by J. T. Edson
‘You’d best believe it, happen you want to keep Miss Barbe’s scalp from hanging on some tehnap’s lodge pole.’
‘But if you came as our guide, Lon—’ de Martin hinted.
‘Which I don’t aim to, even if it’d help. I took on to ride scout for Colonel Charlie, like these fellers took on to drive the cattle. So I’m keeping my word and doing just that.’
Almost instinctively the Kid had said the right thing and struck a nerve among Barbe’s protectors. To leave the herd would be betraying their trust and given word. That was something not even irresponsible cusses like Willock, Jacko or Austin wanted to do. Sensing their wavering, Dusty decided to offer them a way out that avoided a loss of face.
‘Take it this way, Edmond,’ he said to de Martin, but making sure his words carried to the trio. ‘Your only safe bet is to stick with us. But if you want to expose Barbe to the danger of being killed—or worse—by the Comanches, we’ll let these three fellers go along.’
That dropped the entire decision into the photographer’s lap. If he insisted on going away, it would be his stubbornness which endangered his sister’s life. Like Dusty, de Martin could see the uncertainty shown by her champions.
‘If you’re sure there’s danger—’ de Martin began.
‘I’d take my lodge oath on it,’ the Kid said with quiet sincerity.
‘Then we will accompany you, Charles,’ the photographer decided.
‘It’ll not be easy, I won’t pretend otherwise,’ Goodnight said. ‘We’ll all be on a strict allowance of water and if it runs short, the horses get first crack at it. That way alone we’ll get across alive.’
Watching the de Martins, Dusty read nothing on the man’s face. However Barbe showed anxiety and seemed to be on the verge of speaking. Her brother swung his head around and she closed her mouth. Swinging on her heel, she stalked towards their wagon and disappeared inside it. Muttering an apology, de Martin followed her.
‘Come and get it!’ boomed Rowdy with masterly timing, rattling a spoon against his cooking-pot. ‘Come and get it afore I feed it to the other hawgs.’
‘Come on, boys!’ Mark yelled. ‘I’m going to put some fat on afore I start to cross the Staked Plains.’
Chapter Eleven – You Hit Near On As Hard As My Pappy
That was close!’ Dusty breathed as he and Goodnight watched the rush for the chuck-wagon.
‘Real close,’ the rancher agreed. ‘I meant to tell the men about crossing as soon as I got back tonight. Only it looks I got beat to doing it.’
‘I’m sorry about that, Uncle Charlie.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘Harmlessly enough. De Martin got talking about how far we’ve covered and his sister fetched out an Army map. She asked me if I could show her where we’re at. I couldn’t lie about it with Swede and Sherm there. And as soon’s I’d showed her, they knew we weren’t on the trail you blazed with Oliver Loving.’
‘I should have told them earlier,’ Goodnight declared.
‘It all came out right in the end,’ Dusty answered. ‘Lucky for us Edmond saw sense. We couldn’t’ve spared those three or four young cusses who aimed to go along with him.’
‘No,’ Goodnight agreed. ‘And they’d’ve likely been fighting among themselves over Barbe afore they’d gone two miles. It’d’ve happened before now but for the way you’ve been keeping them apart. You’re doing a good job, Dustine.’
‘Looks like we’ll miss the main storm,’ Dusty said.
‘It’s coming heavy up north, for sure,’ Goodnight replied. ‘And don’t try to change the subject.’
‘No, sir. Further we go, the more I think we’ve lost Hayden’s men by coming this way.’
‘I like a segundo as takes orders,’ smiled Goodnight. ‘You could be right. Or maybe he figures that seven-day head start has us licked. Tell the Kid to keep watching our back trail regardless.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Dusty promised. Then he felt the first patter of rain and went on, ‘Here it comes. I’ll get my fish and ride out to the herd.’
Dressed in his yellow oilskin slicker, with the fish picture trademark that produced its name, the small Texan visited the night guard. He found that they had taken warning from the cloud-laden skies and carried protective clothing along. For the first time Billy Jack, Vern and Narth learned of the change in the route, although the former had suspected something of it for a few days. It did, however, furnish him with material for a mournful discourse on their probable fate. While Vern expressed amazement at his ‘female’ sister keeping a secret, Narth took the news more seriously. Yet, such was the faith they had attained in Goodnight and Dusty, that none of them considered the decision unwise, or that it would be other than successfully completed.
Although the trail drive missed passing through the center of the storm, it ran into continuing rain. For a week, with rain falling in varying degrees of severity, the cattle were kept moving westward. In one respect the inclement weather proved a blessing. All the trail hands were kept too busy to brood over Goodnight’s failure to inform them of his plans. Nor did the younger hands find time to resume their rivalry. If it came to a point, Barbe did not show to good advantage in the wet weather. Possibly her bedraggled appearance would have evoked sympathy, except that everybody was in the same condition. So Barbe’s whining and complaining produced little response other than irritation.
Through all the bad weather, Rowdy and Turkey performed miracles. Every day they managed to produce two hot meals and a plentiful supply of hot coffee for the crew.
At last the rains ended and, as if wishing to make up for the inconvenience, the sun blazed down on the sodden land. Finding an area of reasonably dry ground, Goodnight halted the herd for a day. With the cattle held under the minimum of a guard, the remainder of the party spread out and dried their clothing. Next day the journey was resumed.
