by J. T. Edson
‘Heard about the fuss, Cap’n Dusty,’ Shad announced, his youthful attempt at a moustache quivering with eagerness.
‘We was over to Aunt Emmie’s for the night and only just now got the word,’ Tex went on, feeling their lack of support called for explanation. ‘Where’re they at and when do we take ’em?’
‘Later, maybe,’ Dusty replied. ‘Right now I want you to get a buckboard and take our gear around to Ma’s place.’
Disappointment flickered on the cowhand’s faces, but they nodded and tied their horses to the hotel’s hitching rail. Showing an expression of concern, the desk clerk watched Ma and the four men coming to his desk. However relief replaced the concern when he learned that Dusty and Colin planned to leave. It saved him the unpleasant task—passed down by the manager who had departed after doing so—of informing them that their rooms would be required that night for a mythical party of guests. After offering to help remove Dusty’s party’s property, the clerk told Ma where she could find the Army’s horse buyer.
‘I’ll tend to the gear, Ma,’ Dusty suggested. ‘Tiburcio Flores’s too slick to make fuss for you with an important Army officer here. Come on up and pack your stuff, Colin.’
‘I thought the clerk would object to us leaving at such short notice,’ Colin remarked as they went to the stairs.
‘He’s likely pleased to see us go,’ Dusty replied. ‘If Flores comes, we’ll be away from the hotel.’
‘Flores seems to have a lot of people worried,’ Colin said.
‘He has, that’s why he’s lasted so long,’ Dusty answered. ‘Keeping people scared’s how he stays alive. So he has to get you and the other stage passengers to show folks nobody can kill his kin or men and live to tell about it.’
Going along a passage, Ma knocked at the door of the horse-buyer’s room. It was opened by Colonel Monaltrie, whom she knew. Big, hearty, he had the well-padded comfortable look of a professional desk-soldier. Yet Ma knew him to be a shrewd businessman and capable in the matter of horse-trading.
‘Ah, Mrs. Schell,’ Monaltrie greeted, his voice still retaining a Scottish burr. ‘Come in. I was sorry to hear about your husband.’
On entering the room, Ma found it already had an occupant. Sprig Branch slouched in a chair by the table and grinned at her with all amiability of a Mississippi alligator about to engulf a bowfin fish.
‘Thanks, Colonel,’ Ma said, taking the seat he offered her. ‘I hear the Army wants horses.’
‘We do,’ Monaltrie agreed. ‘At least five hundred and as many more as we can get. Geldings mostly, but we’ll take mares. Whole colors, not paints. We’ll pay ten to thirty dollars a head.’
‘Delivered here?’ Ma inquired, although the words had been directed at both of them.
‘Yes,’ Monaltrie agreed. ‘But Mr. Branch said that your family had gone out of the mustanging business.’
‘I figured you had, Ma,’ Branch put in, full of false apology. ‘What with Kenny getting shot up and all.’
‘Kenny?’ the colonel repeated. ‘Isn’t your son with you, Mrs. Schell?’
‘Like Sprig couldn’t wait to tell you, he got shot this morning.’
‘He’s not—’
‘No, Colonel. Just wounded. He’ll be all right in three-four weeks.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t wait three or four weeks,’ Monaltrie told her. ‘Whoever gets the contract must be prepared to start out within forty-eight hours.’
‘Me ’n’ my boys’re ready to go right now,’ Branch commented.
‘And so are we!’ Ma snapped.
‘But with Kenny wounded—’ Monaltrie began.
‘Jeanie and me both know mustanging,’ Ma stated. ‘We’ve been out with Trader on all his trips and he taught us all he knew.’
‘Now, Colonel,’ Branch interjected. ‘I’m not doubting Trader taught Ma and Jeanie plenty, or gainsaying there were few could touch him at the mustanging game, but two women-folk can’t go out alone after wild hosses.’
‘We won’t be alone,’ Ma replied. ‘Our mesteneros’re waiting for us at—’ The words chopped off as she caught a flicker of interest on Branch’s face and realized that he would like to know where she planned to hunt. ‘Well, they’re waiting for us and’ll likely have some mestenas xi scouted out by now.’
‘Greasers,’ Branch grunted. ‘You reckon you can trust ’em, two white women out there alone?’
