by J. T. Edson
‘I have good reason, Cuchilo,’ Annie asserted and, noticing the Kid was looking in the direction from which he had come, went on in English, ‘Is it safe for us to be talking out here?’
‘I’m likely still being followed,’ the black clad Texan admitted, also reverting to his paternal language, as he started to walk forward with the stallion following on his heels like a well trained dog despite the reins of its hackamore dangling over its neck. 34 ‘And, give him his due, ’spite of all I’ve done to slow ’em down, that son-of-a-bitch Jose Salar can sure read sign.’
Having obtained the fortuitous loan of a type of saddle which would help reduce the strain on Thunder, the Kid had made other preparations for travelling light after escaping from Holbrock. Retaining only the armament he was carrying upon his person, without even a reserve of ammunition for his rifle and Colt Dragoon revolver, he had adopted a disguise as well as changing the appearance of the stallion. Arranging for word of his ‘intentions’ to reach and be passed on, via the man who was being cuckolded by Wilson ‘Leftie’ Scanlan, and dressed like an ordinary cowhand instead of in his all black attire, he had set out ostensibly to collect reinforcements from the crew of the OD Connected ranch’s trail herd.
Leaving the town by a circuitous route shortly after sundown, the Kid had found the supposition that the track was being kept under observation was correct. Unfortunately, so efficient was the cordon arranged by the segundo of the Standing DMS ranch, he had been unable to pass through undetected and was compelled to spread warning of his departure by shooting a ‘warrior’ firing at him from too great a distance to be disposed of silently.
Pushing on for a while, the Kid had not been made over confident by there being no immediate pursuit. Nevertheless, despite being aware of Salar’s ability at ‘reading sign’, he had stopped to rest his mount for a few hours during the night. Moving on at dawn, he had used all his considerable skill at concealing traces of his passing as much as possible despite being aware that to do so completely in the time available would be impossible with such an expert on his trail. 35 Although his tactics had delayed his pursuers, as he had anticipated, he had seen them following at a distance during one of his examinations of what lay to his rear. What was more, he believed they might have guessed where he was going prior to making for the Kweharehnuh village.
‘Are you sure you’re not just going to Sanchez Riley’s to see his daughter, Rosita?’ Annie challenged, after she had been told of the events leading up to her meeting with Cuchilo. She had reverted to Comanche as she found it easier to use than English. While listening, she had led him to where her two horse relay—each animal equipped in a similar fashion to Thunder and one having a bow and quiver of arrows hanging from its saddlehorn—were standing ground hitched by their dangling reins. ‘I’ve always heard you Pehnane do things like that.’
‘So do the Par-Kee-Na-Um, I’d reckon,’ the Kid countered in the same tongue. As was usual when with others of their kind they respected, the supposedly stoic and humorless Comanche warriors frequently indulged in a banter similar to that of cowhands under the same circumstances. ‘Else how’d there get to be any little Pahuraix?’
‘Trust a Wasp to think of something like that,’ the girl sniffed, employing another of the names given to the Pehnane band. Then she became serious and went on, ‘Why go there instead of straight to Wolf Runner?’
‘Magic Hands told me to see who left the message for Proud-Son-Of-Two-People,’ the Texan replied, using the name given to Captain Dustine Edward Marsden “Dusty” Fog at the time he was preventing a group of pro-Union fanatics starting an Indian uprising in Texas during the War Between The States. 36 ‘And anything else Sanchez can tell me about what’s doing in the Kweharehnuh country.’
‘They could catch up with you there,’ the girl warned. ‘Likely,’ the Kid admitted. ‘But, happen they do, that’s all their misfortune and none of my own. There aren’t but six of them all told, like I said.’
‘Is Dead Face one of the six?’
‘Dead Face?’
‘Perhaps you don’t know him by that name?’
