by J. T. Edson
‘That being the case,’ Viridian said, flicking up the lid of the small inkpot in the container, ‘You’ll be willing to sign this.’
‘Wh—What is it?’ Dover wanted to know,
‘A contract to deliver five hundred head of cattle to us every three months,’ Viridian replied.
‘Fi—Five hundred head?’ the rancher croaked.
‘To be delivered every three months,’ Viridian repeated. ‘With a penalty clause of one third of their value for non-delivery.’
‘But—But—’ Dover spluttered, realizing what signing the contract would mean. I’d have to strip my range bare to keep up the deliveries.’
‘Look at it this way,’ Viridian replied. ‘You can’t sell them anywhere else, except to another hide and tallow factory. Can you?’
‘Well—’ Dover began and saw the nib of the pen Viridian had removed from the case moving towards his face. ‘Well no, I—I can’t.’
‘And we’re increasing our price to six dollars a head,’ Viridian went on. ‘None of the other factories pays that high, does it?’
‘No,’ the rancher conceded.
‘Then this’s a fair offer,’ Viridian stated.
‘Isn’t it?’
‘I—I—’ Dover commenced, looking around in desperation.
Apart from the three men, there was not another human being in sight. Timson was standing at the mouth of the alley, watching the street without giving any indication that there were people about. Still holding Dover’s revolver, Silvane had walked to the rear and was peering around the corner towards Mulcachy’s livery barn. Although only Viridian was within reaching distance, Dover knew that he could not hope to escape in his present condition.
‘Look at it this way,’ the burly man suggested, guessing at the thoughts that were running through the rancher’s head. ‘You’ve told me that you don’t believe there’s a chance of selling your cattle in Kansas. So I’m offering you a good deal and a steady source of income. Why shouldn’t you sign?’
‘I—I’d like time to think about it.’
‘Time is one thing neither of us have. I’ve got other ranchers to see and they’ll be willing to sign. So it’s now or never.’
‘But—’ Dover began, playing for time in the hope that the marshal or a deputy would make an appearance.
‘This’s how I see it,’ Viridian interrupted, scowling in a menacing manner. ‘Either you’ve told me the truth about Kansas, in which case there’s no reason not to sign, or you’ve been lying to me. I don’t like liars.’
‘What if I won’t sign?’ the rancher wanted to know.
‘I’d like that a whole heap less,’ Viridian replied. ‘And like you said, there’s a lot of tough fellers in town for the Fair. If you was found with your head bust in and your pockets emptied, everybody’d think it was done in a robbery. I could always give your wife the same offer. But if I had to, the price would go down to four dollars.’
‘G—Give me the contract,’ Dover requested, knowing that he had not been threatened idly.
‘You’ll find it’s legally binding,’ Viridian warned when the rancher had taken the pen and contract, but hesitated. ‘Don’t get any clever notions like signing, then going to lay a complaint with the marshal. He’ll not find me in town. And if he telegraphs Pilar, he’ll be told that I’m at home, in bed with the grippe. Don’t forget that you and your family have to go home. It’s a long, lonely road. Anything could happen on it.’
The final words had the desired effect. Dover had heard about and seen the pleasure Viridian took in slaughtering cattle. Such a man would have little regard for the sanctity of human life. So the rancher decided that he must comply and hope that, in the future, the law would give him its protection. With that thought, he affixed his signature to the document.
Guessing what his employer had in mind, Silvane had left him to deal with the rancher. In all probability Viridian would want to interview the ‘short—growed, blond haired kid’. So the hard case had walked to the rear of the alley with the intention of checking if it could be done.
At first sight, the livery barn appeared to be devoid of human life. On the point of returning and telling Viridian that the rancher might have been lying, Silvane saw a figure leave the big main building and stroll in his direction. Although at least two hundred years separated them, the hard case could see that the approaching man answered to Dover’s brief description. Withdrawing his head hurriedly and, as he believed, unobserved, Silvane strode back to his employer.
