by J. T. Edson
‘I don’t know if you’re bluffing or not, Ram,’ the marshal drawled, without offering to look behind him. ‘But you’ve given good advice. There’s only one thing’d make it better. See to it that nobody else throws lead. Because the next but one’ll come out of my scatter— and you know who’ll be the target.’
‘All right!’ Turtle growled, conceding defeat and raising his voice. ‘Don’t nobody make a move.’
Still trying to clear his eyes, the Kid let out a shrill whistle. Trying to line his revolver on the vague shape, Grift heard an explosive snort and the sound of hooves. Turning his head, he saw a huge white stallion rushing at him. Spitting a curse, he began to swing his weapon round. Forward thrust the horse’s neck and its teeth clamped hold of his wrist. With a savage jerk, it flung the man from his feet. Landing hard, Grift rolled. He looked up, to find the stallion looming above him. The shrill, wicked scream of an enraged manadero rang out. Then iron-shod hooves slashed down. Grift screeched once, the sound being followed by a sickening thud and another as the horse stamped upon him.
Shaking his head, the Kid rose. While his eyes were still stinging and sore, he could see through them. Gathering up his rifle, he went to calm his stallion as it continued to assault its victim. While grateful to the horse for saving him, the Kid knew that he would not be given any answers by Nemenhuh Grift.
Chapter Nine – I Don’t Want Any Trouble
‘HAVE YOU wondered if perhaps Goo—Colonel Goodnight and his friends might have an ulterior motive for persuading other ranchers to try and reach Kansas with their herds?’ Marlene Viridian inquired, sitting on the decorative stone wall of the porch and looking up at the blond giant.
After finishing the dance with Mark Counter, Marlene had continued with her plan to cultivate his acquaintance. Disregarding her hostess’s thinly-veiled and obvious disapproval, she had remained in his company and contrived to carry on being his partner. She had made herself very pleasant, without openly flirting, and believed she had suggested to him that she was willing to go farther at a more suitable time.
While dancing and talking, Marlene had formed an assessment that was much in the big Texan’s favor. He drank sparingly, which might prove a mixed blessing in view of what she had planned for him, and he struck her as being intelligent. Certainly he was anything but a naive, fairly wealthy, small town bumpkin. Nor would he, unfortunately, be an easily controlled tool. However, she was even more certain that he would be suitable for her needs.
With her decision reached, Marlene had suggested that they should step outside for a breath of fresh air. She had done so in such a way that she implied there might be more than that in store for him. Going through the open set of French windows at the right side of the dining room, she had moved along the porch into the shadows. Halting where they could not be seen by the other people attending the ball, she had sat on the wall and steered the conversation to the topic which was uppermost in practically everybody’s’ thoughts in Fort Worth.
‘What would that be?’ Mark inquired, remaining on his feet and at a decorous distance.
‘If enough of them try it, there will be a shortage of cattle at the hide and tallow factories,’ Marlene explained, trying to read some evidence in his face of how he was taking the words. He seemed interested, so she continued, ‘The prices will go up and that would be to the advantage of anybody who hasn’t taken herds to the railroad.’
‘Do you reckon that’s what Goodnight has in mind?’ the blond giant growled and, to the woman’s delight, he sounded indignant.
‘It’s possible,’ Marlene stated. ‘Do you believe that anybody could drive a herd all that way?’
Before Mark could make a reply, a shadow fell in the lighted area beyond the French windows. Glancing by the big Texan, Marlene frowned as she recognized the person who was emerging from the dining room. Turning his head, Mark also looked. What he saw caused him to swing around slowly and face the newcomer. While he did not know the young man, or connect him with the Fitt family, Mark drew some fairly accurate—and a few erroneous— conclusions regarding him. One was that it might be advisable to keep him under observation.
Some people might have mistaken Garvin Fitt for a cowhand, but the blond giant would not be one of them. He knew that the young man had never worked with cattle and suspected that he had rarely indulged in labor of any kind, but was merely dressed—overdressed in fact—to look as if he had. However, the fancy-handled revolver in the split-fronted holster hung right for a fast draw. The rig itself was unusual. Apart from the drop of the holster being longer and having more of the weapon exposed, it resembled one used by Mark’s cousin, Solly Cole. He wondered what, if any, advantage the differences offered.