‘I know the son-of-a-bitch,’ the Kid growled, having heard of the incident during the hunt involving Dennis “Waxie” Corovan, changing to English as being more profanely expressive than Comanche. ‘Why’d you think he’d be with them?’
‘According to Talks-To-Birds, he’s around this neck of the woods,’ the girl replied, referring to the leading medicine man of the Water Horse band and resuming her maternal language. ‘That’s why I came down this way. He led some fool tuivitsi on a war trail about six moons gone. None came back and one was my favorite brother by another mother. So my lodge oath is to kill him.’
‘He’s not with them,’ the Texan claimed. ‘They all ride white, or Mex’ in Salar’s case. But, hell, he can’t be tied in with Stewart’s bunch, he’d know what’ll happen should Wolf Runner’s brave-hearts take the war trail.’
‘Do you reckon that’d stop the Namae’enuh bastard setting it up if he figured there was money to be made from getting a full scale war going?’ Annie demanded, having acquired a selection of white obscenities since living on the reservation, even though she only employed them in moments of extreme stress. ‘Because you don’t know the “mother-something” if you do.’ 37
‘I know him well enough to reckon you could be right,’ the Kid answered. ‘There was enough Injun savvy in what was done for him to have sold the notion to Stewart, figuring he wouldn’t know enough to guess what would happen when Wolf Runner came looking for evens. Which being, he’ll be wanting to stay a long piece clear of Kweharehnuh country.’
‘Then I’ll likely have to go look for him someplace else,’ the girl said in mingled disappointment and annoyance. ‘Because, if I don’t nail his hide to the wall, some of my lodge brothers’ll be looking to do it and that’ll make bad trouble for all the band.’
‘Could even spark off what Dusty and me’re trying to stop hereabouts,’ the Texan supplemented. ‘I’m not just saying this to keep you around, mind, but maybe he’s still close to Holbrock. Happen he’s got as much sense as the way things’ve been figured out without Waxie taking cards, Stewart won’t have paid him until things’re settled, or close to. Might even be making him do a heap more than just talk to earn his pay, comes to that.’
‘I’ll drift over that way and see what’s doing,’ Annie promised. ‘Do you want me to see can I make trouble for those hombres on your trail?’
‘Not that I reckon you couldn’t,’ the Kid replied. ‘But I’d sooner you left ’em to me. Should you get shot up, your lodge brothers’ll be after Dead Face themselves and we can do without that happening.’
‘Like you say,’ the girl assented, seeing the wisdom of what she had been told. ‘But I still reckon it’s just, being a Pehnane, you’re not wanting to share the coups to be counted with anybody else.’
Fourteen
Kill the Half-Breed
Standing in the shadows of an alley which offered a clear view into the office of the Holbrock jailhouse, some one hundred yards away, Dennis ‘Waxie’ Coro van was filled with grave misgivings. At that moment, he hated the sight of the Remington contract-built U.S. Model of 1862 rifle—converted by the improved Ryder action, Patent Number 40,887, of December the 8th, 1863, to fire metallic cartridges—he was holding, and hated the thought of the task he had been instructed to perform. He was a sufficiently good shot to make the required hit at such a distance with the accurate weapon, but was far from enamored of the prospect of having been compelled to make the attempt. Not that his conscience was protesting over having been told to kill another human being in cold blood. Nor was he solely concerned by the remembrance that the Remington had only a single shot mechanism.
Throughout all his career as a renegade, which he had adopted voluntarily as offering a good living without the burdensome necessity of doing any hard work, ‘Dead Face’ had always tried to avoid taking any greater risks than were absolu
tely necessary. The fatal war trails upon which he had persuaded inexperienced would-be warriors of the Paruhaix Comanche and Waco Indians to engage were not the first such affairs he had manipulated. On two other occasions, having talked equally gullible youngsters from other tribes to go on similarly disastrous raids, he had fled and left them to suffer the consequences when encountering danger. What was more, double dealing, treachery, betrayal and robbery in which violence rather than guile was used, had become second nature to him. There was, in fact, no crime he was not willing to commit as long as he had seen a way to carry it out in safety.