‘Boss!’ Silvane ejaculated. ‘That kid’s just coming this way.’
‘He is, huh?’ Viridian grunted, shaking the contract to dry the ink. He had already packed and put away the writing case. ‘Timson, come here!’
Hope began to well inside Dover. If the young man who had given the information was who he had claimed to be and—unlikely as it seemed—the rancher had believed him, there was a chance that he might still escape from his predicament. Opening his mouth to yell a warning, he lunged forward with the intention of grabbing and destroying the contract. Just an instant too late, he realized that Viridian had guessed what he was planning to do.
Having seen and understood the brief play of emotions on the rancher’s face, the burly man was aware of what he had in mind. So he was ready to counter the attempt when it was made.
Snatching the contract clear of Dover’s clutching fingers, Viridian advanced a pace. Coming into close proximity with the rancher, he swung up his bent right leg. Anger gave added impetus to what would have been a devastating attack and made it that much more effective. The knee passed between Dover’s thighs and rammed against his testicles. Sudden, raw and raging torment burst through him, a pain such as he had never experienced. Instead of shouting and drawing attention to his plight, he gave a croaking gasp. Jack-knifing at the middle, with his hands flying involuntarily to the stricken region, he collapsed to his knees. Mouthing furious curses, Viridian kicked the all-but helpless man at the side of the head and he went sprawling limply on to his face.
‘That ought to keep him quiet,’ Timson remarked callously, joining his employer. ‘What’s up, boss?’
‘We’ve got another one to see,’ Viridian answered, checking that the ink was dry before folding and returning the contract to his pocket. ‘Leave that gun, Silvane.’
‘Sure, boss,’ the hard case answered and tossed the revolver down alongside its owner. ‘Are we going after that kid?’
‘Yes,’ the burly man confirmed. ‘And by the time I get through with him, he’s going to wish he’d never even heard of taking cattle to Kansas.’
Chapter Three – I Know Something About It
WITHOUT AS MUCH AS a glance at the unconscious rancher, Viridian led his men along the alley. He wanted to leave it before the ‘blond haired kid’ arrived and saw Dover. Stepping around the corner he found that he had achieved his ambition. The cowhand had covered slightly more than half of the distance from the livery barn and was still coming.
Studying his intended victim while walking forward, Viridian decided that Dover’s description had been very apt. What was more, he doubted if he would have any difficulty in persuading the young cowhand to stop talking about taking herds to Kansas.
Not more than five foot six inches from his low crowned wide brimmed black Stetson to his high-heeled, fancy-stitched boots, the cowhand seemed short and insignificant. He had curly, dusty blond hair and a tanned, fairly good looking set of features. While his clothing seemed to be of good quality, it bore the marks of long travel. He made the tight-rolled scarlet bandana, black and white calf skin vest, gray shirt and Levi’s pants, their cuffs hanging outside his boots and turned back, look like somebody else’s cast-offs.
Strangely enough, considering his profession, Silvane had not commented on the fact that the blond was armed. Viridian noticed the brown leather gun belt, with two white-handled Colt 1860 Army revolvers in carefully designed cross draw holsters, but discounted them. If the cowhan
d had ridden on Goodnight’s drive, even in the menial capacity of horse wrangler or cook’s assistance, he would have been paid well enough to be able to afford such an excellent gun-rig. Most likely he had purchased it in an attempt to add to his stature.
If Viridian had been more observant, he might have noticed that the cowhand had a good width to his shoulders and trimmed down at the waist in a manner suggestive of strength. Also, he walked without any hint of a swagger such as an insignificant youngster might adopt when trying to appear tough.
Fanning out and allowing Viridian to draw ahead of them, Timson and Silvane also examined the small Texan. While they took note of his weapons, neither felt any concern. If their employer used the same trick that he had played upon the rancher, the cowhand would not have an opportunity to defend himself.
‘Howdy,’ greeted Viridian, trying to sound like a Texan and coming to halt directly in front of the blond. ‘You-all the young feller’s knows all about taking herds to Kansas?’
