by J. T. Edson
“He must have taught you what to do,” Dusty drawled, waiting for the first chance he was offered to turn the tables and sensing he was taking the right line to bring it about. “Which I’m lucky I put him down, though. What I’ve seen and heard of him, he wouldn’t’ve let you-all make the fool mistakes you’ve pulled since he was dead.”
“You think not?” the woman hissed. “Then that is another mistake your so-great intelligence has made! Alphonse was my son and I am the Beguinage!”
“You?” Dusty scoffed and there was the world of disbelief in the way he said the single word.
Although the woman’s forefinger began to tighten on the carbine’s trigger, she refrained from completing its pressure. Almost writhing in the fury that had been aroused by the way she was being underrated by such a small and insignificant looking person, she wanted him to learn he was not as brilliant as he clearly imagined himself to be. Her pride was wounded deeply by his comments, for she knew them to be completely wrong as far as her position in their organization was concerned.
On being ordered to leave her convent, having been caught in an act of misconduct with a visiting priest that had resulted in the birth of twins, the woman1 had turned to the life of a professional assassin. In addition to becoming an expert in her new trade and building the organization which had kept her identity a secret, she had trained her children to be extremely capable assistants. It had been with a sense of malicious humor that she had adopted the name given to members of the Catholic lay sisterhood from which she was expelled.2
Over the years, the Beguinage had rarely failed on an assignment. That they should have done so and in such a disastrous fashion while operating in a country which the woman had regarded as barbarous and poorly educated, when the police of every European nation had been unable to even identify them, made the defeat all the more bitter. So she had sworn to be avenged upon those whom she held to be most responsible. Having had no greater respect than Dusty for the ability of Marshal Benjamin Digbry, she had killed him to regain possession of her son’s knife and, more important, because of a shortage of the poison which was contained in the pot. Wishing to terminate the affair as quickly as possible, she had told her daughter to hire a second party of men to kill the small Texan while she went to take care of Liebenfrau, who she had anticipated would visit the livery barn on arriving at Corpus Christie. Having seen the preparations being made by the Texans, she had deduced the precautions they were intending to take, even to the splitting up of the party for the journey to the town.
Deciding to withhold from further activities for a time after her daughter’s death, so as to lull her victims into a sense of false security, the woman had followed half a day or so behind the hunting party. As they had stuck to the stagecoach trail until approaching San Diego, this had not been difficult. On her arrival at the town, the story she had spread about being a nurse so as to avoid attracting unwanted attention had paid an unexpected dividend. She was asked by the doctor to accompany him to the camp, supplying a perfect reason for her to go there. Seeing Dusty and Liebenfrau setting off for a walk and noticing the direction they were taking, she had collected her Winchester from the buckboard in which she was travelling and had slipped away unnoticed to follow them. She was confident that they were sufficiently far from the rest of the party for her to be able to use the weapon without the shots being heard, and she hoped to be on her way to safety before they were missed.
“Me!” the woman insisted. “Alphonse and Arelette were my assistants. It was I who taught them all they knew about kill—!” The words died away as she noticed that the Personal Attendant’s right hand had moved until it was in position to open the flap of his holster. Her voice hardened, but she kept the carbine pointing at Dusty while going on, “Don’t do that, Colonel. I mean you no harm!”
“Oh come on now, ma’am,” the small Texan protested. “You know you’re lying in your teeth. You’re not about to leave anybody alive who knows who and what you are.”
“I agree with Captain Fog,” Liebenfrau declared.
“There now,” Dusty said triumphantly, but stood as motionless as he had from the moment his hand had halted its reach for the Colt. “That gives you-all one hell of a problem, lady. You can’t shoot us both at the same time and, while you’re throwing lead my way, the Colonel’s going to get his gun and drop you where you stand.”
“I swear to you—!” the woman began, turning her gaze to the Personal Attendant.
