by J. T. Edson
Catching a slight hint of movement from the corner of his left eye, the Kid swung his head in that direction. What he saw handed him a shock. Instead of remaining behind the men laying the ambush, at least one of the tehnaps had crossed the valley. Rising from behind a large rock, the brave lined his Winchester ’73 at the black-dressed cause of his companions’ misfortunes. Instantly, showing the superb coordination of mind and muscles developed in his formative years, the Kid hurled himself down in a rolling dive. While his speedy response saved him from the tehnap’s first bullet—the wind of which stirred the back of his shirt—he felt sure the next would be better aimed. So he landed expecting to feel the flat-nosed .44.40 bullet strike his body.
As he followed the Kid, Waco saw a shape rising from amongst a clump of buffalo-berry bushes to his right. Behind the blond, the sheriff found a greater need to notice the warrior. Cradled at his shoulder, the brave’s rifle was pointing at Laurie’s chest. Like Waco, the sheriff held his Winchester so its barrel was pointing to the left. He doubted if he could turn it quickly enough to save his life. Waco’s thoughts paralleled the sheriff’s, but he came up with a different answer. Instead of trying to use the rifle, the blond held its fore-grip in his left hand. Leaving the wrist of the butt, his right flashed to the staghorn butt of his offside Army Colt.
To Waco’s rear, Laurie watched everything. In his time as a peace officer, he had seen a number of real fast men in action. That tall, blond youngster, in his opinion, could have matched the best. All in a single, incredibly swift motion, Waco produced and fired the revolver. Its bullet took the tehnap in the centre of the torso. The breastbone cracked, mingling with his cry of pain. He staggered and disappeared as suddenly as he had come into view.
On the rim, Narrow had found the rapidly departing braves an elusive and hard-to-hit target. Six times his rifle had spoken, without the sight of an Indian falling to delight him. So he decided that he might as well join the other members of the posse. Standing up, he observed the tehnap rising at the Kid’s left. Presented with a stationary target, Narrow hurriedly revised his plans. Taking aim as the warrior sent the shot at the Kid, Narrow fired in echo to it.
‘That’s another!’ the deputy enthused as the tehnap collapsed.
Completing his roll by springing to his feet, the Kid turned to the left and wondered why he had not been shot. He saw the tehnap going down and commenced a silent vote of thanks to whoever had saved his life. Even as he did so, a savage war screech caused him to forget all thoughts of gratitude.
The young tuivitsi was not among those making good their escape. Although he had fallen, he was unharmed. Since his humiliation at the Kid’s hands, he had suffered from the mockery of his companions. So he had decided to perform a deed which would retrieve his lost honor. It had been his intention to let the newcomers join the soldiers, then rise and open fire on them—without having given any thought to how he might escape after doing it.
Seeing that his humiliator led the rescuers, the tuivitsi had hastily revised his scheme. There would be greater honor if he killed the man who had been responsible for his shame. Looking up, he found that the Pehnane was facing to the left and unaware of his presence. Thrusting himself erect with a wild yell, the inexperienced Kweharehnuh called attention to himself.
Snapping up his rifle, Laurie took aim and fired. Four more weapons hurled lead at the tuivitsi. Two of the bullets missed, but any one of the others would have been fatal and he was thrown backwards by their impact.
The Kid spun around. With the tuivitsi and the tehnap no longer menacing his existence, he looked for Kills Something. Although he figured that the chief would also be on his side of the valley, the Kid was just a shade too late in locating him.
Having positioned himself closer to the rim than the two tehnaps, Kills Something had found himself cut off from his companions. There was, however, a way in which the loss of honor could be lessened if not entirely removed. Already Old Man and two of the tuivitsi had gathered and driven off the soldiers’ horses. So Pakawa would take the mounts of the Pehnane and the other white men.
Approaching the top of the slope, Kills Something had seen Narrow. Unfortunately for him, the deputy had not been equally observant. Standing erect and in plain sight, thinking of the story he would be able to tell to his cronies on returning to Wichita Falls, Narrow paid the price for his carelessness. Raising his rifle, the chief laid his sights and squeezed the trigger. Puncturing Narrow’s left temple, the bullet shattered through the other side of his head. He died without knowing what had hit him.
