by J. T. Edson
The experienced and confident way in which the woman had put up her fists when Di appeared to be on the point of attacking her, taken with Galsworthy’s comment that she had been fortunate not to have done so, suggested that Madeline might not be a pampered, delicate and well-bred lady. She could, in fact, be a whole heap tougher than the girl had anticipated. What was more, while she filled the borrowed garments a mite snugly, there was little or no flabby fat on her gorgeous body.
Watching Madeline’s face all the time, Di gripped the lapels of the riding habit’s jacket. With a sudden jerk that popped off the buttons, she peeled it from her and flung it on to the ground. Anger replaced the mockery on the woman’s beautiful features. Nor did it diminish as Di unfastened and released the shirt. Letting the garment slide down, the girl stepped backwards from it. She stood clad in her hat, the borrowed blouse, a pair of men’s red woolen combinations and her moccasins.
‘Here,’ Di said, as she kicked the riding habit contemptuously in its owner’s direction. ‘Now you get the hell out of my duds, you fat bladder of cow-shit, afore you bust ’em at the seams.’
‘You lousy little bitch!’ Madeline hissed. Then she became calmer and started to move forward. Clenching and lifting her fists, she went on with malicious delight, ‘You need a lesson, my girl.’
Almost before the woman had finished speaking, while Galsworthy was opening his mouth to yell at her to keep back, Di went into action. However, although the girl passed in front of Ole Devil, neither she nor Madeline came between him and the Mexican who was covering him
Seeing the girl darting to meet her, Madeline eagerly and briefly savored the thought of what she was going to do. She wished that she was wearing some of her rings, as they had been of considerable use in other brawls. Having removed and left them in her husband’s possession, as an added ‘proof that she had been robbed by her ‘captors’, she had not replaced them in case they should be noticed before the Texian was disarmed, warning him of what was really happening. However, she did not doubt that she could give the girl a thorough thrashing without such artificial aids.
Preparing to throw a punch into the girl’s belly when close enough Madeline was expecting Di’s hands to grab for her hair. Such had almost invariably been the tactics used by other women with whom she had come into conflict and it had given her a decided advantage. So it was an unpleasant surprise when, instead of obliging, the girl rammed a left jab into Madeline’s right breast What was more, the blow was far from being a wildly-thrown, unscientific feminine swing. Directed with masculine precision, the hard knuckles came in contact with the ultra-sensitive region.
Despite being almost at the end of its flight, Di’s punch still caused enough pain to turn Madeline’s advance into a retreat Going back a couple of steps, the woman caught her balance and, as the girl followed, whipped up her right leg in a kick. Once again, the girl demonstrated that she was far more skilled than any of Madeline’s earlier opponents. Stabbing out her hands, she caught the rising ankle with the right and cupped the left under the calf. Giving a heaving, circular twist, she turned the woman to her right and heaved. Screeching in mingled anger and alarm, Madeline went down and rolled over twice before coming to a halt on her back. Eager to make the most of her advantage, Di went after the woman.
Guessing what the girl was planning to do when he saw her disrobing, Ole Devil was ready to take advantage of any situation that might arise. The chance did not come immediately. However, as Madeline was pitched by him and Di followed her, the Mexican swung his gaze to watch them. In doing so, he allowed the barrel of his pistol to turn to the left
Instantly, the Texian acted as he had planned to do if Tommy had succeeded in creating a diversion. Taking advantage of the fact that his three male enemies were watching the women, he sent his hat skimming through the air. It struck the Mexican on the left in the face, arriving with sufficient force to bring a yelping profane word of protest. Going back an involuntary pace, his forefinger jerked at the pistol’s trigger. In doing so, he inadvertently caused the barrel to resume its alignment on Ole Devil.
The hammer fell, with the muzzle pointing straight at the centre of the Texian’s chest!
Hitting and tilting forward the frizzen, the flint caused sparks which fell into the priming pan!
