by J. T. Edson
‘I never saw you around,’ Targue commented.
‘That’s ’cause we didn’t aim to let you,’ the Kid replied. ‘They do say’s cow thieves’re a mite touchy over letting folks look too close at their stock.’
‘I can’t say’s how I take to being called a cow thief!’ Targue growled, being made of sterner, more dangerous stuff than the other three.
‘Ease off there, Wally,’ counseled Chisum mildly. ‘Likely the Kid didn’t mean it the way it sounded.’
‘Hell, Uncle John,’ Keck said, a light of inspiration flickering on his face. ‘It’s all a mistake. We thought them cattle was strays.’
‘Strays!’ Dawn snorted. ‘They’re all branded plain enough to see.’
‘It’s easy enough settled,’ Chisum stated, beaming at the girl like a martyr blessing the stone-throwers. ‘Keck, go and find brother Pitzer. Then we’ll go to the herd and cut out any of the lady’s stock that we find.’
‘Sure, Uncle John,’ Keck answered. ‘I know where to find him.’
‘It’ll not take the three of you to fetch him,’ Dusty said as Venner and Alden also showed signs of leaving.
For a moment it seemed that the pair would protest, but Keck flicked a knowing nod their way and remarked, ‘It won’t. I’ll go. You boys stay on and buy these gents a drink to show there’s no hard feelings.’
‘I’ll buy the drinks,’ Chisum offered. ‘If the young lady doesn’t mind us taking ’em in her company, that is.’
‘Go to it,’ Dawn answered. ‘All I want to do’s get those steers back.’
‘What brings you out this way, Cap’n Fog?’ Chisum inquired, turning towards the bar as Keck walked across the room. ‘Did Ole Devil send you?’
‘Sure,’ Dusty replied and he had once more shrunk to being the insignificant nobody he usually appeared.
Crossing the room, Keck took extra care to keep his right hand in plain sight. However, his left hand inched farther under the jacket until its fingers curled around the butt of the Metropolitan Navy Pocket revolver in its carefully designed, concealed holster. His every instinct gave warning of danger. In John Chisum’s hometown, there would have been little to fear from the girl’s accusation. Unfortunately, Graham did not lie in an area where Chisum possessed influence over the local law. So Keck and his companions stood a better than fair chance of winding up in jail, if not suspended from a hangrope, for their actions on the Wallace Valley.
A quick, surreptitious look over his shoulder told Keck that Chisum and Targue had moved out of the possible line of fire and he knew that his two companions were ready to back his play. Telling Alden and Venner to buy the drinks had alerted them to what he planned; they had used a similar method on another occasion. At the door, Keck would turn and start throwing lead with the Metropolitan. Even if he did not hit Dusty Fog or the Ysabel Kid, his bullets ought to take them by surprise and give his pards a chance to get into action.
With that thought in mind, just as he reached the doors, Keck slipped the short-barreled revolver from beneath his jacket. Cocking back the hammer, he started to turn. Just an instant too late he heard the sound of somebody entering the barroom.
‘Uncle Devil sent us along to help Uncle Charlie with this next drive he’s making,’ Dusty continued in answer to Chisum’s question.
‘We’ve not met afore,’ Chisum remarked in a booming, jovial tone, as he moved towards the bar. ‘Maybe you’ve heard Ole Devil speak of me, John Chisum.’
‘I’ve heard,’ Dusty agreed but decided that it would not be polite to mention the manner in which Ole Devil Hardin invariably referred to the bald rancher’s morals and business principles. ‘We’d have been here sooner, Unc—’
‘Watch it, Dusty!’ roared a voice from across by the main entrance.
Oblivious of the man who came into sight and entered the Demon Rum, Keck started to make his treacherous attack. Yet he could hardly have overlooked the newcomer if his mind had not been so fully occupied with the thoughts of escape.