‘I can trust them!’ Ma stated, but she could see that Branch’s point worried Monaltrie. ‘Both Jeanie and me’ve been on our lonesome with them afore now, and separate from each other comes to that.’
‘And they knowed that Trader ’n’ Kenny was around to tend to their needings if they tried anything,’ Branch pointed out. ‘This time you’ll have no men along.’
‘Damn it, I tell you I can trust my mesteneros!’ Ma snapped. ‘Colonel, we can bring in those horses for you.’
‘So can we,’ Branch said.
Monaltrie looked from Ma to Branch and back again. Since taking on the duty of Army horse-buyer, he had come to know much about mustangers. All the horses brought in by Trader Schell had been good stock and in fine condition. The same could not be claimed for Branch, whose methods ruined the spirits of many of the mustangs. Some officers claimed that Branch’s stock trained easier, but others swore that he produced more than his share of over-nervous mounts, or outlaws no man could tame. If Trader Schell was still alive, there would have been no doubt in Monaltrie’s mind—but Trader had died a few months before. Could two women fill the contract?
‘I’ll have to think it over,’ the officer decided. ‘If you will come around tonight at eight, I will give you my decision.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ Ma said and Branch could do nothing but agree.
Escorting his guests from the room, Monaltrie saw Colin waiting outside. For a moment the colonel stared, his eyes taking in the young Scot’s kilt and lifting to Colin’s face.
‘¡Càrn na cuimhne!’ Monaltrie said, advancing with an outstretched right hand.
‘¡Càrn na cuimhne!’ Colin replied, although surprised to hear his clan’s sloganxii from the lips of an officer in the United States Army.
‘Lad, it’s long since I last saw the Farquharson tartan,’ Monaltrie boomed, pumping Colin’s hand. ‘My name’s Douglas Monaltrie, my folks came from Aberdeen.’
‘I’m Colin Farquharson of Inverey,’ Colin introduced.
‘And what brings you to this land, lad?’
‘I’m working for Mrs. Schell.’
A low grunt of disbelief broke from Branch and, if he had been looking her way, Monaltrie might have read the surprise that flickered across Ma’s face.
‘You are, are you?’ the colonel said thoughtfully.
‘He’s only a dude and never been mustanging!’ Branch growled indignantly.
‘The Farquharsons of Inverey’re noted as horsemen,’ Monaltrie contradicted. ‘Didn’t John, the third Laird, the Black Colonel, escape from the Hanoverians by riding up the steep side of the Pass of Ballater?’
‘That he did,’ Colin agreed. ‘I’m no claiming to be his equal, mind, but I’ve ridden ever since I was a wee lad.’
‘And you’ve come out here to be a mustanger?’ Monaltrie asked.
‘To learn the business,’ Colin agreed. The Schell family were recommended highly as the best people to teach it to me.’
‘You’re with the right folk to learn,’ Monaltrie admitted and stood for a moment, looking at the roof. ‘Like I said, I’ll make my decision and tell you about it at eight this evening.’ Then he looked at Colin and went on, ‘Will you have dinner with me when I’m through?’
‘With pleasure, sir,’ Colin replied. ‘Unless my boss wants me to work.’
‘You and your daughter will be welcome to join us, Mrs. Schell,’ Monaltrie invited. ‘And you, Mr. Branch.’
‘Thanks, colonel,’ Ma smiled. ‘We’ll be here.’
With that they separated. Monaltrie returned to his r
oom, while Branch stalked angrily from the building. Not until she and Colin stood in the hall waiting for Dusty did Ma raise the points which were bothering her.
‘How long’d you been listening in the passage?’
‘Not listening, Mrs. Schell,’ Colin corrected. ‘I came to see how long you would be—and the colonel’s voice carries well.’
‘And how long’ve you been working for me?’
‘Ever since Kenny was shot saving me.’
‘Monaltrie seemed tolerable took with you.’
‘He belongs to my clan,’ Colin explained. ‘I knew it as soon as he gave the slogan.’
‘And you reckon he’ll give us the contract because of that?’ Ma asked.
‘No. But he’ll be the more willing now he knows you have a man along,’ Colin replied. ‘That is, if you’ll let me come along.’
‘Son,’ Ma grinned. ‘I’ll be pleased to have you—Only, if we don’t get that contract, you’ll’ve lost a job.’