‘I know something about it,’ the cowhand corrected, his voice pleasant and suggesting that he had had a good education. At the same time, his gray eyes flickered from Viridian to the two hard cases. To avoid alarming him or arousing his suspicions, Timson and Silvane had stopped several feet away. Apparently they had succeeded, for he returned his gaze to their employer. ‘Are you interested, mister?’
‘Why sure,’ Viridian agreed. ‘We ride for the Walking O, up Wise county way, and the boss’s in town to find out what it’s all about.
On the burly man mentioning the ranch at which he was supposed to work, the blond glanced down at his hands and to the Hersome gaiter boots.
‘He’ll find out easy enough,’ the youngster said, resuming his scrutiny of Viridian’s face. ‘All he has to do is come to the Convention.’
‘You figure it can be done, huh?’ Viridian inquired, noticing that the blond’s reply implied he would be attending the Convention. That could not be. The meeting was for the owners of ranches, or their representatives. It seemed highly unlikely that he came into either category. ‘Sure,’ the blond answered evenly. ‘I figure it can.’
Watching and listening, Viridian decided that he did not like the way in which the blond was acting. There was none of the bombast and posturing that were usually evident when an insignificant nobody was trying to act like a man of importance. Rather he seemed to exude quiet confidence. What was more, he gave the impression that he knew what he was talking about and would repay being listened to. That was all the more reason for silencing him. He might be capable of persuading unconvinced ranchers to attend the Convention.
There was another point for Viridian to take into consideration. If the suggestion had come from the blond that Dover should share the expenses of a trail drive with the owners of other small ranches, he must be smarter than he looked. Certainly it was not a notion that Viridian wanted passing around.
‘The boss’ll be right pleased to hear it,’ Viridian declared, looking around. Nobody was watching, so he could go ahead with his plan and there would be no interruptions. Adopting a jovially disarming attitude, he thrust forward his right hand. ‘The name’s Doug Wright—’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ the blond drawled. Standing apparently relaxed and at ease, he seemed to be falling into the trap.
Still grinning in a friendly fashion, Viridian prepared to close his fingers around, and grasp the offered hand, with all his crushing pressure. Even if the blond wanted to, pain would prevent him from trying to draw a revolver.
However, before the burly man’s scheme could be implemented, the young cowhand showed that he had not been fooled by the other’s words or actions. Instead, he was clearly aware of the danger.
As their palms came into contact, the relaxation left the Texan and he began to move with commendable speed. Before Viridian realized what was happening, the Texan’s right thumb was pressing on the back of his hand and turning it palm downwards. At the same instant, the blond’s left hand flashed up to cup under and grasp the burly man’s right elbow. There was surprising strength in the youngster’s grip. It showed in the ease with which he raised the trapped forearm and bent the wrist forward with a whip-like, snapping notion. Such was the pain caused by the hold that Viridian was effectively prevented from continuing with his attack.
Seeing that their boss was not duplicating the success he had had with the rancher, Silvane and Timson moved forward to help him. Being closer than his companion, Silvane arrived first. He went by Viridian from the left, hoping to take the Texan by surprise.
The hope did not materialize.
Still retaining his painful wristlock on the burly man, the blond stepped swiftly to his right. So fast did he move that Viridian could do nothing to prevent him. Up whipped his right leg, driving the toe of his boot with equal precision and at the same target that Viridian had put his knee into when felling the rancher. And with just as much success. Letting out a gasping cry, Silvane lost all interest in making the attack. Instead, he blundered by a couple of steps and bent double. Then he tumbled on to his face and lay writhing in agony. It was obvious that he would not be getting up for some minutes.
Viridian had been dragged around so that he was between the Texan and Timson. Spluttering anguished curses, the burly man swung his left fist towards his captor. Due to the awkwardness and pain of the hold upon him, he could not deliver a really effective blow. However, passing beneath the brim of the Stetson, his knuckles collided with the blond’s cheek. Although the punch was not as hard as it would have been in more favorable circumstances, it served its purpose. Or, perhaps, the blond had already planned to release the wrist. Whichever it was, Viridian found himself liberated. But not before the cowhand had given a sharp, downwards jerk at the trapped hand. An added agony ripped into Viridian and he thought for a moment that his wrist had been broken, or at least sprained.