A costly white Stetson with a silver concha-decorated band added to the new arrival’s six foot three of height, topping a great spread of shoulders that tapered down to a lean waist and long, powerful legs. From the tight-rolled green silk bandana which trailed its long ends down the front of a gray broadcloth shirt and the elegant cut of the levis pants hanging cowhand fashion free from the fancy-stitched boots, he was a wealthy young man and something of a dandy. About his middle swung a hand-stamped gunbelt of high-grade workmanship with two ivory-handled Army Colts in the contoured holsters, the butts flaring out a little for easy and rapid withdrawal. All in all, he made a fine figure. Golden blond hair framed a face of almost classically handsome lines, tanned, strong and intelligent. Taken with his truly magnificent physique, the face made him look like an old-time Greek-god who chose to wear the dress of a Texas cowhand.
Dandy the blond giant might be, but he showed a shrewd judgment of the situation and, despite his size, moved with considerable speed. Yelling a warning, he thrust through the batwing doors and took a long stride forward. His hands rose fast and fingers possessing the crushing power of a closing bear-trap caught Keck by the shoulder. Pain numbed the man, causing his arms to drop limply to his sides. Then he felt his feet leave the floor and he was hoisted bodily into the air. With a surging heave, the blond pivoted and hurled Keck across the room. Landing on his feet, Keck still had no control over his body. He twirled around, struck and went over a table, then collided with some force against the wall. In his flight from the blond’s hands, he had dropped the Metropolitan; but would have been in no condition to use it when he flopped back to the floor after having his progress halted by the wall.
Due to Ole Devil’s unflattering comments, Dusty did not entirely trust Chisum. Nor did the rancher’s employees strike the small Texan as the kind one should take at their face value. Noticing the too casual manner in which Chisum and his segundo edged away from them after Keck left, Dusty had remained alert. Although Chisum’s question partly distracted the small Texan, the yelled warning from the blond giant did not come entirely as a surprise.
Knowing who had shouted, Dusty still could not prevent himself from taking a quick look at the door to assess the full extent of the danger.
Watching and waiting for Keck to make his move, Venner acted as soon as it began. Grabbing at his Colt, Venner started to slide it from leather. Just a touch slower to react, Alden also started his draw.
Certain that the blond giant could deal with Keck, Dusty brought his attention back to the danger closer at hand. He saw Venner’s Colt already starting to rise over the lip of the holster. There would be no time for the small Texan to draw and shoot, so he did not try. Instead he stepped closer to Venner and swept his left arm around as swiftly as he could move it. With the Colt lifting to point in his direction, Dusty’s left hand struck Venner’s wrist and thrust the barrel so that it no longer pointed at him. Coming across at equal speed, Dusty’s right hand grasped the top of the Colt’s frame and continued to turn it inwards. Pain and the threat of having his trigger-finger snapped caused Venner to relax his grip and Dusty plucked the revolver from his hand. Sliding his left hand from the trapped wrist, Dusty laid his fingers across Venner’s palm and the thumb over the back of fist towards the base of the knuckles. With a deft twist, he turned Venner’s elbow towards the ground and bent the captured hand towards its owner’s chest. Venner let out a croak of pain, bending his torso backwards in an attempt to avoid the hurt caused by Dusty’s hold.
Nor did the small Texan forget that Alden also posed a threat. Still retaining his grip on Venner’s hand, Dusty lashed his right arm out and up. Just as Alden’s gun cleared leather, the butt of the Colt taken from Venner smashed under his jaw. The force of its arrival snapped Alden’s head back. His eyes turned glassy, the Colt slid unfired from his fingers and he collapsed limply to the floor.
Seeing what had happened, Targue reached for his gun. Without waiting to discover what side the
segundo aimed to take in the affair, the Kid prevented him from doing it. Out flashed the bowie knife. Almost of its own volition, the clip-point of the eleven-and-a-half-inch blade lined on Targue’s belly ready to drive home should the need arise.
‘Ain’t no call for you to cut in,’ drawled the Kid. ‘Now is there?’
No fool, Targue knew just what the Kid meant. So the segundo allowed his gun to slip back into its holster. He felt however, that his actions called for some kind of explanation.
‘I thought Cap’n Fog might need some help,’ Targue said.
‘He don’t,’ the Kid pointed out unnecessarily and returned his knife to its sheath.
After striking Alden down, Dusty shoved at and released Venner’s hand. Staggering back a few steps, the man glared his fury at the small Texan.
‘Do you want any more?’ Dusty asked.