Like Ole Devil, Tommy had been alert for any chance to turn the tables on their adversaries. Seeing that the man in front of him was turning his head to stare at Di and Madeline, he stopped his lamentations and brought down his hands. If his captors had been more observant, they might have noticed that he had ended his crawling with the left knee on the ground and the right leg bent. It was a posture which allowed rapidity of movement.
Even as Ole Devil threw the hat, Tommy thrust himself erect and forward all in one movement. There was need for every bit of speed he could muster. Catching the movement from the corner of his eye, the Mexican was starting to return his attention to the small Oriental.
Reaching Madeline, it became Di’s turn to grow overconfident. Standing on her right leg, she raised her left foot with the intention of stamping on the woman. While Madeline had been taken by surprise, she was a skilled rider and had learned how to reduce the force of even an unexpected fall. So she was far from being as helpless as the girl imagined.
Rolling on to her side, Madeline let the downwards-thrusting foot strike her right shoulder. She was hurt by doing so, but not as badly as she would have been if she had taken the attack on the bust or stomach. Ignoring the pain, she grabbed for and jerked Di’s right leg from under her. Losing her hat as she landed, the girl proved to be just as capable at breaking a fall. However, before she could recover, the woman was on top of her and two strong hands closed around her throat
Moving like lightning, Tommy used his left hand in a scooping, outwards motion to deflect his victim’s—and, under the circumstances, there could be no other term for the Mexican—weapon. Having turned the pistol so that it was no longer a threat to his well-being, the small Oriental demonstrated the true purpose of the kongo—and proved in no uncertain fashion that it was anything but a harmless piece of wood used as an aid to prayer.
A kongo was, in fact, a deadly weapon when wielded by a student of yawara. xxx
Even as his left hand came into contact with the pistol, Tommy was twisting his upper body in the opposite direction to the way he was pushing the weapon. He raised his right arm outwards, bending the elbow and turning the hand so that the knuckles were uppermost. Then he pivoted his torso to the front and snapped the right fist forward so that the rounded point xxxi of the kongo was carried towards its target.
The small Oriental’s attack was delivered before its recipient could even start to appreciate his terrible predicament. Nor was he given a chance to try and avert it. Driving upwards with speed and power, the kongo’s point ended its propulsion against the jinchu; the collection of nerves which came together in the centre of the top lip. Blood spurted as the wood ground into the flesh and an unimaginable agony detonated through the Mexican. Everything seemed to disintegrate around him into a cataclysm of roaring flame. Slipping from his fingers, the pistol fell to the ground.
From delivering the blow, Tommy let his hand continue to rise until it was above his left shoulder. Once again he whipped it forward. This time, it was the butt of the kongo that connected. There was a sharp crack as it impacted on the centre of the man’s forehead. Already being driven to the rear, he pitched over on to his back. He would never rise again, dying of concussion without regaining consciousness.
Leaping forward to tackle Galsworthy, Ole Devil saw the hammer of the Mexican’s pistol swinging around and was aware of where its barrel was pointing. There was, he realized, nothing that he could do to save himself.
When Madeline rolled on to her, Di reacted instinctively and in a completely feminine manner. Even as the hands started to tighten and the woman raised her head from the ground, the girl’s fingers sank deep into the brunette locks. It was not
the first time that Madeline had had her hair pulled, but never with such strength and savage violence. Screeching a pain-filled protest, she felt as if the top of her skull was being torn off. She reared back and released the girl’s neck with the idea of grabbing the wrists to try and relieve the agony. Instantly Di untangled the right hand, folded and struck out with it. Caught on the nose, Madeline’s head snapped back and blood flowed from her nostrils. The girl gave a surging heave which toppled the woman from the upper position and twisted to gain it herself. Straddling Madeline’s waist with her knees, Di sat up and started to assail the beautiful, anger and pain distorted, features with fore and backhand slaps.
Ole Devil should have been killed only one thing saved his life. The basic and often fatal flow of the flintlock system.
Having been out in the cold, damp air, the powder in the priming pan failed to ignite. Letting out a startled exclamation, the Mexican stared down at his weapon. Then, allowing it to fall from his hand, he grabbed at the knife that was sheathed on the left side of his belt.
