by J. T. Edson
‘And they’re both so deep in your pocket their eyes don’t barely show over it, big as they allow Dusty Fog to be,’ Profitt libeled. ‘We was told to take you to a John Law who’ll hold you until you can be extri—something or such fancy. It means they’ll take you back to where you come from for trying.’
‘And, going by what we’ve heard,’ Lexington went on, grinning maliciously. ‘That lard-gutted badge-toter over to Brownton’ll be only too pleased to hold you in the pokey.’
‘Do you trust him to keep me there? Freddie inquired, having no intention of allowing the men to know the summation was accurate. ‘After all, he’s got a real greasy palm and I’ve got plenty of money to grease it.’
‘What happens to you after we’ve got you there ain’t none of our concern,’ Proffit asserted. ‘’Cause that’s all we’re paid to do.’
‘Get shut and mind what I told you!’ Camberwell put in menacingly, before the black haired beauty could delve deeper into the subject or offer to buy her freedom. Nodding towards the open front entrance of a smaller and not so well kept livery stable than the one in which she accommodated her horses, he continued, ‘We slipped Hampton’s hostler a couple of bucks to stay away until after we’ve gone. But, happen he’s not done it, or anybody else’s inside, with what we’ve got at stake, you can get ’em killed as well as yourself hurt real bad should you give us fuss.’
‘There’s no bounty on you dead, more’s the pity after what your tame law-dogs done to Tricky Dick Cansole, ’cause that cost us a hell of a lot of money,’ Lexington added. ‘But we ain’t been told nothing about what kind of state you’re to be in when we deliver you alive.’
‘And deliver you we aim to,’ Profitt affirmed. ‘'Cause we don’t get the rest of our pay until it’s done.’
Knowing the lanky man was referring to an outlaw who had died resisting arrest a couple of weeks earlier, 35 Freddie gained the impression that the loss of the money rather than any genuine remorse for his death was behind the comment. However, although disinclined to take such a course, as she considered it could serve to establish an undesirable precedent, she wondered if she had any hope of purchasing her release. To offer to do so, even without having any intention of keeping to the arrangement, might lull the trio into a sense of false security and offer her a way to escape. They arrived at the stable before she could put the matter to a test.
Glancing around on entering the building, as she noticed her captors were doing, the black haired beauty was more relieved than disappointed at not seeing anybody. Furthermore, it appeared the hostler had done as instructed. At least, a shout from Camberwell did not cause him or anybody else to put in an appearance.
Telling his companions to saddle a horse for their prisoner as well as themselves, the burly man lounged with his shoulder against the wall just too far away from Freddie to be able to reach and tackle him with a single jump. She sensed that, regardless of whether his boast of being faster with a gun that Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog was justified, he possessed sufficient ability to be able to stop her before any attack she tried to launch was more than just commenced.
‘It’s no use saddling a horse for me,’ the black haired beauty claimed, playing for time. ‘I’ve never ridden anywhere except in a carriage.’
‘The hell you haven’t!’ Camberwell contradicted with assurance. ‘We was told how you sat the bronc those beef-head bastards had down to the other livery.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ Freddie replied and gestured to her long skirt. ‘But right now I’m not dressed for riding astride.’
‘You’ll ride wearing it, or without,’ the burly man declared. ‘Which don’t make no never-mind at all to me. But one way or another, even if it means stripping you buff naked, you’re riding with us. Now shut your yapper and stay right where you are until I give you leave to move.’
Concluding it would be inadvisable for her to disregard either order, Freddie remained where she had halted. Nevertheless, she continued to watch for any suggestion of a means by which she might turn the tables on her captors. She realized that her chances would grow increasingly more slender once they were mounted and riding away from the town. However, when she opened her mouth to suggest payment for being set free, as she had contemplated outside the stable, the burly man snarled at her to keep quiet and she considered it wise to do as he told her.
Two of the horses were saddled without even the remotest chance of escape being presented to the beautiful Englishwoman!
While Lexington and Profitt were entering the stalls to commence work on the other two, something happened to divert all their attention!
‘I saw a big pig Yankee marshal,
A-coming down the street,
He’d got two big pistols in his hands,
And he looked fierce enough to eat.’
Coming closer, the words were being sung in a slurred and less than melodious masculine voice. It had an accent which indicated why that particular ditty was selected even before the second verse was concluded.
‘Oh big pig Yankee, stay away,
Stay right away from me,
I’m just a lil ole boy from Texas,
An’ scared’s I can b— !’
The last word was halted incomplete as the singer came through the main entrance with an unsteady and slightly weaving gait. It supported the indications given by his voice that he had drunk more hard liquor than was good for him. Halting his forward movement as well as his voice, he stood swaying on widely spread feet. Peering owlishly at the occupants of the stable, as if surprised to find anybody there, he started to toss and catch a piece of wood—which looked like a six inch length from a broom’s handle, except it had been rounded at each end and there were half a dozen shallow grooves carved to encircle the middle—he was holding in his right hand.