Throwing a look at Chisum for guidance, Venner thought that he saw the bald head give a quick negative shake. Which meant that any further action he took would be without the rancher’s support. So he gave a shrug and replied, ‘Naw!’
‘What’s coming off, Dustine?’ Goodnight demanded.
‘Best ask Mark here what started it,’ Dusty replied, indicating the blond giant who came towards them. ‘I don’t reckon you’ve met Mark Counter, Uncle Charlie. He’s riding for the OD Connected.’
‘You’d be kin to Big Rance, I’d say,’ Goodnight commented, shaking hands with the blond and eyeing him from head to toe.
‘Sure am, Colonel,’ Mark Counter agreed. ‘I saw that yahoo over there fixing to throw lead your way and stopped him.’
‘The wall stopped him,’ corrected the Kid. ‘Way you threw him, I thought he’d keep going until he had to swim the Pecos.’
‘Shucks,’ Mark grinned. ‘I only gave him an itty-bitty push.’
‘I’d hate to see you give somebody a hard shove, that being the case,’ Goodnight remarked, wondering how Mark came to be working for the OD Connected instead of on his father’s Rover C spread.
Despite Big Rance Counter owning a large ranch in the Big Bend country, Mark had accepted Dusty’s offer of employment at the conclusion of the small Texan’s mission into Mexico. Mark and the Kid had helped Dusty to carry out the task given to him by the U.S. Government. On their return to Texas, the blond giant had decided that sticking with his two friends offered better possibilities of fun and excitement than returning to help his father and three older brothers to run the family’s ranch.
During the War Between the States, Mark had gained a reputation for courage and as being something of a Beau Brummel. His unorthodox taste in uniforms had been much copied by the young bloods of the Confederate States Army, to the annoyance of crusty senior officers. Back at his old trade of cowhand, he tried to dress well under all conditions. A top hand with cattle, Mark was becoming spoken of for his exceptional strength and skill at roughhouse brawling. Just how good he might be with his matched Colts received much less attention, but Dusty and the Kid knew him to be very fast and accurate.
‘Well, Mr. Chisum,’ Dusty said, turning to the rancher. ‘Way that Keck hombre acted, it looks like he knew all along that he was wide-looping the lady’s cattle.’
‘Damn it, yes!’ Chisum agreed.
‘You’d not know anything about that, though?’ asked the Kid innocently.
‘You’re damned right I didn’t!’ Chisum answered. ‘I haven’t had the time to go through that herd Pitzer brought in, have I, Charlie?’ Before an answer could be given, he went on, ‘Damn it! If they have took her cattle, they deserve all they’re going to get. Take ’em to the sheriff and have ’em jailed until it’s settled, Targue.’
‘Sure, Uncle John,’ the segundo answered.
‘We’ll amble along ’n’ help him, huh Mark?’ suggested the Kid. ‘Them three pelados might be too much for him to handle on his lonesome.’
‘They might at that,’ Mark agreed.
‘Take your horses along,’ Dusty told his companions. ‘Then we’ll go out and help Uncle Charlie cut the herd when you’ve done it.’
Chapter Seven
Mr. Chisum’s Uncle Charlie’s Friend
Although Targue frowned, he raised no objections to the two Texans accompanying him. Scowling around, he called to a group of men at a faro table and asked for help to tote the two unconscious hardcases down to the jail. Venner seemed on the verge of making a comment, but caught Chisum’s eye and kept quiet.
Knowing that he could leave the safe delivery of the trio in Mark’s and the Kid’s hands, Goodnight suggested that the rest of the party should escort Dawn out of the saloon. Chisum said that he would collect his brother Pitzer and some of the men from Sadie’s brothel, then meet the others at the herd. Watching him go, Dawn let out an indignant snort.
‘Do you reckon he knew that they’d put our cattle in the herd all along?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t want to go so far as say that,’ Dusty replied. ‘Time we got around the canyon and caught up to them, your stock was mixed in with the herd.’
Not wanting a public discussion about Chisum, Goodnight decided to change the subject. Starting towards the front doors, he remarked, ‘I’d heard that the Kid threw in with you, Dustine. It’s a good thing.’
‘It is, for everybody,’ Dusty agreed. ‘After his pappy was killed, he didn’t cotton to the smuggling game and I reckoned that the OD Connected could use him.’