~*~
Seething with anger, Branch crossed the street to where he had left his men in a small, dingy bar room. He found them talking with a gangling, hook-nosed man.
‘Did you get the contract, Sprig?’ Moore inquired.
‘What happened?’ Eric Trimble went on. ‘We saw Ma go in with that Scottish son-of-a-bitch and the fellers from the OD Connected.’
‘She was after the contract,’ Branch growled. ‘Then, turns out that Scotch bastard’s kin to Monaltrie and’s working for the Schells.’
‘So?’ Sam Trimble asked.
‘Monaltrie’s going to think on it and tell us tonight who’s getting the contract.’
‘You reckon that Scotch cuss might swing it for Ma?’ Eric wanted to know.
‘He could,’ admitted Branch. ‘I had Monaltrie going again’ Ma ’cause she’d no man along afore the Scot showed.’
‘Then let’s get rid of him,’ Moore suggested.
‘Who’s this?’ Branch snapped, nodding towards the lanky man.
‘Hacker Boone,’ Moore introduced. ‘He wants a riding chore and I told him we’d likely need men.’
For a moment Branch studied the prospective job seeker. Boone was not a prepossessing person, having a face which told of a vicious, sly nature. However, the mustanger regarded him favorably on those very grounds. Such a man would not be over-burdened with scruples, especially when currying favor for a job.
‘We won’t if we don’t get the contract,’ Branch stated. ‘’Course, if that Scot warn’t around, Monaltrie’d likely find for us.’
‘After we’ve wide-looped one of his kin?’ Moore said with as near derision as he dare show.
‘Not us,’ Branch told the men. ‘If anything happens to him, who’ll folks blame—The Flores gang.’
‘What’ll we do, Sprig?’ Sam asked.
‘Now I’d say that all depends on how bad Hacker here wants to work for me,’ Branch replied and outlined his scheme.
Chapter Nine
Leaving the hotel, Ma, Dusty and Colin went to Hoffer’s general store. There Ma asked to see the owner in private. From the look on his face, Hoffer guessed at the nature of her business and did not care to discuss it. However, he led Ma into the rear of the building.
A rancher, in town to buy supplies, came over and started talking with Dusty and Colin drifted away from them. Walking around the store, he looked at the goods on display. While standing examining a fishing rod, he saw the front door open and a hook-nosed, gangling man entered.
‘You Tam Breda’s kin?’ Hacker Boone asked, coming to the young Scot’s side and holding his voice down.
‘Aye. That I am.’
‘He’s down to the livery barn, asking to see you.’
‘I’ll be along as soon as—’ Colin began.
‘Tam got stoved up in an accident,’ Boone interrupted. noticing the way Colin looked in Dusty’s direction.
‘I’ll come right away,’ Colin decided.
For a moment Colin hesitated. Dusty still appeared to be engrossed in conversation with the rancher, so Colin did not wish to intrude. Turning, the young Scot followed Boone from the store. On the sidewalk, the lanky man said he would go and fetch the doctor, then hurried away. One of Boone’s stipulations before agreeing to help with Branch’s plan had been that he should take no active part in it.
Concerned about Breda’s welfare, Colin started to cross the street towards the barn. He remembered the warnings given by Dusty, Mark and the Kid and wondered if he might be walking into a trap. Yet the man who brought the message was white and the Kid had stated that the Flores gang consisted of Mexicans or half-breeds.
Approaching the open door of the barn, Colin slowed down and looked inside. He saw nothing to alarm him or give warning of danger. Then a low moan rose from the interior and Colin plunged through the door. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shape standing against the wall. Even as he tried to turn, something hissed through the air and crashed on to his head. Lights burst before Colin’s eyes, then blackness descended and he crumpled forward to the floor.
‘Got him!’ Eric Trimble grunted, holstering the revolver with which he had struck the Scot down.
‘Grab hold and haul him out back,’ his brother ordered, moving from where he had stood and attracted Colin’s attention.
Moore rose from inside an empty stall, grinning as he studied the result of his impersonation of an injured man. Darting across, he watched the brothers take hold of Colin’s arms. However he was not allowed to stand in idleness.
‘Go out back and let Sprig know we’ve got him,’ Sam ordered.
‘Sure,’ Moore agreed and was about to go when he looked through the door. ‘Hell’s fire! Dusty Fog’s coming this way.’