Giving the burly man no chance to recover and follow up the blow, the cowhand sprang to his left. Swerving around his employer, Timson appeared before the blond. If the youngster was surprised or perturbed by finding himself confronted by another enemy, he did not show any sign of it. Lunging forward, Timson cut loose with a haymaker of a right hand punch. Going under the hard case’s fist, the blond flung a much more scientific left jab into his unguarded belly. The knuckles sank home with all the power of a muscular frame behind them. Giving a grunt that was testimony to the force of the blow, Timson changed his attack into an involuntary retreat. To his horror, he saw that the blond did not intend to let him go unhindered. Like a flash, the youngster struck with his left fist and it rose in the direction of the hard case’s descending jaw.
Brief as it had been, the respite allowed Viridian to recover from the effect of the wristlock. Shaking his right hand, he concluded that he had been premature in diagnosing the extent of the injury. While his wrist throbbed sorely, it was neither broken nor sprained. Satisfied on that point, he turned his attention towards obtaining revenge on his assailant. Stepping forward while the blond was occupied with Timson, Viridian reached out with his right hand. He had decided that, as his wrist was still aching, he would be able to punch more effectively with his left hand.
With his hand rising towards its target, the blond felt his shirt’s collar seized from the rear. Taken by surprise, his torso was bent backwards. While the attack did not entirely save Timson, it reduced the power of the blow to his jaw. Lifted erect by the impact, the hard case reeled a few steps, but he did not go down.
Once again, the youngster displayed a keen appreciation of his danger. It was the burly man’s intention to jerk him off balance and either throw him to the ground, or smash home blows with the left hand. But the youngster proved himself capable of producing an effective counter to the attack.
Retaining his balance as best he could, the blond swung his right foot in a circle to the rear. That brought his back and right shoulder so they pressed against Viridian’s right elbow and prevented him from exerting the pull to any
greater degree. With that done, the cowhand glanced down. Having located his target, he raised and stamped his right foot backwards. His aim was very good. The high heel of the boot caught Viridian on the front of the shinbone. Yelling in pain, the burly man released his hold and turned to the left. Pivoting fast, the blond drove his bent right arm so that its elbow caught Viridian in the kidney region. Grunting in agony, the man stumbled away from his assailant.
Timson was back into the attack. Leaping in as the blond’s elbow struck his employer, the hard case caught him by the other arm. A sharp tug turned the youngster, followed by a punch into his stomach. Releasing the biceps, having been surprised by the discovery of its bulk, Timson followed the blow with another to the same area. Although the Texan grunted and was forced backwards, he had had time to brace his powerful stomach muscles and reduce the effect of the blows. Following him, the hard case changed the point of attack. Instead of punching, Timson shot out his hands to grab hold on either side of the blond’s throat with the intention of choking him insensible.
Throwing a glance at his employer, as he secured his grip Timson decided that there would not be any immediate help from that source. Rubbing a hand on his back, where the blond’s elbow had landed, he was just stopping but had not turned. His attitude suggested that he was in some pain. Nor was Silvane in any better condition to lend a hand. Still lying on the ground, he was in a crouching posture and moaning piteously.
Even before the strangulation could start to take effect, the blond moved to counteract it. Taking a long stride to the rear with his right foot, he crouched slightly and caused his attacker’s torso to be inclined in his direction. Then he placed the palms of his hands together, with the fingers pointing in to the air, but kept his elbows spread apart. Thrusting his hands between Timson’s arms, as the hard case attempted to draw them both into a more upright posture, the blond slid his left boot until it was level with his right foot. Helped by his weight dragging on the clutching hands, the Texan’s elbows forced open Timson’s arms and caused him to lose his hold.