclined his head politely. ‘I’m sorry, sir. The resemblance is remarkable but I must have made a mistake.’
Waco was pleased that Keith said this. It saved him cutting in helping out. His eyes were cold as he watched Brarsand and the man looked back at him, then at the two girls.
‘Haven’t seen you around yet, Waco,’ Brarsand remarked. ‘I thought you’d be in to take that drink with me.’
‘Would have, but I’ve been away. Took Mary Anne here over to the big city.’ Waco gave the information to see how Brarsand took it. He was forced to concede the man held his emotions in perfect control. ‘We went to fetch Molly here back home. Figgered she might be needed to look after things.’
Brarsand nodded in agreement. ‘It’s always as well to have the owner living on the property. Well, I’ve got work to do. Ladies.’
Raising his hat politely Brarsand walked on without looking back and entered the tavern. Waco watched the man go, noting that Brarsand stood at the door to watch them. Keith was still frowning. He shook his head at last.
‘I could have sworn he was the man I met at the Sporting Club.’
‘Who’d you think he was, Chicago?’ Mary Anne inquired.
‘A man called Jackson. I was introduced to him but Jackson came from Denver,’ Keith replied as they started to move forward. ‘Where are we going now?’
‘To the livery barn. Molly and I want to borrow a couple of horses from Uncle Seamus and arrange for him to send this buggy back to the railhead. Then we’ll head for the S.S.C.’
Brarsand entered the saloon and looked around. There were only three hard-faced gunhung men and his regular workers here. Jerking his head to one of the men, Brarsand gave orders as he came over. ‘Get down to the livery barn, Ed. You’ll find two men and two girls there. You’ll know who I mean, one of them’s that Tejano who shot Dave Tull. I want the other killed. Get both if you can but get the one wearing the tartan shirt first.’
The gunman turned and walked away and Brarsand called another over. ‘Hank, head for the ranch. If Cholla is back bring his bunch into town. If he isn’t bring every other man who’s there.’
Della Christine joined Brarsand now, watching the men leave, curious. ‘Where’s Ed going?’ she asked.
‘There’s a man in town who met me in Chicago,’ Brarsand answered, then his face darkened. ‘I made a bad slip. Said I’d never been in Chicago and neither of the men even mentioned they’d been to, or come from, Chicago.’
‘They’ll never notice it.’
‘I’ve told you before, that Texas boy is smart, real smart. He knows I’ve made a slip. He’s no fool and can think things out. I asked around town about him since he first came. Thought at first he was just a hired gun brought in to help the girl. He’s more than that, he’s Catlan’s adopted son.’ His face clouded for a moment. ‘That letter, it means O’Dea or Waco was suspicious. Do you think they knew it was a forgery, Della?’
‘I told you Doc Pilsener’s the best of them all.’
‘Yet they knew. I saw O’Dea and hinted I’d like to buy a ranch around here but he never mentioned the Lazy W. Thought the letter was delayed, or maybe lost. So I told him to let me know if he heard of one going around here. They must have been suspicious and Waco took the Catlan girl to Chicago to bring Molly Wilmont home.’
Della gulped. She was worried now. ‘Do you think they found out who wrote the letter?’
‘How could they. And if they did Pilsener’s dead. Besides how could they find out about him. In the West Waco could, likely. But not in a big city like Chicago. I couldn’t have found him without your help. No, they didn’t know about Pilsener.’
Before Della could reply they heard shots and stopped talking, looking at the door and awaiting the report from their man when he returned.
Waco and Keith were standing by the corrals and watching the horses while the two girls made arrangements for mounts and the return of the buggy. To Keith’s eyes the horses here were good and he said so.
‘Sure, they’re all right for what they’re used for. They aren’t cowhorses though. Say, who did you say you thought Brarsand was?’
‘Jackson. I met him at the Sporting Club.’
‘Who was he with?’
‘Theo Benedict. The head of the Chicago—Texas Railroad. But it can’t be the same man.’
‘Jackson?’ Waco rubbed his jaw. There was something worrying him, something he should know but could not just remember.
‘Yes, but he came from Denver.’
Then Waco’s tenacious memory got it. The register at the Reed-Astoria and a man called Jackson, from Denver who’d checked out the day the forger, Doc Pilsener died. He got something more, something Brarsand said there in the street. Mr. Brarsand was going to be needing to answer questions real soon. For all that Waco was cautious for he knew he could not handle all Brarsand’s men alone. The best plan was head for the ranch, ole Red Blaze would—
Waco thrust out his hand, sending Keith staggering violently behind the water-trough. At the same moment Waco flung himself backwards, landing on his back, gun in his right hand as he rolled over. From behind them a gun roared and the bullet hissed between them. Waco was right out in the open and a clear target for the man who was flattened behind the wall of the livery barn. Waco expected to feel lead slamming into him and threw two fast shots which kicked splinters from the wall by the man’s head.