‘What’ll we do?’ Eric croaked, releasing Colin’s arm and showing signs of contemplating flight.
‘Stay put!’ Sam spat back. ‘We’ll never get another chance to lay hands on this bastard. Slinky, drag him across there and then hide. You get behind the door, Sam. We’ll give Fog what this son-of-a-bitch got.’
Ma’s interview did not take long. Almost before the door closed Hoffer began to tell her his troubles. While everybody wanted to pay with notes-of-hand, the companies who supplied his goods demanded cash not paper promises. Knowing the state of affairs in Texas, Ma could see the storekeeper’s point. She made her offer to pay at the completion of the horse-hunt, but Hoffer hesitated and hedged. Giving a shrug, Ma turned and stalked from the room.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Schell,’ Hoffer was saying as he followed Ma into the store. ‘But you can see my position—?’
‘Sure,’ Ma replied, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘I’ll— Dusty! Where’s Colin?’
‘Feller come in and told him something,’ the rancher explained as Dusty turned to look around. ‘Then they went out together.’
Springing across to the window, Dusty looked out. A low curse broke from his lips as he saw Colin was alone and entering the barn. It seemed that the young Scot had forgotten all the floating outfit’s warnings and their arrangements. Most likely he was walking into a trap.
‘What’s up, Dusty?’ called the rancher, watching the small Texan leap to and jerk open the door. ‘Can I help?’
‘Stay out of it, Stormy,’ Dusty replied, not wanting his friend to become involved in a fuss with the Flores brothers, and went out fast.
Moving around the counter, Ma crossed the room with some speed. For all that, by the time she reached the sidewalk Dusty was approaching the front of the livery barn. Looking along the street, Ma saw Mark, April and Temple leaving the Black Bear. However she did not wait to attract their attention but followed Dusty.
Alert for trouble or danger, Dusty slowed down as he drew near to the barn’s door. Looking inside, he saw Colin sprawled face down on the floor by the stalls. Without drawing his guns, Dusty stepped through the door. He acted as if his full attention was centered on the unconscious Scot. Yet his whole being was at hair-trigger alertness. A slight mov
ement to his right gave warning of a lurking enemy in that direction.
Which was just what the waiting men hoped would happen.
Almost sick with fear, knowing the dangerous nature of their proposed victim, Eric lunged from his place at the left of the door. He swept his revolver around parallel to the ground, aiming it to pass under the brim of Dusty’s Stetson and strike the base of the skull. Caught there, the small Texan would be unable to cause them any trouble.
At the last moment Dusty bent his legs and ducked under the revolver. His felt it brush the crown of his hat in passing and prepared to deal with its user. Taken by surprise, Eric continued to move forward. Drawing up and bending his left arm, Dusty propelled its elbow against his attacker’s solar plexus. The force of the unexpected blow halted Eric’s advance and hurled him backwards. His chest front felt as if it had been caved in and the breath burst from his lungs as he sat down hard.
While dealing with his first assailant, Dusty did not forget to stay alert. He knew the men were not members of the Flores gang, which gave him some small comfort. Without worrying over who they might be, or why they had attacked Colin, he gave the barn a quick scrutiny. A small man rose from concealment in the stall near to where Colin lay and there was that cuss who had attracted Dusty’s attention from the right side of the door. Three to one at least. Big odds. However Dusty had one detail in his favor.
Back at the OD Connected, Ole Devil Hardin had a servant thought by most folk to be Chinese. Tommy Okasi was Oriental, but hailed from the Japanese islands, not China. When he came to America, he had brought certain fighting skills from his country and passed them on to the smallest male member of the Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan. Dusty figured his knowledge of ju-jitsu and karate, all but unknown in the Western Hemisphere, backed by his unexpected strength and roughhouse-fighting skill gave him something of an edge.
Seeing his brother’s attack fail, Sam leapt forward. From striking Eric, Dusty pivoted around. Clenching his fight fist, he avoided Sam’s reaching hands. From his left hip, the right arm lashed around in a powerful swing towards Sam’s head. The way Dusty used his fist looked awkward to eyes which knew only Western methods, but proved mighty effective. Passing over Sam’s reaching hands, the fist met his face. Its protruding second knuckle caught the center of Sam’s top lip hard enough to spin him around and send him stumbling away.