“Liar!” Liebenfrau thundered and took a step forward, flipping open the holster’s flap to grip the butt of his revolver.
Before she could prevent herself, the woman started to swing the carbine in the Bosgravnian’s direction. Her instincts gave a warning that he was not the greatest danger, but it arrived just a fraction too late.
Using the lightning fast and deadly reactions which had so often saved his life in the past, Dusty brought out the left-side Colt. Only once before had he been compelled to shoot a member of the opposite sex, but he felt no compunction over having to repeat what was just as essential an act of self-preservation.3 Nor, distasteful as the thought might be, dare he do other than shoot for an instantaneous kill. Already the carbine was reversing the move that had been taking it away from him. To hesitate would allow it to be aligned and she would not delay firing any longer.
Just over half a second after the small Texan had been presented with the chance to complete the reach for his Colt, it was out, sending a bullet that grazed by the carbine and entered the woman’s left eye. Despite being thrown backward, she squeezed the trigger and the lead discharged by her weapon hissed by within an inch of Dusty’s head.
“Gracias, Colonel,” Dusty said quietly, starting to walk forward.
“It was the least I could do to repay you,” Liebenfrau replied, following the small Texan toward the bushes.
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Dusty stated, as he and the Personal Attendant looked at the motionless figure sprawled on the ground. “This time, Beguinage is dead!”
APPENDIX 1
During the War Between the States, at the age of seventeen, Dustine Edward Marsden “Dusty” Fog had won promotion in the field and was put in command of Company “C” Texas Light Cavalry.1 Leading them during the Arkansas Campaign, he had earned the reputation for being an exceptionally capable military raider and a worthy contemporary for the South’s other leading exponents, John Singleton Mosby and Turner Ashby.2 In addition to preventing a pair of pro-Union fanatics from starting an Indian uprising which would have decimated most of Texas,3 he had supported Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy,4 on two of her most dangerous assignments.5
When the War had finished, he had become the segundo of the great OD Connected ranch in Rio Hondo County, Texas. Its owner and his uncle, General Jackson Baines “Ole Devil” Hardin had been crippled in a riding accident,6 placing much responsibility—including handling an important mission upon which the good relations between the United States and Mexico had hung in the balance7—upon his young shoulders. After helping to gather horses to replenish the ranch’s depleted remuda,8 he had been sent to assist Colonel Charles Goodnight on the trail drive to Fort Sumner, New Mexico, which had done much to help the Lone Star State to recover from the impoverished conditions left by the War.9 With that achieved, he had been equally successful in helping Goodnight convince other ranchers it would be possible to drive large herds of cattle to the railroad in Kansas.10
Having proven himself to be a first-class cowhand, Dusty went on to become acknowledged as a very capable trail boss,11 round-up captain,12 and town taming lawman.13 Competing in a revolver handling competition at the Cochise County Fair, he won the title, “The Fastest Gun In The West,” by beating many other experts in the pistolero line.14 In later years, following his marriage to Lady Winifred Amelia “Freddie Woods” Besgrove-Woodstole,15 he became a notable diplomat.
Dusty Fog never found his lack of stature an impediment. In addition to being naturally strong,
he had taught himself to be completely ambidextrous. Possessing perfectly attuned reflexes, he could draw either or both of his Colts—whether of the 1860 Army Model16 or their improved successors, the “Peacemakers”17—with lightning speed and great accuracy. Old Devil Hardin’s valet, Tommy Okasi,18 was Japanese and a trained Samurai19 and from him Dusty had learned ju-jitsu and karate.20 Neither had received the publicity they were given in later years and were little known in the Western Hemisphere at that time. So the knowledge was very useful when he had to fight bare-handed against larger, heavier and stronger men.