Furious at his wife for her behavior, Galsworthy saw Ole Devil approaching. At the same moment, he became aware of the change that had come over Tommy. Snapping a quick glance to his right, he saw the little Oriental delivering the attack. Hearing the dead click of a pistol and its user’s exclamation, he swung his gaze in the other direction. What he saw filled him with alarm and he guessed what had caused the weapon to misfire. In all probability, his own pistol would fail to function for the same reason.
Ignoring the weapon that was thrust into his belt and those which were just in front of him, Galsworthy sprang backwards. His actions were motivated by a desire to gain sufficient time to unsheath his sword from inside the cane. Even as he moved, he realized that he was committing an error in tactics. If he had stood his ground, he might have been able to prevent the Texian from arming himself. It was, however, too late to change his mind. So he gripped the cane, twisted and started to draw from it the shining, razor-sharp blade.
‘Dodd!’ Galsworthy bellowed as the sword was coming free. ‘Dodd! Get here!’
Reaching his weapons, Ole Devil grabbed for the one which he felt was most suited to his needs. He had watched Galsworthy’s hurried retreat and guessed what was the reason for it even before he saw the unsheathing of the sword. To his right, the Mexican was already moving forward and pulling out a knife. While the pistol was percussion-fired and relatively impervious to damp, it held only a single shot. So Ole Devil’s right hand closed around the concave ivory handle of the bowie knife.
Plucking the weapon from the ground, with Galsworthy’s yell ringing in his ears, Ole Devil swung it around and out to the right. Seeing the great knife rushing at him, the Mexican arched his stomach to the rear and, with his body bent like a bow, flung himself away from its arc. Nor was he a moment too soon. The convex curve of the blade’s point barely missed him. Continuing to withdraw and sliding free his own weapon, which suddenly seemed very puny and fragile in comparison to that held by the Texian, he was relieved when his assailant did not favor him with any further attentions, but went straight by.
Without waiting to see if there was any response to his yell, Galsworthy hurled the empty cane so that it went spinning parallel to the ground and at the Texian’s head. Still moving forward, Ole Devil threw up his left hand to knock the missile aside. Galsworthy sprang forward, going into an almost classical lunge which sent the point of his sword flashing towards the young man’s stomach.
After taking two slaps in each direction, which had rocked her head from side to side, Madeline responded. She was being held down by the girl’s weight and knew what to do about it. Leaving the left wrist, as she realized that all she was doing was adding to the pain its hand was inflicting on her hair, she sent her fingers to the girl’s bust Sinking like talons into the firm mounds under the flimsy cover of the woolen combinations, they crushed and squeezed. Shrieking, Di tried to jerk away. As the pressure upon her was relieved, Madeline tipped Di over and regained the upper position. She was not there for long. Using all her strength, Di contrived to reverse their roles. Tearing at hair, slapping, punching, scrabbling and gripping with their hands, they rolled along the ground oblivious of everything except their hatred for each other.
Taking no notice of the squealing of the embattled women, Ole Devil skidded to a stop. Like many young men of his class and generation, he had been a regular attendant at a salle des artnes. Not only had he learned fencing with the saber and epee de combat, but his instructions had included fighting with a bowie knife against a similar weapon or a sword. The training stood him in good stead at that moment. Swinging the knife around in a circular motion, he used the flat of the blade to strike and deflect the sword to his left. Once it was clear of him, he disengaged and attempted a backhand slash to his opponent’s neck. Galsworthy’s rapid stride to the rear saved him. The razor-sharp false edge hissed by and, as he was about to advance, the knife returned in a swing that would have laid its edge across his throat if he had begun to move. Stepping further back, almost involuntarily, he made a rapid cut across with the sword only to be thwarted by the Texian’s equally swift withdrawal.