‘He got out of that game in time,’ Goodnight said. ‘It was all right while they were running supplies in the War, but after Appomattox what they were doing became smuggling again. Sooner or later he’d’ve killed a revenue officer and been on the run.’
Dusty nodded. Smuggling in time of peace and on the Rio Grande was a tough, dangerous business which could easily have seen the Kid driven into a life of real, serious crime. Texas was a far safer place for law-abiding folks with Sam Ysabel’s son in gainful, honest employment.
‘Anyways, Lon’ll be real useful on this drive you’re planning, Uncle Charlie. So’ll Mark, he’s real good with cattle. And we’ll see how it’s done.’
Listening to the men, Dawn wondered what was so special about the next trail drive Goodnight planned to make. Since the War ended, he had been taking cattle to various Army posts. More than that, most cowhands already possessed experience in moving stock from place to place. So she wondered why the OD Connected needed to send its segundo and two men to learn how to handle a herd on the trail. There were other things of interest to the girl, what prices the cattle fetched from the Army and could anybody sell to the soldiers. Yet she could not think how to satisfy her curiosity without causing offence. Not knowing what to say, she took the wisest course and kept quiet.
Looking at the small Texan as they left the saloon, Dawn tried to reconcile his appearance with his reputation. Like most girls in Texas, she had always thought of Dusty as the tall, handsome, dashing cavalry leader who ran the hated Yankees ragged across the Arkansas battlefront. It came as something of a shock to meet him. Then she recalled how he had seemed to loom over the others when facing Keck and the two hardcases, and the speed with which he had moved when dealing with them. A man like Dusty Fog could not be judged in mere feet and inches. Came trouble, he stood tallest of them all.
Going to collect her bayo-tigre, she noticed that the white and bloodbay stallions had been taken from their places. When Dusty walked up to and freed the big paint, she guessed that the other two horses which had so interested her must belong to his friends. Thinking back to the stories she had heard of the Ysabel Kid, she remembered that he was said always to ride a white stallion credited with being a very effective second set of eyes, ears and nostrils for him. From the little she had seen of the white, she figured the tales might have some basis of truth.
‘That’s a real fine hoss, Cap’n Fog,’ Dawn remarked, noticing that he carried a short rifle of some sort in his saddle-boot. ‘I’ll bet he’s a fighter.’
‘He’s all of that,’ Du
sty agreed. Before he had ridden and mastered the big paint, it had thrown and crippled Ole Devil Hardin. xiii ‘Why’d you gather those cattle, Miss—?’
‘Sutherland,’ the girl supplied, blushing a little. ‘Dawn Sutherland. It’s about time for the buyer from the Brazoria hide-and-tallow factory to come around. So we’d got a bunch of steers gathered and held to sell to him.’
With conditions so bad in Texas, Dusty could imagine that the Sutherlands had a serious need of the money the cattle would bring. Supporting the Confederacy in the War, the people of the Lone Star State found themselves holding a worthless currency with the South’s defeat. In that respect Dusty’s kin had been fortunate. Due to the foresight of Ole Devil, most of the clan’s wealth had been in gold or invested overseas. So the OD Connected possessed sufficient funds to tide it over. Others had not been so lucky. Most likely the Sutherlands lived from hand to mouth, relying on being able to sell their stock where they could. The loss of the small herd would have dire results unless the steers could be recovered.
‘We’ll see that you get them all back,’ Dusty promised.
Going out to the herd, Dusty explained to Goodnight why his arrival had been delayed. He, Mark and the Kid had been helping a family of mustangers catch wild horses and fight against a murderous band of Mexican bandidos. xiv On reaching the herd, Goodnight decided that they would delay the cutting until Chisum arrived. Before he came, Dusty’s two companions rode up and Dawn saw that she had guessed correctly about their horses. Impatient to find her cattle, the girl rode off to circle the herd. Watching her go, while removing the bedroll from his white’s saddle, the Kid addressed the small Texan.
‘They’re locked away, Dusty, and I’d say that they’ll stay that way if the sheriff has anything to do with it.’
‘Ward Kater’s a good peace officer, Kid,’ Goodnight put in. ‘He’ll do whatever’s right.’