‘Hey!’ the newcomer ejaculated after a moment, focusing his eyes with what appeared to be difficulty upon the black haired Englishwoman. ‘I know you!’
‘Do you really?’ Freddie inquired, her manner indicating she realized no succor would be forthcoming from such an obviously drunken man.
In the way they too were looking at the newcomer, the trio shared the same point of view!
Chapter Nine – He Sure As Shitting Knew How to Fight!
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the newcomer slurred rather than drawled, starting to advance across the stable in a similarly unsteady fashion to when he had come through the front entrance. However, in spite of his apparent state of inebriation, he still continued to toss the piece of wood into the air as if he considered it to be a most fascinating toy. ‘You’re that fancy English lady’s runs th—!’
Although he had been singing words which would have aroused the ire of many a ‘Yankee marshal’, particularly the Earp brothers about whom they were alleged to have been written, the Texan did not strike any of the hardcases as being capable of resisting physical objections to his behavior. For one thing, even aided by his high heeled tan colored boots, he was no more than five foot six in height. Bareheaded, his neatly trimmed dusty blond hair was rumpled untidily. Seeming to be in his early twenties, while moderately good looking, there was nothing particularly eye-catching about his tanned face. The tightly rolled scarlet silk bandana, dark green shirt and Levi’s pants he was wearing had been purchased recently, but he contrived to give them the appearance of being somebody else’s cast-offs and they tended to emphasize rather than detract from his small stature. Surprisingly, particularly in view of the way he had announced his arrival, he was not wearing a gunbelt and had no recognizable weapons of any kind visible on his person.
‘Get the hell out of here, you god-damned short-growed beef-head son-of-a-bitch!’ Russell ‘Blink’ Profitt snarled, before either of his companions could speak.
Having an antipathy towards Texans, the toad-like man liked nothing better than to come into conflict with one. However, despite his strength and ability in a rough-house brawl, he always preferred to have an ed
ge. That he should be offered an opportunity to indulge in his sadistic pleasure with such a diminutive and, especially while so affected by drink, unlikely to be dangerous specimen gave an added filip to his intention. Therefore, he did not even pause to don the hat he had removed before saddling the horse he had just left. Instead, while speaking, he turned away from the stall he had been on the point of entering and strode across the stable.
‘Just who-all the hell do you reckon you talking to, you bald-headed Yankee stink-bug you?’ the small Texan demanded with drunken indignation, once again teetering to a halt and clutching the piece of wood so its ends protruded on either side of his right hand. ‘By cracky, you need teaching some manners and I’m the man to stomp so—!’
‘The hell you will!’ Profitt snarled, aroused to such a state of fury by the reference to his hairless condition—as his companions, if not the small Texan, had known he would be—that he lunged forward instead of offering to draw one or both his Colt Model of 1851 Navy Belt Pistol revolvers.
Watching Profitt reaching out with his powerful hands with the intention of taking hold of what they too considered to be a harmless victim, the other two hardcases could not conceive any way he could fail. While shorter than either of them, he had an advantage in size and weight which had stood him in good stead against bigger opponents. However, if they had thought to look at her, they would have discovered that Freddie Woods was showing anxiety which was tinged with relief as she kept her eyes on what was taking place.
Regardless of how his companions viewed the situation, while closing in, the squat man began to get an uneasy feeling that something was going wrong. Suddenly and inexplicably, a change seemed to come over the Texan. It went beyond the suggestion of drunkenness disappearing with a speed which suggested this might have been no more than a pose. Somehow, the diminutive figure gave the impression of filling out until Profitt had a sensation of it looming over instead of being smaller than him. Startled by the remarkable and alarming metamorphosis, he tried to bring his impetuous advance to a halt. His hands began to drop and there was nothing he could do to stop them.
Nor was Profitt granted an opportunity to recover his wits!
Generating a much greater speed than he had shown previously, the suddenly and strangely big seeming Texan swung his right arm around at a slightly upwards angle. However, he did not deliver a conventional attack. Instead, he propelled the rounded end of the wood—which was bois d'arc, acclaimed by Indian bow makers as one of the hardest, finest and most durable of timbers—protruding below the heel of his hand so it impacted against Profitt’s temple with savage force. The ridges around the center of the stick allowed it to be grasped so firmly it as good as formed part of his fist and gave extra impetus to the attack.
Looking as if his limbs had suddenly turned to jelly, the recipient of the unconventional blow plunged sideways in a helpless sprawl!
Going by the flaccid way Profitt measured his length on the floor, he would not be taking any further interest in what went on around him for some considerable time!
Having followed his squat companion more with the intention of helping to deliver a brutal beating to the small Texan than because he believed his assistance might be needed, Granger ‘Lecky’ Lexington hurriedly revised his opinion as he saw what was happening. Instead of relying upon his bare hands, taking warning from the fate which had befallen Profitt, he started to reach for the Colt 1860 Army Model revolver in the fast draw holster on his right thigh. Regardless of how ‘Blink’ had been felled, he felt sure he could protect himself against a man who was not wearing a gun.