APPENDIX 2
With his exceptional good looks and magnificent physical development, Mark Counter presented the kind of appearance which many people expected of Dusty Fog. It was a fact of which they took advantage when the need arose1 and at least once was almost the cause of Mark being killed in mistake for Dusty.2
While serving as a lieutenant under General Bushrod Sheldon’s command in the War Between the States, Mark’s merits as an efficient and courageous officer had been overshadowed by his taste in uniforms. Always a dandy, coming from a wealthy family had allowed him to indulge his whims. His clothing, particularly a skirtless tunic, had been much copied by the other young bloods of the Confederate States’ Army despite considerable opposition and disapproval on the part of hide-bound senior officers.
When peace had come, Mark followed Sheldon to fight for Emperor Maximilian in Mexico. There he had met Dusty Fog and the Ysabel Kid, helping with the former’s mission.3 On returning to Texas, he had been invited to join the OD Connected’s floating outfit.4 Knowing his elder brothers could help his father, Big Rance, to run the R Over C ranch in the Big Bend country—and suspecting life would be more exciting with Dusty and the Kid—he had accepted.
An expert cowhand, Mark was known as Dusty’s right bower.5 He also gained acclaim by virtue of his enormous strength and ability in a rough-house brawl. However, due to being so much in the small Texan’s company, his full potential as a gun-fighter received little attention. Men who were competent to judge such matters stated that he was second only to the Rio Hondo gun wizard in speed and accuracy.
Many women found Mark’s appearance irresistible, including Miss Martha Jane Canary;6 who was better known as “Calamity Jane.”7 In his younger days, only one—the lady outlaw, Belle Starr—held his heart.8 It was not until several years after her death that he courted and married Dawn Sutherland9 who he had first met on the Goodnight trail drive to Fort Sumner, New Mexico.10
APPENDIX 3
Raven Head, the only daughter of Chief Long Walker, war leader of the Pehnane—Wasp, Quick Stinger, or Raider—Comanches’ Dog Soldier lodge and his French Creole pairaivo,1 married an Irish Kentuckian adventurer, Sam Ysabel, but died giving birth to their first child. Baptized with the name, Loncey Dalton Ysabel, the boy was raised in the fashion of the Nemenuh.2 With his father away on the family’s combined business of mustanging—catching and breaking wild horses—and smuggling, his education had been left largely in the hands of his maternal grandfather.3 From Long Walker, he had learned all those things a Comanche warrior must know: how to ride the wildest, freshly caught mustang, or when raiding—a polite name for the favorite Nemenuh sport of horse stealing—to subjugate domesticated mounts to his will; to follow the faintest tracks and conceal traces of his own passing;4 to locate hidden enemies and keep out of sight himself when the need arose; to move in silence through the thickest cover, or on the darkest of nights and to be highly proficient in the use of a variety of weapons.
In all the subjects, the boy had proved an excellent pupil. He had inherited his father’s Kentuckian rifle shooting skill and, while not real fast on the draw—taking slightly over a second, where a top hand could practically halve that time—he performed passably with his Colt Second Model Dragoon revolver. He had won his Pehnane man-name, Cuchilo—Spanish for “Knife”—by his exceptional skill in wielding one as a weapon. It was claimed that he could equal the alleged designer5 in performing with the massive and special type of blade6which bore Colonel James Bowie’s name.7
Joining his father on smuggling expeditions along the Rio Grande, the boy had become known to the Mexicans in the border country as Cabrito: a name which, although meaning a young goat, had come from hearing white men refer to him as the Ysabel Kid and was spoken very respectfully in such a context. Smuggling did not attract mild-mannered pacificists, but even the roughest and toughest of the bloody border’s brood had acknowledged that it did not pay to rile up Sam Ysabel’s son. The Kid’s education and upbringing had not been calculated to develop an over-inflated sense of the sanctity of human life. When crossed, he dealt with the situation like a Pehnane Dog Soldier—to which war lodge of savage and efficient warriors he had been initiated and belonged—swiftly and in an effectively deadly manner.