Keith was shaken up by the push and his landing, but he saw where Waco was and knew his danger. Drawing his Colt he cocked it and came up, firing fast. Since Waco’s showing him how to handle a gun Keith had made practice with his Colt. His bullet, fast taken, missed the man and he went down as lead slashed at him, sending water erupting from the trough as he lit down.
Lunging up Waco fanned off three fast shots, throwing the lead at the edge of the building. The gunman backed off, turned and ran for it. ‘Keep down, Chicago!’ Waco called, drawing his left-hand gun as he darted forward to the edge of the building, then leapt around re
ady to shoot. The alley between the livery barn and the next building was empty and the street was ahead. Waco went forward to look along the street but could see no one who might either be the gunman, or have seen him. The ground was too hard to allow him to read any sign from it.
Keith came up, gun out and ready. ‘What was it?’ he asked.
‘Somebody tried to kill one of us,’ Waco replied.
‘You?’
Waco shook his head, turned on his heel and headed back to the corral. ‘No, you!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
WACO MAKES FRIENDS
THE two girls, Seamus Reagan and Lafe Sanger came running up. Molly came straight to Keith and asked. ‘What happened?’
It was Waco who replied. ‘Somebody tried to kill Chicago. Get the hosses and let’s get out of here. The sooner we’re out of town the happier I’ll be.’
‘But what about the police when they come to investigate the shooting?’ Keith, full of ideas about how things would be done in Chicago, asked, ‘Shouldn’t we wait to explain?’
‘Nope. Lafe here’s county deputy sheriff. He’ll handle it for us!’ Waco jerked his head to the corral. ‘Pick two that can move, Rusty gal.’
‘What was it, boy?’ Sanger growled as the girls went to work, picking two horses and saddling them.
‘Like I say, somebody tried to gun Chicago down.’
‘Who?’
‘You can call it as well as I can. If Talbot comes tell him we were having home target practice.’
Sanger grunted, looking Keith over. ‘He’s a greener, ain’t he?’
‘Sure.’
‘Man’d say he makes him a tolerable amount of enemies, real fast. You sure it wasn’t somebody after you?’
Waco’s grin was mocking and sardonic as he replied, ‘Could have been, ‘cept I was laying right out there in the open and without cover, the man didn’t try for me. He did for Chicago.’
The horses were saddled now and the girls mounted. Sanger scratched the side of his bristly jaw. ‘Like to see you real soon, Waco. This wants some talking out.’
‘Sure, I’d like to see you and Colonel O’Dea both. Where’s the Colonel at now?’
‘Over to one of the nesters, holding a meeting.’
‘We’ll likely be back tonight, then I’ll have something to tell you.’ Waco swung afork his horse. ‘See you later, Lafe.’
They were riding out of town before Keith spoke again. ‘I think we ought to have stayed on and seen the sheriff or some other peace officer, Waco.’
‘There’s only Talbot, the marshal, and he’s no use to us.’ Waco answered. ‘Besides I don’t want you killing just yet.’
‘That man must have been shooting at you, not me, I haven’t been out here and don’t know anybody—’
‘You thought you knew somebody,’ Waco pointed out.
Keith opened his mouth, then closed, it again. The girls were now both looking hard at Waco and Molly snapped, ‘Do you mean that man tried to kill Chicago?’
‘Me?’ Waco’s eyes were flickering at the range around them, watchful and alert to locate anything which could spell hidden men. ‘I don’t think, not like you three smart folks. All I know is that if that hombre was after me he’d got a damned funny way of showing it. I was out in the open and a clear shot and it was still Chicago he went for.’
Keith frowned. He was not used to accepting being shot at. He thought the law should do something and said so vehemently. Mary Anne laughed and remarked, ‘You listen to my lil brother, Chicago. He won’t lead you more’n a couple of miles wrong. That damned Kansas sheep, Talbot, wouldn’t do a damned thing.’
‘But if he’s a peace officer—’
‘He’s one of Earp’s dirty crowd,’ Waco growled.
‘But Wyatt Earp is known as a great lawman,’ Keith pointed out.
‘Earp?’ Waco spat the word out. ‘He’s nothing but a lying, bribe-taking, pious hypocrite. Him and all his bunch.’
Keith could see that Wyatt Earp was neither liked nor respected in Texas. Waco’s view was typical of any cowhand who’d come into contact with the Kansas law and order crowd. He changed the subject again. ‘Are you just going to forget it?’
‘Nope, Lafe’ll ask around and when we get back tonight he might know something for us.’
‘What’re you going back for?’ Mary Anne asked grimly.
‘To ask some questions.’
‘Like which?’ Molly wanted to know.
‘For one like how Brarsand knew where Chicago came from without even asking. For another, what sort of gun Brarsand carries.’
‘Then you think it was Brarsand who killed that man in Chicago?’ Mary Anne said, her eyes on Waco’s face. ‘And killed pappy?’