On the point of going to his leader’s assistance, the Mexican became aware that Tommy was coming towards him. A glance at the bloody face of his companion, who was sprawled supine and motionless, gave a warning that the small Oriental might be far more dangerous than his earlier behavior had suggested. However, as the Mexican held a knife and was skilled in its use, he did not feel particularly perturbed. He failed to notice the kongo. Even if he had seen it, having been watching the women when his amigo was attacked, he probably would not have appreciated its true purpose. Darting to meet Tommy, he put his faith in a low thrust that curved inwards towards the stomach.
Protecting himself with a backhand and downwards blow, Tommy miscalculated a little. His wrist struck the Mexican’s forward driving forearm. While the knife was turned to his left and in front of him, the defense was less damaging than it would have been if it had been delivered by the rounded butt of the kongo. Instead of having his arm numbed, if not more seriously injured, the Mexican was able to snatch it clear of the small Oriental’s wrist. Then he whipped the knife back and up in the direction of Tommy’s throat.
Having heard the commotion, and also seeing something which had been a source of pleasure and satisfaction, the last member of Galsworthy’s party ran from behind the clump of bushes which was being used to hide the horses. Taking in the sight a good hundred and fifty yards away, he cocked and whipped the rifle that he was carrying to his shoulder. At the same time, he gave advice and some news which he felt sure his leader would find most acceptable under the circumstances.
‘Get clear of him, boss!’ the man yelled, trying to line his weapon but not caring to attempt a shot at that distance with the Texian so near to Galsworthy. ‘It’s all right Some of the boys’re coming.’
Chapter Seventeen – I’ll Kill You For This, Hardin!
Hearing his man’s yell, Galsworthy tried to do as he had been requested. However, Ole Devil Hardin had also heard and appreciated the danger. So, when Galsworthy leapt backwards, he followed and tried to crowd in closer. Even though retreating, Galsworthy continued to wield his sword defensively. The extra length of his enemy’s blade forced the Texian to keep at a distance from which his bowie knife could not make contact Yet, if the man was speaking the truth—and there did not appear to be any reason why he should lie—there was urgent need for Ole Devil to act quickly. He had to deal with Galsworthy, separate the fighting women and get his party into the shelter of die cabin before the reinforcements arrived.
Crouching swiftly, Tommy Okasi allowed the Mexican’s knife to pass just above his head. Having done so, he lunged forward with his right arm. Rising rapidly, the point of the kongo took his assailant in the solar plexus with all the driving force of his muscular frame behind it Such a blow was deadly in the extreme. Letting go of the knife, as the sudd
en onrush of pain caused paralysis and loss of consciousness, the man crumpled. He went down like a pole-axed steer and with just as permanent results.
Even as the Mexican was falling, Tommy sprang clear and turned his attention to his companions. Diamond-Hitch Brindley and Madeline de Moreau were rolling over and over, screeching like a pair of enraged bobcats. In a tangle of wildly thrashing and waving limbs. Deciding that they were the least of his worries at the moment, for he too had heard Dodd’s shouted advice, he swung his gaze to where Galsworthy was trying to put it into effect:
Lining his rifle, Dodd saw what he felt would be his chance. Galsworthy had retired fast enough to put just sufficient distance between him and the Texian for the man to be willing to act. His forefinger tightened on the trigger and, unlike the Mexican, he had contrived to keep the powder in his priming pan dry. So, after the inevitable brief delay while the priming charge ignited, reached and detonated the powder in the chamber, the rifle roared.
Hit in the upper part of the crown by Dodd’s bullet, Ole Devil’s hat was snatched from his head. While he realized what must have happened, the narrow escape caused him to duck involuntarily. Like a flash, Galsworthy turned his retreat into an attack. He saw that he had passed beyond the point where a lunge would serve his purpose. So, despite being aware of the basic flaw in its use, he went into a fleche. Bounding forward, he drove ahead with the sword at shoulder height and his torso leaning towards his potential victim.
With the needle-sharp point of the sword rushing in his direction, Ole Devil halted on spread apart feet and slightly bent knees. Just—and only just—in time, he swiveled himself at the hips and inclined his torso to the rear. As his assailant’s weapon went by, its edge slicing a couple of the buckskin fringe’s thongs from his shirt, he reversed his direction and the bowie knife swung in a glistening arc.