However, the blond giant gave only a little thought to that aspect. His main interest was directed at Fitt. The flushed cheeks, lurching gait and general attitude displayed by the newcomer acted like a warning beacon to Mark. There, unless he read the signs wrongly, stood a potential hard case who was on the prod and looking for trouble.
In the latter summation, Mark was doing Fitt an injustice. While normally an arrogant bully and not averse to making trouble, it was worry that was responsible for his attitude. After losing heavily in a poker game at the Snapping Turtle, despite knowing that his father had sworn not to help him pay off any more of his gambling debts, the young man had signed an I.O.U. for five hundred dollars. There was certain to be a very unpleasant scene when Fitt Senior heard about his son’s latest losses, but that was less disturbing than the thought of what Ram Turtle would do if the money was not forthcoming.
On his return home, Fitt had hoped to meet Harlow Dolman among the guests at the ball. Failing to do so, but wishing to avoid having to explain his absence to his parents, he had passed quickly through the dining room and on to the porch. Finding that it was occupied, he looked at the man and the woman.
Identifying Marlene, Fitt saw a glimmer of hope that he might yet evade the consequences of his foolishness. On a previous visit, she had been fairly attentive to him. Being vain and used to having his ego fed by the girls in the saloons he frequented, he had believed that she had been infatuated by his manly charm and virility. In which case, she might be persuaded to make him a ‘loan’ of enough money to pay off Turtle. Or, failing that, she could exert her influence and win Dolman’s support.
First, however, Fitt would need to get Marlene alone so that he could set about the necessary receptive mood. To do that, he would have to separate her from the big, blond dandy. Being in a frame of mind where he believed himself to be invincible, Fitt decided that it would present little or no difficulty.
‘Hello there, Marlene,’ the young man said, swaggering forward. ‘Where’s good old Austin, back at home having fun killing all the cattle?’
‘He’s at home, but ill with the grippe,’ the woman answered and her voice held little welcome or encouragement. ‘It’s growing chilly out here, Mark. Shall we go back inside?’
‘How about having the next dance with me, Marlene?’ Fitt suggested, making the words sound like a command, without giving the giant Texan time to speak.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Marlene replied, standing up.
‘Why not?’ Fitt demanded, darting a more searching glance at the big blond and deciding that he was not yet twenty years of age. That confirmed Fitt’s belief that he could easily scare or drive off his rival.
‘I’m tired,’ Marlene stated, throwing an overt look at her escort.
‘Aw. One little dance won’t do you any harm,’ Fitt snorted, being certain that he could apply his charm and attain his desires once they were dancing.
Watching the young man, Marlene felt resentment and annoyance at his behavior. Yet she also saw in it the means by which she would be able to satisfy her curiosity. Knowing that Fitt was a truculent—even dangerous—arrogant bully when he had been drinking, she decided that she could find out how Mark Counter would react if faced by a threatening situation. Fitt fancied himself
as being a good rough-house brawler and was proud of his skill and speed with a gun. In his present condition, provoking him against her escort ought not to be too difficult.
‘Even if I did feel like it,’ Marlene said, selecting her words carefully so that her purpose would not be too obvious. ‘I’ve already promised the next dance to Mark.’
While that was not the truth, the woman doubted if the blond giant would contradict her. Nor did he. In fact, he never spoke but continued to watch Fitt. Marlene saw her host’s son stiffen slightly and direct a glare, which he probably believed to be filled with menace, at Mark.
‘He’ll change his mind and release you from your promise,’ Fitt declared. ‘Won’t you, Mark?’
Normally the blond giant was an easy-going, sociable and amiable young man. Conscious of his exceptional strength, he did not let himself become involved in fights unless provoked. However, he had his pride and took exception to the newcomer’s attitude and behavior.