While turning in search of the chief, the Kid had cradled the butt of the old ‘yellow boy’ against his right shoulder. On detecting Kills Something, he made a rough alignment of the barrel rather than the sights and started shooting. Five times, as fast as he could operate the mechanism, lead spurted from the rifle’s barrel. As he fired, the Kid moved the muzzle in a horizontal arc. Fast though he acted, he failed to prevent Narrow being killed. An instant before the first of the Kid’s bullets struck him, the chief had made wolfbait of the deputy. Three of the Kid’s shots found their mark and Kills Something fell out of sight beyond the rim.
Lowering his rifle, the Kid snarled out a curse at Raynor’s stupidity. Then he swung back to the bottom of the valley and his companions. They showed every sign of continuing to pursue the fleeing braves and he understood the danger of doing it. Chasing surprised, dismounted Comanches was one thing. Going after them once they had reached and boarded their war ponies was a horse of a very different color.
By the time the posse reached the top of the other slope, the braves would be in what had become a Comanche’s natural state; on the back of a horse. They would then be ideally suited to escape—or to launch a counter-attack. If they selected the latter course, the posse might find them a vastly different and more dangerous proposition.
‘Hold it, sheriff!’ the Kid yelled. ‘Let them go!’
Having reached much the same conclusions, Laurie needed only to hear the Kid’s words to respond. Nor did any of the other members of the posse raise objections when Laurie called for them to stop.
‘Looks like we can get after Glover’s bunch again, Ian,’ Poplar suggested as the men gathered about the sheriff.
‘Like hell we can,’ answered the Kid. ‘This neck of the woods’ll be all aswarm with Kweharehnuh once word of the fight gets around. And that’ll not be long. We’re going to need luck to hit Torrant’s afore they jump us, with all the wounded soldiers along. The sooner we get headed that way, the better our chances of doing it.’
Chapter Four – There’ll Be A Price On Your Heads
‘We got back to Torrant’s without any more trouble from the Kweharehnuh, borrowed some hosses from him and got the wounded to Wichita Falls,’ the Ysabel Kid concluded, after describing the hunt for the Glover gang and its consequences. ‘Found your telegraph message waiting for us, Dusty, and come down here as fast as we could make it.’
Dirty, unshaven, showing signs of having traveled hard and at speed over a long distance, the Kid and Waco sat at the dining-room table in the log cabin maintained as a base for hunting by the Governor of Texas. Situated on the banks of the Colorado River, the building was sufficiently far from Austin to ensure Stanton Howard’s privacy, yet close enough for him to be reached in an emergency.
Three more men shared the table. Big, handsome, impressive even in his hunting clothes, Governor Howard sat drumming his fingers on the wood. To his right, tall and slim in his undress uniform, Colonel Edge of the U.S. Army’s Adjutant General’s Department frowned at the roof. However, the Kid and Waco gave most of their attention to the third of their audience. He was the segundo of their ranch, a man for whom either of them would have given his life without hesitation. His name, Dusty Fog.
Ask almost anybody in Texas about Dusty Fog and they would have plenty to tell. How, at seventeen, he had commanded Company ‘C’ of the Texas Light Cavalry and earned a reputation as a military raide
r equal to that of John Singleton Mosby and Turner Ashby. In addition to harassing the Yankee forces in Arkansas, 10 he had prevented a plot by Union fanatics to start an Indian uprising which would have decimated the Lone Star State. 11 It was whispered that he had assisted Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy, 12 on two successful missions. 13
With the War over and Ole Devil Hardin crippled in a riding accident, 14 Dusty had handled much business on his behalf. He had become known as a cowhand of considerable ability, trail boss equal to the best and the man who had brought law and order to two wild, wide-open towns. 15 He was said to be the fastest and most accurate revolver-toter in Texas. According to all reports, he topped off his talents by being exceptionally capable at defending himself with his bare hands.
By popular conception, such a man ought to be a veritable giant in stature and handsome to boot.
Dustine Edward Marsden Fog stood no more than five foot six in his high heeled, fancy-stitched boots. Small, insignificant almost, the dusty blond Texan might appear, but he possessed a muscular development that went beyond his inches. There was a strength of will about his good-looking face and a glint in his grey eyes which hinted that he was no man to trifle with. Although his range clothing had cost good money, he gave it an air of being somebody’s castoffs.