‘Yes, honey. That’s what I think.’ Waco reached over and gripped the girl by the shoulder. ‘That’s just what I think. Tonight Red, Doc, me and the boys are coming in to find out.’
‘Not without the Lazy W boys,’ Molly snapped. ‘This’s their fight, too.’
Before Waco could reply Keith said, ‘Funny the way the smoke over there is acting.’
Looking up Waco saw the puffs of smoke rising into the, air. It was not going up as normal smoke should but rising in separate, irregular clouds. Mary Anne noted where it was coming from and gasped. ‘It’s from the house.’
‘Yeah, putting up smoke. It’s an old trick we use at the O.D. Connected to call the hands in fast,’ Waco answered, then set his Kelly petmakers to work sending his horse leaping forward. ‘Let’s go!’
The horses sprang forward in a racing gallop, each rider urging speed from their racing animal. Keith was a good rider, he’d always ridden, or all the time from when his father could afford it. He’d ridden in races but never before ridden with such urgency as now. He saw the set faces of his three companions and knew there was something badly wrong here. He was charging into another wild adventure, that he was sure of.
Doc Leroy was throwing a saddle on to his black and yelling to the other hands to saddle up when he heard the thunder of hooves and turned to see who was coming, for all the ranch crew were here now. He felt some relief when he recognised his friend, Waco. At a time like this Waco was worth three other men. ‘Song,’ he yelled. ‘Throw a rope on Waco’s paint.’
By the time Waco brought his sweating horse to a halt by the corral Song was holding the big paint stallion roped ready for him to slap a saddle on it. Waco made good time in saddling the big horse, then he slid the new rifle out and threw a bullet into the chamber, Keith was standing by the girls and Waco called, ‘Take care of them, Chicago. Ride out.’
‘Rustlers, took the stock herd. Red and Larry went after them,’ Doc called back.
‘Willie!’ Molly yelled to a cowhand she knew. ‘Give Chicago your hoss, I want you to go and fetch my crew here.’
Willie swung down from his horse. He did not like the idea of missing a fight but knew better than to disobey an order. Keith swung into the saddle of the horse and sent it after the rest of the party as they rode across the range. He thought how the West was just like in Ned Buntline books. He’d been shot at and now he was riding after rustlers with a posses of cowhands. This was the life and sure beat Chicago.
‘Sorry about this, Willie,’ Mary Anne told the cowhand. ‘I’ll get Lee to bake you a special apple pie and you’ll get your chance tonight unless I’m wrong.’
Willie, a trencherman of note amongst the hearty eating cow-hands, was somewhat mollified by this promise of pie. He caught another horse from the remuda and was soon headed across country, making for Lazy W.
Waco brought his horse to a sliding stop and looked at the direction the tracks were leading. ‘They’re headed for the ford on the Ranse likely, Doc. We’d best make for it.’
‘It’s a big risk, boy. We might miss them, they might not have headed there.’
‘We’ll have to chance it. Let’s go.’ Waco swung his horse from the broader line of the herd and headed it in a direct line for the ford o
f the Ranse River.
Red Blaze left the Wilben house and raced for the foot of the slope, then up it, swerving as he ran. Above him the gunmen strained as they shoved against the weight of the wagon, trying to get it over the lip of the incline and rolling down to smash it into the front of the house. To their side Kell’s eyes glowed murder as he sighted his Spencer rifle on the fast-running man. His rifle cracked loud, sounding even over the curses of the straining men and the crackle of flames as the hay at the front of the wagon blazed up.
It was close, very close. The shirt was ripped from Red’s side as the bullet tore between his arm and side. Red did not halt. He kept on with his fast swerving run and heard the angry slap of another bullet passing close to him. Then he flung himself forward and landed behind a rock. Gripping both hands around the butt of his Colt, Red rested them on the rock and sighted up the slope. He’d seen Dusty Fog, Mark Counter and Waco do creditable shooting at ranges of up to a hundred yards by this method and made practice himself, but knew he was not good. He fired and saw the dirt kick up from the slope well below the wagon. The man with the Spencer sent another bullet down. Red swore after he felt the wind of it passing and knew he would get the next. For once in his life Red was cursing Christopher M. Spencer for devising such an efficient weapon. That .52 calibre rifle was not going to do him any good at all if it hit him.
He lined the gun again and from the corner of his eye saw the man standing, resting one foot on the rock and lining the rifle. Still Red would not allow himself to swerve from his attempt at stopping the men pushing the wagon. His Colt bellowed again and the bullet struck above the men. He saw them suddenly break away from the wagon and run for their horses, then heard the thunder of hooves. The man with the rifle suddenly spun around, his rifle fell from his hands and he toppled forward over the rock. Red came to his feet, recognising the men who came hurling over the top of the rim. His wild rebel war yell was echoed by Waco whose rifle saved his life.