Mark still did not know who Fitt might be, but now had sufficient clues to form an opinion of what he was. His accent was well-educated, but Northern rather than Texan. In the absence of further details, Mark thought Fitt might be the son of a carpetbagger who had—like a few of that kind—taken over a ranch. Whoever he might be, he clearly considered himself wild, woolly, full of fleas and never once curried below the knees. Such an outlook, especially when backed by an overbearing nature and a belly filled with hard liquor, could lead to trouble.
In fact, Fitt was clearly looking for it.
The big blond had no desire to become involved in an unpleasant incident while a guest in a stranger’s house. Yet he decided that backing away from his challenger would avail him little or nothing. Also, if he yielded to the man’s demands, he would not be able to continue his acquaintance with the woman and, after her comments about Goodnight’s possible motives, he wished to do that.
‘No,’ Mark answered. ‘I won’t.’
‘How do you mean, you won’t? Fitt spat out and his right hand went to the ornate Tiffany grips of his Colt.
‘Mister,’ Mark said very quietly, watching the other’s right forefinger passing through the revolver’s exposed trigger guard. ‘I am a guest of the Fitts and I do not want any trouble—’
‘Maybe you’ve no choice in it,’ Fitt pointed out.
‘Then it’ll be of your making,’ Mark drawled and measured the distance between them with his eyes. ‘But, mister, if you try to pull that gun, I’ll slap your head off your shoulders.
‘Try it!’ Fitt challenged and stabbed at the holster’s operating button.
Despite being ready to respond at Fitt’s first hostile gesture, Mark was taken by surprise. He had expected the young man to use the same method as Solly Cole would have when drawing a gun. Instead of pivoting the revolver forward from the grasp of a spring retention clip, Fitt caused the front of the holster to hinge open. So, before the expected movement had happened, he held the weapon.
Two things saved the blond giant. The speed of his own reactions and the fact that Fitt was nowhere near as capable as he imagined.
Whipping down and across, Mark’s left hand deflected the weapon as it began to lift in his direction. No less swiftly, his right arm flung the other palm against Fitt’s left cheek. While the open handed slap failed to fulfill Mark’s promise, it still proved most effective. Spun around and pitched sideways Fitt lost his hold on the revolver. Luckily, he had not succeeded in drawing the hammer far enough to operate the mechanism. So it clattered to the floor, but failed to fire.
Fitt’s whirling, almost graceful, departure was brought to a halt when he collided with the wall of the mansion. Half blinded by tears and wild with rage, he glared at the big blond and the woman. There was a mocking smile on Marlene’s lips and it goaded Fitt like the prick of a spur. His right hand disappeared beneath his calfskin vest, to where he carried a Remington Double Derringer tucked into his waist band. He was beyond his assailant’s reach this time and felt sure that the other could not hope to come within arms’ length before the little hideout pistol was out and lined.
Equally aware of that fact, although he could not see what kind of weapon Fitt was drawing, Mark did not try to advance. Watched by Marlene, who had retreated a few steps, his right hand dipped and rose. There was a rasping of steel on leather, followed by the rapid triple click of a single-action revolver’s hammer being drawn to full cock.
Never had Marlene seen such speed. Not even her husband, or Dolman, could have equaled it. Flowing from Mark’s off-side holster, the long barreled, ivory handled Army Colt crashed while held at waist level.
Flying where it had been meant to go, the bullet snacked into the wall not two inches from Fitt’s head. While he had done a lot of shooting, it was the first time he had been under fire. He did not find it a pleasant sensation. In fact he received a fright which stiffened him into immobility, the eerie sound of the close-passing lead still ringing in his ears.
‘Throw it away!’ Mark ordered, cocking the Colt on its recoil and returning its barrel to alignment.
Even as Fitt obeyed, pitching aside his half cocked Derringer as if it was red hot, he realized that he had had a narrow escape. Inexperienced in practical gun play as he was, he did not know just how narrow it had been. Many a pistolero would have fired, instead of warning, as long as he had continued to hold the weapon.
Voices were raised in alarm from inside the dining room. The matter between Mark and Fitt might have ended, if it had not been for Marlene. Still annoyed by Fitt’s behavior, she wanted him taught an even stiffer lesson and thought that she knew how to bring it about. Standing so that Mark could not see her, she continued to stare at the other young man with an expression of derision.