Studying Dusty, the Kid and Waco felt puzzled. Like them, he was unshaven and untidy. Nobody expected members of a hunting party to dress as neatly as if they were going to a Sunday afternoon prayer meeting, but Dusty’s appearance went beyond the usual bounds. Taken with the pair having seen their work mounts 16 in the corral, guarded by the OD Connected’s wrangler, Dusty’s appearance suggested that something unusual was in the air.
‘Why didn’t the Kweharehnuh come after you?’ asked Colonel Edge.
‘We’d dropped their war bonnet chief and spoiled their medicine,’ the Kid explained. ‘A scout trailed us to Torrant’s, watched us pull out again and turned back.’
‘We wasn’t a lil bit sorry to see him go,’ Waco drawled.
‘They wouldn’t let you go after Glover’s gang then?’ Dusty asked.
‘Nope,’ confirmed the Kid. ‘I’m damned if I can figure out why not. ’Less that ’breed had bought a way through for ’em by handing out repeaters.’
‘You say that they all had repeaters, Lon?’ Howard inquired.
‘Every last son-of-a-bitching one, Governor,’ replied the Kid. ‘And plenty of shells to use in ’em.’
‘Then it’s true, Dusty!’ Howard ejaculated.
‘It’s starting to look that way, sir,’ the small Texan agreed. ‘We know now what the Kweharehnuh’s price was for their part in it. A repeater and ammunition for every man’d go a long way to making them act friendly to the right sort of folk.’
‘What’s it all about, Dusty?’ Waco asked.
‘There may be a town in the Palo Duro where men on the dodge can go and hide out safe from the law,’ Dusty answered.
‘Hey, Lon!’ Waco said. ‘Maybe that’s what the feller you shot meant when he said the gang was going to hell in the Palo Duro.’
‘According to Jules Murat,’ Dusty put in. ‘That’s the name of the town.’
‘What?’ asked Waco.
‘Hell,’ Dusty elaborated. ‘Jules says that the town’s called “Hell”.’
With his two amigos listening and taking in every word, Dusty went on with the explanation. Captain Jules Murat of the Texas Rangers had been trying to locate the notorious Siddons gang, without any success. Then an informer had claimed that they had gone to a town called Hell in the Palo Duro. At first Murat had been inclined to scoff at the idea. Not for long. Checking with the heads of other Ranger Companies, he had learned that several badly wanted gangs had formed the habit of disappearing as if the ground had swallowed them when things grew too hot. So he had done some more investigating and believed that the town did exist.
‘From what I saw of the Kweharehnuh at the Fort Sorrel peace meeting, I’d’ve said it wasn’t possible,’ Dusty finished. ‘Only what you’d told us is making me change my mind.’
‘Jules isn’t an alarmist,’ Howard continued soberly. ‘Such a place would be a blessing for outlaws. If I discarded the idea, it was only because I couldn’t see how they could reach it in the heart of the Antelope’s country.’
‘You’ve given us the answer,’ Dusty told his friends. ‘According to Jules’ informers, the folk who run Hell have done a deal with the Kweharehnuh. On top of that, they put out scouts to watch for white folks coming. Said scouts check on who they are and, if they’re all right, take them past the Antelopes.’
‘What’s your opinion, Kid?’ Edge wanted to know.
‘It’s possible,’ the Kid admitted. ‘We saw the repeaters and shells that bunch was toting, ’n’ Kills Something allowed he’d had orders from old Ten Bears to keep most white folk out.’
‘That ’breed was a scout for the town,’ Waco declared. ‘He saw Glover’s bunch coming and sent up the smoke. Anybody’s didn’t know about it would steer clear of smoke signals. When they headed towards ’em, he knowed they was on the dodge.’ He nodded. ‘I like that better’n Glover having sent the ’breed on ahead with either the repeaters or the money to buy ’em. Even if Glover could trust the feller that much, it’d’ve cost him one hell of a pile of money.’
‘Between thirty and sixty dollars apiece, depending on which kind of rifle they handed out,’ Dusty agreed. ‘One gang couldn’t afford an outlay like that, but a town drawing money from a lot of outlaws could.’