Standing by the wall, wanting to keep the captive under observation and convinced his help could not possibly be needed, Hugo ‘Camb’ Camberwell also was afflicted by a change of mind. Spitting out a profanity, he jerked away the startled gaze he had directed at the toad-like man’s limply sprawled body. Despite seeing what his second companion was doing, he was unwilling to rely upon it alone to regain control of the situation. Also taking into account the unarmed condition of the intruder, he commenced his draw convinced that he could deal with the matter even if Lexington should fail.
Once again, the small Texan went into action with devastating speed!
However, on this occasion, the intruder did not place his reliance upon the surprisingly effective—albeit primitive seeming—device he was still clutching in his right hand. Instead, he took two rapid steps forward and bounded from the floor. Twisting in mid-air, while amazement at his latest tactic caused Lexington to be numbed momentarily, he flexed and thrust forward with his left leg. The sole and high heel of his boot, the latter feeling exceptionally painful, smashed against the center of the lanky man’s chest.
In one respect, Lexington might have counted himself fortunate. Because of the urgency, his assailant had commenced the leaping attack from further away than the distance required to achieve its maximum effect and it landed with less than its full power. Nevertheless, the impact was hard enough to send him blundering backwards with the revolver which had just cleared leather falling from his grasp.
Amazed as the lanky hardcase had been by the latest example of the small Texan’s unorthodox methods and fighting capability, Camberwell instinctively completed his draw. Engrossed by the activities of the man he had thought to be no more than a drunken no-account to be speedily quelled and lulled into a sense of false security as a result of the passive manner in which Freddie had behaved since being captured, he gave not a thought to her being so near.
This proved to be an error!
Starting to swing his Army Colt into the firing position with commendable speed, Camberwell had no doubt that he had regained command over the so suddenly and drastically changed state of affairs. However, before he could satisfy himself that the eight inch long barrel was pointing at the small Texan, he discovered in no uncertain fashion that he had overlooked a vital element which was able to threaten the success of his scheme.
Waiting until the weapon was being lifted into alignment and its owner was absorbed in watching the intruder dropping from delivering the kick with an agility calculated to remove any suggestion of drunkenness which might have lingered, the black haired Englishwoman stepped forward. Powered with muscles which had been strengthened by regular exercise, her clenched left fist whipped down to strike the burly hardcase’s extended right wrist. Augmented by its arrival being completely unexpected, the force of the blow was sufficient to do more than just deflect the weapon downwards. Numbed by the impact, he could not retain his grip on the butt and the Colt slipped from his fingers.
Nor were the misfortunes of Camberwell at an end!
While some women would have been content to have disarmed the burly hardcase, Freddie did not restrict her activities in such a fashion. Instead, catching hold of him by the front of his grubby tartan shirt with both hands, she gave a swinging heave while propelled him across the stable. Nor, caught unprepared by the strength she exerted, was he able to resist what was being done to him. However, having completed the throw, his assailant found there was something else demanding her immediate attention.
Although driven backwards some distance by the leaping kick, Lexington retained sufficient of his equilibrium to remain on his feet, Resuming control over his movements, he came to a halt and, despite his chest throbbing where the high heel had ground in, he proved able to continue the fray. Flashing across, his right hand slid the J. Russell & Co. ‘Green River’ knife from the sheath to which he had returned it before starting to saddle the horses. However, having taken warning from the most effective manner in which the small Texan had dealt with Profitt and himself, he had no intention of approaching to the close quarters required to thrust it home by hand. Instead, he swept it back for the kind of throw at which he had become adept.
Confident though she was in the ability of her rescuer, which she had known the small Texan to be from the moment she had heard him singing, Freddie realized that he might not be able to cope with the la
test threat to his continued existence. Having seen an acknowledged expert at throwing a knife perform, she did not discount such tactics as being archaic or unlikely to be used in serious combat. 36 37 Instead, without waiting to discover the outcome, she bent and scooped up the revolver she had knocked from Camberwell’s grasp.
Thumb cocking the action while bringing the weapon up to shoulder height with both hands, the black haired beauty proved herself to be as competent in its use as she had the day before in a different fashion when riding Blotchy!
Taking aim in the only way she considered suitable for the circumstances, Freddie touched off a shot. Controlling the rising effect on the barrel caused by the not inconsiderable recoil from the detonated powder charge, she continued to prove her capability at handling the long barreled Army Colt—a weapon considerably heavier than the Webley British Bulldog revolver which had been taken from her and discarded along with the reticule in which it was concealed—by utilizing the movement to help draw back the hammer with her thumbs ready to fire again if necessary.
The need did not arise!
Flying as it was intended, the .44 caliber bullet ploughed into the side of Lexington’s head an instant before he released the knife. However, although it arrived just too late to prevent the weapon from being thrown, it produced the desired effect. Instead of the eight inch long blade going into the chest of the small Texan and sinking ‘up to the Green River’, as its owner had possessed the skill and was meaning to send it, the knife went at a tangent and buried harmlessly in the wall.