Seeing how Marlene was looking at him, Fitt was filled with a mixture of rage and humiliation. He watched Mark’s revolver return to its holster almost as rapidly, with a twirling motion, as it had appeared. Then he flung himself bodily at the blond giant, ignoring the people who were coming from the French windows.
Instead of trying to avoid the attack, Mark stepped forward as if intending to meet it head on. At the last moment, with Fitt’s hands reaching for him, he swayed his head and torso to the left. As Fitt was carried forward by his impetus, Mark’s right fist rammed into his solar plexus. Although the blow had barely travelled six inches, its power was sufficient to halt its recipient in his tracks and bend him at the waist. While big, Fitt’s way of life was not the kind to keep him in good condition.
Shooting out his left hand, Mark caught Fitt by the scruff of the neck and gave a heave. Shooting by the big blond, like the cork being blown from the neck of a champagne bottle, Fitt went rushing across the porch. Striking his legs against the wall upon which Marlene had been sitting, he went over as if turning a somersault. Landing flat on his back in a flower bed, he bounced once and then lay Still.
Taking no notice of the people who were streaming from the dining room, Marlene stared in open admiration at the blond giant. He had justified, even exceeded, her hopes with the manner in which he had handled Fitt. If she could only bring him round to her way of thinking, he would be a powerful force in her future plans. She had suspected it before and was now even more certain.
Stepping to the wall, ready to take whatever action might be necessary, Mark looked over. One glance told him that he would have no further trouble with the young man, at least not for some time to come. Mark did not know it, but he had vindicated Marshal Grillman’s belief that somebody would have to pick up Fitt’s toes. He had done so in a most thorough and satisfactory manner.
‘I’m right sorry for all the fuss, Mr. Fitt,’ the big blond said, turning from the wall and looking to where his host was pushing to the front of the crowd. ‘But this feller,’ he pointed over and down to his victim’s recumbent body, ‘wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘What—Who—?’ Horatio Fitt spluttered.
‘Garvin was most offensive to me,’ Marlene in
terrupted taking the opportunity to strengthen her position with Mark. ‘Then he started to pick a quarrel and tried to draw on Mr. Counter.’
‘Garvin!’ Fitt Senior yelped. ‘Is he—?’
‘I didn’t shoot at him, sir,’ Mark replied. ‘Only to come close and scare him into throwing his Derringer away—’
‘He’d already pulled his revolver on Mark,’ Marlene put in.
‘Where is he now?’ Mrs. Fitt wailed.
‘Lying in the garden, ma’am,’ Mark answered. ‘I’m real sorry that it had to happen—’
‘Mark certainly wasn’t to blame for it,’ Marlene insisted, as Mrs. Fitt ran to the wall.
‘I suppose not,’ Fitt grunted, having no illusions regarding his son’s behavior. ‘If some of you gentlemen will take Garvin to his room, we’ll go on with the ball.’
‘I reckon I’d best be leaving, sir,’ Mark stated, after four of the guests had complied with their host’s request and his wife had gone along to show them where to go.
‘You don’t have to,’ Fitt answered, although the tone of his voice suggested that he was not averse to the idea.
‘It’s kind of late and I’m tired,’ Mark drawled. ‘So I’ll ask you to thank your lady for an enjoyable evening, say I’m sorry for what happened just now, and get going.’
‘Where are you staying, Mark?’ Marlene inquired, being determined not to lose contact with the blond giant.
‘With my kin. Doctor Sandwich and his family.’
‘They live near to the Belle Grande Hotel, don’t they?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mark agreed, guessing what was coming next.
‘Then perhaps you’ll walk me back there on your way home,’ the woman suggested. ‘I didn’t bring my coach—’
‘It’ll be my pleasure, ma’am,’ the big Texan declared.
Fetching Marlene’s cloak and his own white, Texas-style Stetson, Mark escorted her to the hotel. As they walked, she resumed the conversation that had been interrupted by the arrival of Garvin Fitt. From what Mark said, he had given serious consideration to her comment regarding Goodnight’s motives. What was more, he appeared doubtful whether it would be possible to drive a herd of cattle to Kansas.