During the War Between the States, the Kid and his father had commenced by riding as scouts for Dixie’s “Gray Ghost,” Colonel John Singleton Mosby. Later, their specialized knowledge and talents were converted to having them collect and deliver to the Confederate States’ authorities in Texas supplies which had been run through the blockade imposed by the United States’ Navy into Matamoros, or purchased elsewhere in Mexico. It had been hard and dangerous work, but never more so than on the two occasions when they had become involved in missions with Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy.8
Soon after the end of the War, Sam Ysabel had been murdered. While hunting for the killers, the Kid had met Dusty Fog and Mark Counter.9 When the mission which they had been engaged upon came to its successful conclusion, learning that the Kid no longer wished to follow the family business of smuggling, Dusty had offered him employment on the OD Connected ranch. It had been in the capacity as a scout, rather than a cowhand, that he was required and his talents were of great use as a member of the floating outfit. The Kid’s acceptance had been of great benefit all round. The ranch obtained the services of an extremely capable and efficient man. Dusty had acquired a loyal friend who was ready to stick by him through any kind of danger. For his part, the Kid had turned from a life of petty crime—with the ever present danger of having his activities develop into serious law breaking—and became a most useful member of society. Peace officers and law abiding citizens might have found cause to feel thankful for that. His Nemenuh education would have made him a terrible and murderous outlaw if he had been driven to a life of criminal intent.
Obtaining his first repeating rifle while in Mexico with Dusty and Mark—a Winchester Model of 1866, nicknamed the “old yellowboy” because of its brass frame, although at the time known as the “New, Improved Henry”—the Kid had soon become acknowledged as a master in its use. At the Cochise County Fair in Arizona, he had won the first prize—one of the legendary Winchester Model of 1873 “One Of A Thousand” rifles—against stiff competition.10
In part, it was through the Kid’s efforts that the majority of the Comanche bands had agreed to go on to the reservation following the circumvented attempts to ruin the peace treaty meeting at Fort Sorrel.11 Nor could Dusty have cleaned out the outlaw town of Hell without his assistance.12
APPENDIX 4
Left an orphan almost from birth by a Waco Indian raid, from whence had come the only name he knew, Waco had been raised as a member of a North Texas’ rancher’s large family.1 Guns had always been a part of his life and his sixteenth birthday had seen him riding with Clay Allison’s tough, “wild onion” ranch crew. The CA hands, like their employer, were notorious for their wild ways and frequently dangerous behavior. Living in the company of such men, all older than himself, he had grown quick to take offense and well able, even eager, to demonstrate his ability to draw at lightning speed and shoot very accurately. It had seemed to be only a matter of time before one shoot-out too many would have seen him branded as a killer and fleeing from the law with a price on his head.
Fortunately for Waco, that day did not come. From the moment Dusty Fog saved the youngster’s life, at considerabl
e risk to his own, a change for the better had come.2 Leaving Allison, with the Washita curly wolf’s blessing, Waco had become a member of the OD Connected’s floating outfit. The other members of this elite group had treated him like a favorite younger brother and taught him many useful lessons. From the Ysabel Kid, he had learned to read tracks and generally act as a scout. Mark Counter gave him instruction in bare-handed combat. From a gambler of their acquaintance had come information about the ways of honest and crooked members of his profession. From Dusty Fog, he had gained the knowledge which—helped by an inborn flair or deductive reasoning—would help him to gain fame as a peace officer of exceptional merit.3
Benefiting from his education at his friends’ hands in later years Waco was to become an extremely competent and highly respected peace officer.4 He served with distinction in the Arizona Rangers,5 as sheriff of Two Forks County, Utah,6 and finally held office as a U.S. Marshal.7
About the Author
J.T. EDSON brings to life the fierce and often bloody struggles of the untamed West. His colorful characters are linked together by the binding power of the spirit of adventure—and hard work—that eventually won the West. With more than 25 million copies of his novels in print, J.T. Edson has proven to be one of the finest craftsmen of Western storytelling in our time.
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