The Big Gun (Dusty Fog's Civil War Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  Having recovered from his fall, Lyle had had the humiliating experience of seeing the horses, arms and equipment which he had purchased to have used in his scheme being taken over by the enemy. From the comments he had overheard, the Texans were confident that they could deliver their booty safely to their own lines beyond the Ouachita River.

  Instead of caring about his unarmed, defenseless men’s possible fate, Lyle had been furious to discover that he had been wrong regarding Cable’s feelings for Monica. Going by the engineer’s remarks, he had known about his wife’s infidelity. Lyle had also realized that he was wrong on another matter. Apparently Harriet Cable had told her father of the true state of affairs between his wife and their captor. Having found Harry’s door locked, Lyle had not suspected that she had been at liberty on the night of Blucher’s death. So the major had assumed that nothing more than coincidence had prompted her to leave when she did.

  Although distressed by Monica’s death, Cable had not been grief-stricken. He had arranged for two of his Negro employees—who had joined him after their escape from the island—to prepare a coffin and dig a grave in a grove far from the island. Then he had taken the remainder of his staff’s male members to the workshop. There, they had dismantled such of the machinery as Cable had wanted to save. It and many of the tools had been taken to a cave a couple of miles from Nimrod Lake, to be stored and cared for by the Negroes until such a time as Cable could return and resume his work.

  With everything completed, Lyle had been brought to the mansion by Billy Jack and had found Dusty Fog waiting. Everybody else had been told to leave the island, for Lyle’s explosives were to be used to destroy Big Minnie.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Lyle demanded, although he could guess.

  ‘I think you called it a duel at other times,’ Dusty Fog replied.

  ‘You mean that you expect me to fight a duel with you?’ Lyle growled.

  ‘That’s just what I mean,’ Dusty confirmed.

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘Then I’ll take you back with me to stand trial for the murder of Conrad Blucher. I’ve a witness to prove you did it. Mr. Cable’s butler was watching from the garden. And, even if we don’t get you for that, you’ll hang for the people who were killed by your gun at Arkadelphia.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Lyle stated, so vehemently that Dusty sensed he was telling the truth. After the small Texan had explained, the major spat out, ‘That bastard! Damn it, Stabruck wasn’t supposed to—’

  ‘Do it until after Big Minnie was ready,’ Dusty finished for Lyle, when the other’s words died away. Then you’d have had the big gun shell women and children, to make our Army cross the Ouachita.’

  ‘If that’s what Stabruck told you—!’ Lyle began.

  ‘He told us nothing,’ Dusty interrupted. ‘We saw through your scheme right from the start. It’ll never work now. When we leave here, I’ll set off the explosives you had set in the workshop and Big Minnie’ll be finished.’

  ‘You’re sure you’ll be leaving, if we fight?’ Lyle challenged.

  ‘If I don’t, I’ve told my sergeant major that you’re to be set free and allowed to rejoin your Army,’ Dusty answered.

  A faint sneer came to Lyle’s lips at the words, for he doubted that the lanky, mournful-faced sergeant major would obey in the event of the captain losing the duel. However, the major had no intention of refusing the challenge. While the Rebels could not, in all probability, substantiate their charges of murder, the trial would ruin any hopes Lyle might harbor for the future. Word of the duels would reach the North and were certain to arouse undesirable questions about how his first pair of victims had met their ends. What was more, if mention of the traction engines was to leak out, he would not be able to ensure that he controlled the marketing and production of similar machines.

  All of Lyle’s present problems were the result of that short, insignificant young Rebel’s efforts. Lyle had heard enough during the day to realize that Dusty Fog had been the organizing and driving force behind the capture of the Parrot and its use to bring about the surrender of the island’s garrison. He had also smashed into the dirt Lyle’s carefully hatched scheme to make a fortune. So, no matter what happened to him after it, the major was determined to take his revenge on the small Texan.

  ‘All right,’ Lyle gritted. ‘I’ll take you on.’

  ‘I thought you might,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Billy Jack, let the major pick his weapon and show him that it’s still loaded and capped. Then go and put it at the end of the table.’

  ‘Yo!’ answered the sergeant major, but without making any of his usual doleful comments. There was a job of work to be done, one too serious for the levity which always lay behind his assumed pessimism. ‘Have whichever ’n’ you fancy, major. Only don’t try to take it out of the box.’

  ‘I’ll take the one at the top,’ Lyle stated.

  It was a matter of complete indifference to the officer which revolver he had selected. He knew them both equally well and could handle either with complete confidence.

  Everything, Lyle told himself, appeared to be going as it had on the previous occasions; except that he was being granted the first pick of the weapons. He was allowed to see that the designated Tranter had not been tampered with and followed Billy Jack to the end of the table.

  For all Lyle’s confidence, a nagging train of thoughts started to bite at him.