However, Corovan had not been able to follow up all the plans he had had in mind on coming to Holbrock County and visiting the Standing DMS ranch house!
Although he had been satisfied that he had tricked David Masefield Stewart and Wilson ‘Leftie’ Scanlan into doing as he wished, which to a certain extent he had, the renegade was not permitted to withdraw to a safe location to await developments as he had intended. Before he could do so, he had been placed under what amounted to an armed guard by the segundo and told he must take an active part in removing the owners of the two properties coveted by the rancher. He had been threatened with the most dire reprisals if he should try to escape, or to have a bounty of such size put on his head it would cause him to be hunted down remorselessly if he was successful in getting away.
On hearing that the revised plot to kill Morton Lewis had gone amiss, particularly when he was told who was responsible for the affair having come to nothing, Corovan had hoped it would at least be postponed until after Dusty Fog and the Ysabel Kid had concluded the business which brought them to Holbrock and returned to Rio Hondo County. He had quickly learned this was not to be. Despite Stewart having left to establish an alibi by visiting the State capital, Leftie Scanlan had stated a determination to do as was ordered. It had, in fact, become apparent that he was meaning to have killed the two young Texans as well as Mort Lewis and Sheriff Jerome Dickson. However, he had not offered any explanation for being willing to incur the wrath and revenge of the very efficient fighting crew of the OD Connected ranch, particularly that of the other members of its already close to legendary floating outfit.
Much to the relief of the renegade, despite the escape of the Kid at the cost of one ‘warrior’s’ life, Scanlan had not taken any hostile action for two days. Instead, he had restricted himself to merely arranging for a watch to be kept upon the front and rear of the jailhouse, and spreading a warning that any intervention upon the part of the citizens would have severe repercussions at a later date. There had been two reasons for his tactics. He wanted to learn what routine, if any, was being followed by his intended victims which might help him achieve his purpose. Also, suggesting something was being contemplated even prior to the arrival of Corovan, enough hired guns had put in their appearance at the DMS ranch house to almost double his already formidable fighting strength.
On the third afternoon, the situation had taken a change very much for the worse as far as the renegade was concerned!
Returning to the ranch house, Jose Salar had told Scanlan that the Kid had survived an attack upon him made at Sanchez Riley’s trading post at the expense of losing the young ‘warrior’ who had been ordered to keep quiet during the abortive attempt to lynch Mort Lewis. He had then gone into the Kweharehnuh country, where the pursuers had not dared to follow. Still unaware of the real reason, but knowing of the drawing which could establish the whereabouts of the rancher on the day of the double murder, the segundo had assumed he was going to collect it.
Giving instructions to the Mexican and supplying extra men to help carry them out, Scanlan had next made a statement which filled Corovan with alarm. Based upon what had been learned by the watchers of the jailhouse, the renegade was ordered to go into Holbrock after sundown and shoot Mort Lewis. By doing so, it was hoped to bring Dusty Fog and the sheriff from the shelter of the jailhouse and into the open where they too could be killed by more of the ‘warriors’ who would charge from the outskirts.
The hopes formed by Corovan to run away and take his chances against bounty hunters later set on his trail had come to nothing!
Having known a large body of men were unlikely to move close enough without being detected, the segundo had declared it should be possible for no more than three to do so. Brushing aside the suggestion from the renegade that the task would be safer if carried out alone, Scanlan had stated his cousin and Homer ‘Bury-’Em’ Milton—who had recovered sufficiently from the beating at the hands of the small Texan—would act as escorts.
Given no chance of escaping, Corovan had left his horse not too far away with those of the two ‘warriors’ and moved in on foot to carry out the assignment!