‘Thing I don’t see is how these folks at the town got friendly enough with Ten Bears to make the deal,’ drawled the Kid. ‘He’s always been one for counting coup on the white brother first and talking a long second.’
‘You’re saying they couldn’t have done it?’ Edge queried.
‘Not after what I saw out there,’ corrected the Kid. ‘I’m only wondering how it was done.’
‘The U.S. Army’s thinking of going to learn the answer to that,’ Edge remarked, watching the Kid as he spoke.
‘Happen you try, Colonel,’ drawled the dark-faced cowhand. ‘The Kweharehnuh’ll make whoever goes wish they hadn’t.’
‘The column would be adequately supported,’ Edge pointed out. ‘I think the Indians would find cannon and Gatling guns a match for their repeaters.’
‘You don’t reckon they’d be loco enough to lock horns with your column head on, now do you, Colonel?’ the Kid countered. ‘Those fellers’ll be crossing Ten Bears’ home range, which he knows like they’ll not get the chance to learn. Maybe you’d get the Kweharehnuh in the end, but it’d cost you plenty of lives. And that’s not counting how the news’d go with the folks on the reservations.’
‘How do you mean?’Edge wanted to know.
‘You take after the Kweharehnuh ’n’ get licked, which could happen with them toting repeaters, and every bad-hat or restless buck on the reservation’ll be headed for the Palo Duro to take cards. Them folks might even hand out guns to ’em to hold the Army out of the town. That happens, and we might’s well never had the peace talks at Fort Sorrel. Because, Colonel, you’re likely to get the whole blasted Comanche Nation cutting in.’
Going by the glance Howard darted at Edge, the Kid had been confirming points already made. For his part, the officer was surprised to hear such logic from one so young. Edge decided that the stories of the Ysabel Kid’s Indian-savvy he had heard might be true. Certainly the Kid had just expressed the arguments set out by several experienced Indian-fighters who had been consulted by the Governor.
‘What’s the answer, would you say, Lon?’ Howard inquired.
‘Send somebody in to see if the town’s there and find out just how far they could go to support the Kweharehnuh, the Kid answered without hesitation.
‘When would be the best time to move against the Kweharehnuh, discounting the town and its supply of weapons?’
‘Middle of autumn, Colonel. When the braves’re back from the winter-food ga
thering and’ve started to make medicine. Sent in good men then, and you might get the band without too much fighting. I figure you’ve got to fetch them in. ’s long’s they’re out, it’ll always tempt bucks on the reservations to go and join them.’
‘That’s how the Army sees it, Kid,’ Edge admitted. ‘So we want to know in time to get things set up ready.’
‘Whoever you send in there’s not going to have an easy time,’ Waco commented. ‘If it’s a peace officer, he’s likely to get recognized. There’s maybe owlhoots from all over Texas there.’
‘That’s why I won’t let Jules or the other Ranger captains send in their men,’ Howard said grimly. ‘I don’t have to explain. We can all remember what happened in Prairiedog.’
For a moment, Dusty’s face clouded at the painful memory produced by the Governor’s words. Sent to investigate complaints from the citizens of the town that had been called Prairiedog—but now bore another, less complimentary name—his younger brother, Danny, had been exposed as a member of the Texas Rangers and murdered. 17
‘We could go,’ Waco offered eagerly. ‘Ain’t none of us’s held a law badge in Texas. Faking up reward posters’d be easy enough done.’
‘Too easy, boy,’ Dusty drawled. ‘It’d take a whole heap more than just sticking made-up names on wanted dodgers to get us accepted. Whoever’s running the town’s no fool. And I don’t reckon he’s a soft-shell do-gooder trying to prove that all every owlhoot’s needing is a second chance to turn him into a honest man. Which means him, and the folks in it with him, are doing it for money. Jules’s heard they take a cut of the loot from everybody who arrives.’
‘So we’re not going?’ said the Kid, sounding disappointed.
‘We’re not,’ Dusty answered and stood up. Crossing to the sidepiece, he returned and laid a copy of the Texas State Gazette on the table before the cowhands. Tapping an item with his forefinger, he went on, ‘These hombres are.’
Looking down, the Kid and Waco read the article indicated by Dusty.