  Why was the small Texan, who had apparently been told about the duels with Blucher and ‘Schmidt’, allowing the affair to be conducted in a similar manner?

  Could it be that he was rashly trying to impress the men under his command with his courage, gun-skill and how he was a better man than ‘Schmidt’ ?

  A short, insignificant youngster might easily adopt such tactics without thinking of the consequences. If he should win, he would rise in his men’s esteem. Or so the small Texan might imagine would happen.

  And yet, Lyle remembered, the hard-bitten veterans of his captor’s Company had moved smartly enough when the small Texan had given them orders. There had been no derision, indiscipline, or lack of respect in their attitudes. Rather they had treated the captain with a deference which Lyle had never managed to extract from the men under his command.

  Obviously there was more, much more, to Captain Fog than met the eye.

  So why was he taking such an apparently reckless chance?

  Turning at the end of the table, Lyle found that Dusty had not moved. Instead of taking the second Tranter to the other end, he remained where he had been all through the conversation. Only about ten feet separated him from Lyle, not the twenty-five feet over which the previous duels had been fought. What was more, the gun box’s lid had been closed and the small Texan stood with empty hands thumb-hooked into his Western-style buscadero belt.

  ‘Why haven’t you taken the other Tranter?’ Lyle inquired.

  ‘You use your weapon,’ Dusty answered. ‘And I’ll use mine.’

  ‘Very well,’ Lyle assented, but could not hold down a twinge of uneasiness as he realized that he had lost one of his greatest advantages. ‘If you’ll go and take your place—’

  ‘This time it’s my rules, Major,’ Dusty interrupted. ‘I’ll stand here. My sergeant major will count to five, then we start shooting.’

  ‘Put your revolver on the table—’ Lyle commenced.

  ‘Like I said, major,’ Dusty answered quietly. ‘It’s my rules. I’ll draw on five, or before if you make a move.’

  ‘I don’t need that kind of advantage!’ Lyle snorted, watching Dusty’s hands lift from the belt and point, with fingers slightly hooked and thumbs extended, inwards at the white handles of the Army Colts.

  ‘Major,’ Dusty replied. ‘This way, you don’t have any advantage. Start the count, sergeant major.’

  ‘They’re your rules,’ Lyle declared and hoped that he sounded more confident than he now felt. He raised his right hand about eight inches above the Tranter�
��s butt ‘I’m ready and on your own head be it.’

  ‘One!’ Billy Jack commenced.

  Despite having had numerous examples of Dusty’s capabilities, the lanky sergeant major wondered if he might not be biting off more than he could chew. Billy Jack knew just how fast his young officer could draw and shoot, but he was facing a man who had already killed at least twice in duels. The second time had been when matched with a skilled fighting man. Captain Staunce had been all of that, yet he had fallen before Lyle’s revolver in similar circumstances.

  ‘Two!’ the sergeant major continued and saw Lyle’s right hand quiver as if it was on the point of being set into motion.

  At that moment, Lyle was contemplating making a grab for the Tranter. Even as the notion occurred to him, he became aware of the change which appeared to have come over his opponent. No longer could he think of Dusty Fog as small, young, or insignificant. Such was the strength of the blond Texan’s personality that he seemed to have gained size and heft. Lyle knew that this was purely imaginary, but he could not shake off the illusion.

  There, disregarding pure feet and inches, stood a big, competent and very dangerous man.

  Dusty Fog was not a reckless boy, hot-headedly trying to avenge a friend and win acclaim for his courage.

  He was a man—and he knew full well what he was doing!

  It was a chilling thought for the Yankee officer.

  So much so that Lyle could not make his hand move right then.

  ‘Three!’ Billy Jack went on, seeing perspiration forming on Lyle’s face.

  Looking at Dusty, who was standing apparently relaxed yet gave the impression of being like a compressed spring, just waiting to be released so that he could spring into immediate motion, Lyle began to realize how his own victims had felt. He was facing a man who did not fear him. Who was, in fact, confident of emerging victorious.

  Lyle wondered what possible advantage the big Texan could have. That he had—or believed he had—one, Lyle did not doubt. No man would dare to stake his life unless he was sure of winning.

  Yet, on the face of it, everything appeared to be in Lyle’s favor. He had only to drop his hand, lift the revolver, take aim as he squeezed the trigger and fire. Since first deciding upon the duel as a way of removing rivals, he had spent at least fifteen minutes every day in rehearsing the sequence of movements; until he could do them instinctively and without the need for conscious thought.

  Against that, Captain Fog would have to reach across, draw a revolver from its holster, cock the hammer and point it in the required direction. It seemed that the Texan had no hope of succeeding.

  So why, Lyle asked himself, had Fog insisted upon such terms?

  ‘Four,’ Billy Jack counted, the words flowing as slowly yet inexorably as the ticking of a clock.