It had been established by the observation of the jailhouse that Mort Lewis was being held in what was already becoming known as ‘protective custody’. In the evening, he was allowed to sit in the office with Dickson—whose deputies had not returned—and Dusty Fog while having supper and until retiring for the night. By arriving not long after the sun had gone down, it was hoped the trio would catch their victims when they were not expecting trouble, and that they would be given the opportunity to shoot Mort Lewis through the windows of the well lit office.
‘There he is!’ Jacob “Slatts” Scanlan hissed, as Mort came from the cell block at the rear to join the sheriff and the small Texan at the desk. ‘Kill the half-breed son-of-a-bitch!’
‘I’m going to cut that short growed Rio Hondo bastard in half as he comes out!’ Milton promised viciously, making a gesture with the sawed-off shotgun he was holding.
‘Like hell!’ the burly hard case contradicted, making a similar motion with the Spencer carbine in his hands which had been used to kill Dexter Chass and his son. ‘That son-of-a-bitch is mine!’ Giving the lanky “warrior” no time to object, he went on savagely, ‘Get it done, you god-damned half-breed!’
Darting a scowl of hatred at the speaker while raising the Remington, Corovan braced its barrel against the corner of the left side building. He was all too aware that he had only one shot in the weapon with which to carry out his task. Should he miss, he would not be granted another such opportunity, as the men in the office would all take cover before he could reload. With that in mind, he was determined to make certain of his aim. Waiting until the intended victim was sitting at the desk, he took a few more seconds to satisfy himself with the alignment of the sights. When he was ready, his right forefinger started to tighten upon the trigger.
‘Get a god-da—!’ Scanlan commenced impatiently, disregarding the fact that speaking at that moment could cause further delay.
Before he could finish speaking, or the rifle fired, there was a hissing sound from behind the men followed by a thud closer at hand!
The words came to an abrupt end in a croaking gasp as the hard case arched his spine in what was clearly sudden and severe agony. Allowing the Spencer to fall unheeded from his grasp, he stumbled a couple of steps forward and collapsed face down. Barely discernible against the darkness of his clothing and in the poor light, something slender rose a couple of inches from the left side of his back.
‘What the he—?’ Milton began, starting to swing around.
Another hiss sounded!
Once again, words were changed into a muffled cry of agony as there was a similar ‘thunk’!
Releasing the shotgun he was starting to raise into a position of greater readiness, the lanky ‘warrior’s’ hands rose involuntarily. They clutched at the feather topped end of what felt like a straight piece of stick, although he knew it to be something far more lethal, which he was aware had impaled him so thoroughly its head had emerged through his back. Spinning around, he joined his dying companion on the ground.
Even as Corovan heard Scanlan struck, without needing to look around—although he could not prevent himself from doing so—he knew what had happened. Seeing Milton receive another arrow sent with a similar unerring aim from the darkness beyond the al
ley, he wasted no time in trying to locate the archer. Suspecting it was the Ysabel Kid, who had evaded the men sent to stop him returning, the renegade was aware of what to expect at his hands for having been caught trying to kill a man he regarded as a friend.
The response would be as swift and lethal as could be devised by the Pehnane Dog Soldier which Cuchilo, the Knife, could claim to be!
Throwing aside the rifle, regardless of it being his own property, the renegade fled from the alley without so much as a glance at either of his escorts. He cared nothing for their fate, being solely concerned with his own survival. Such was his state of near panic that, not until he was at some distance from the bodies did he realize he was going away from the horses they had left to facilitate their escape after he had fired at Mort Lewis.
Swerving to a halt behind an unoccupied building, his flight having taken him into the residential section of the town, Corovan slid the Colt 1860 Army revolver from the silk sash he used instead of a conventional holster. Peering cautiously around, he searched the area he had just traversed for the first warning sign of the Kid. Not that, he told himself worriedly, he was likely to be offered a clear view or anything better than a fleeting glimpse. Fortunately, regardless of the all black clothing generally worn by Cuchilo, there was a patch of open ground between them across which not even he could pass quickly if he wanted to remain unseen.