  Legends of the speed with which Western gunfighters could draw and shoot had not yet started to circulate, so Lyle had no conception of how fast and deadly a man trained in the frontier fashion of revolver fighting could be. All he knew was that his opponent exuded a quiet, unnerving confidence. There had to be some factor, of which Lyle was unaware, that caused Dusty Fog to feel so sure of victory.

  ‘Five!’

  Although Lyle was engrossed in his thoughts, Billy Jack’s word triggered off his reflexes. Down swooped his right hand, gathering up the Tranter and starting to raise it to shoulder level.

  At the same instant, Dusty’s hands passed on their flights across to their waiting Colts. While Lyle’s Tranter continued to rise, the Texan’s revolvers merely cleared the lips of their holsters and turned the barrels outwards. Back rode the hammers, under his thumbs and his forefingers found the triggers as the weapons lined at waist level.

  Suddenly, finding himself confronted by the muzzles of the Colts, Lyle understood where Dusty’s advantage had been. The major attempted to halt his instinctive actions, but he was too late.

  Flame lashed from the barrels of Dusty’s Colts. With twin detonations that merged into a single sound, they drove a pair of .44 bullets into Lyle’s left breast. Jerked backwards, the major completed the pressure on the Tranter’s trigger, but its bullet winged harmlessly into the ceiling. Stumbling against the table, he bounced from it to the floor.

  ‘Whew!’ Billy Jack breathed, advancing from where he had retreated to the sidepiece and out of the possible line of fire. ‘I figured he was going to get you, Cap’n Dusty. Right pleased he didn’t.’

  ‘And me,’ the small Texan admitted, holstering the Colts.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Billy Jack went on. ‘Happen he had downed you, I’d’ve been next to go.’

  ‘I’m right pleased to know how concerned you were about me!’ Dusty growled, watching his companion bend over Lyle. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Sure,’ the sergeant major confirmed. ‘And I’ve never seen a man who deserved to die more than him.’

  ‘Or me,’ Dusty agreed. ‘He caused a lot of people to die and, no matter what I told him, we could never have convicted him for doing it. That’s why I faced him down.’

  ‘I reckon General Hardin and Colonel Blaze’ll claim you did right,’ Billy Jack drawled. ‘Give him his due, Cap’n Dusty, he died game.’

  ‘We’ll give him that,’ Dusty replied. ‘Take him to the boat, we’ll see he gets a decent burial, even though he didn’t give Doug better than being sunk in the lake.’

  ‘Yo!’ Billy Jack drawled, for they had discovered what had been done with Staunce’s body and he knew that the knowledge had steeled Dusty in his resolve to punish Lyle. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’ll set off the fuses and blow up Big Minnie,’ Dusty replied.

  Fifteen minutes later, Billy Jack and Dusty were supervising the unloading of Lyle’s body. There was a shattering roar from the island and the workshop disintegrated. The sound was echoed by two more explosions to the south. The first destroyed Eli Cable’s other traction engine.

  The second brought a permanent end to the threat of the big gun.

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  More on J. T. EDSON

  i Peckerwood: derogatory name for a Confederate supporter.

  ii

  A description of a snake-fight is given in The Colt and the Sabre.

  iii A more detailed description of a Rocker ambulance is given in Hound Dog Man

  iv The story of the meeting with the Lancers and of the Battle of Martin’s Mill is told in You’re in Command Now, Mr. Fog

  v Although Tommy Okasi was a native of Japan, the country was so little known in the 1860s that, being Oriental, he was thought by many people to be Chinese.

  vi Colt 1860 Army revolvers intended for sale to the military had eight inch long barrels.

  vii Traditionally, six guns formed a battery, but the Confederate States’ Army's shortage of cannon rarely permitted them to achieve that number.

  viii Fly-slicers: derogatory name for cavalrymen.

  ix Wagon-soldiers: derogatory name for members of the field artillery.

  x Foot-shufflers: derogatory name for infantrymen.

  xi Due to its Spanish connections, Texans rarely used the word ‘cinch’.

  xii Soft-shell: a liberal-intellectual of the most bigoted kind.

  xiii Flying artillery: light field, or horse, artillery capable of operating with the cavalry.

  xiv Goober-grabber: a native of Arkansas.

  xv Luff: derogatory name for a first lieutenant.

  xvi Shave tail: derogatory name for a second lieutenant.

  xvii Nemenuh: ‘The People’, the Comanche Nation’s name for themselves.

  xviii Fixed round: one with the firing charge attached to the shot.

  xix Supplied to ‘prove’ his identity i
f challenged during the plan to trap the spy at Stilton Crossing.

  xx These Vandenburg volley guns were the other half of the battery destroyed by Staunce’s howitzers at the Battle of Martin’s Mill. Having heard that they had been left behind, while collecting the William’s rapid fire cannon, Lyle had appropriated them for his own use.