Excitement, anticipation and a little concern filled the trail crew when they learned that the South Concho lay only a day’s drive ahead. For several days the pace had been slackened and the cattle encouraged to graze on the lush, rich, fattening buffalo grass. In the manner of their kind, the steers took advantage of the good feeding and blossomed into top condition. Which was just what the rancher wanted in view of what lay ahead.
‘We could push straight on across, sir,’ Dusty suggested as they watched the herd go by and start spreading on the bed-ground appointed for the night. ‘At dawn, I mean.’
‘No,’ Goodnight replied. ‘They need a rest up to let them take on all the food and water they can. We’ll stop here for four days.’
‘The longer we’re here, the more time the crew’ll have to think about how tough the crossing’s going to be,’ Dusty warned. ‘There’ll not be much work to keep them occupied while we’re in camp.’
‘A good rest won’t do them any harm any more than it will the steers,’ Goodnight replied and grinned at his nephew. ‘I reckon you can find something to keep them occupied.’
‘I’ll have to,’ Dusty answered. ‘If only to keep them from thinking about the Staked Plains—or about Miss Barbe.’
‘Here’s what I’ll do, Dustine,’ the rancher decided. ‘I’ll take Swede Ahlen, Sherman and one from each of the other Mineral Wells spreads along with me and the Kid on a scout. That’ll leave you short-handed enough to keep the rest of ’em busy.’
‘Sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Best take Austin along. That’ll be one of the rivals out of my hair.’
‘I could take them all—’
‘That’d make it too obvious, sir. Anyways, it’d be best to take men who’ll learn something from what they see. I can manage Vern, Jacko and Willock. Austin as well, comes to that.’
‘I’ll take Austin,’ Goodnight smiled. ‘You do what you have to for the rest.’
With the herd bedded down close to the South Concho, the trail hands gathered for the evening meal. On being told that they would accompany the rancher on his scouting mission, all but Austin ag
reed that it was a wise precaution. The Swinging G hand saw that his rivals would be left a clear—or reduced— field for Barbe’s favors, but reluctantly concluded that he must obey orders.
‘Sooner them than me!’ grinned Vern, heel-squatting by the fire. ‘All we’ve got to do here’s ride round nice ’n’ easy and watch them ole steers getting fatter.’
‘I sure wish I’d your faith,’ Dawn told him, darting a glance at Dusty. ‘Is that all we’ve got to do?’
That,’ Dusty replied and saw relief creep on to various faces. ‘And a few other li’l things.’
Listening to Dusty listing all the work he wanted doing, the cowhands lost their relieved expressions. Yet they knew that he was not inventing tasks out of ornery cussedness. Every chore he mentioned needed doing and would increase their chances of safely crossing the Staked Plains. Naturally none of Dusty’s audience intended to let their feelings show.
‘Would that be all, Cap’n Fog, sir?’ Billy Jack asked mildly. ‘You ain’t forgot something now, have you?’
‘If he says “yes”,’ Dawn hissed in the lanky cowhand’s ear, ‘I’m going to make all them bad things you’re expecting come true.’
‘They will anyways,’ Billy Jack replied, after Dusty had admitted that for the moment he could not think of further tasks. ‘You see if they don’t.’
‘Anyways,’ Dawn said. ‘We can sleep in real late comes morning. Why, Cap’n Dusty says we don’t need to roll out until full dawn.’
‘I’m riding the last watch on night herd,’ Billy Jack informed her, steadfastly refusing to accept that life held any bright side for him.
Next morning the majority of the trail crew enjoyed their extended spell in bed. Goodnight’s party left while the rest ate a leisurely breakfast. Before the men could depart on the tasks assigned to them by Dusty the previous night, Barbe left her wagon. She wore a dainty black Stetson, frilly-fronted white blouse and an Eastern-style riding-skirt. Followed by her brother and Heenan, she crossed to the fire and flashed a dazzling smile at Dusty.
‘As we are to be here for a time, I would like to go riding. Could you give me an escort, please, Captain Fog?’
‘I’ll—!’ said at least three eager male voices.
‘Dawn’ll do it,’ Dusty interrupted.
‘Shouldn’t a man go along, Dusty?’ de Martin inquired. ‘Not that I don’t trust Dawn, but—’
‘It’ll be safe enough,’ Dusty replied. ‘Don’t take Miss de Martin more than a mile from the camp, Dawn. And take along a rifle in case you get a chance to shoot some camp-meat.’
‘Yo!’ Dawn answered. ‘Come on, gal. I’ll pick you a hoss from the remuda.’
‘Thank you, but Mr. Heenan says I may use his,’ Barbe replied, a touch coldly. ‘It is saddled and waiting.’
‘Come on, it’s time some of you started working!’ Dusty growled. ‘Half the day’s gone and nothing done. Cousin Red, you’re segundo on the herd. Take your crew and let the night herders come in afore Billy Jack starves to death.’
‘Vern, Jacko, Burle, Spat. Let’s go.’
Watching Red’s section leave, Dusty wondered if he had made the right decision sending the first three out together. Yet they would be safer away from the camp than continually thrown into close contact with Barbe in each other’s company. Red and Spat would act as restraining influences while they handled the comparatively easy work of holding the herd on the eastern banks of the river.
Although understanding why Dusty had given her the task, Dawn did not care for it. A friendly-natured girl, she had tried to be sociable with Barbe on several occasions and been, if not completely snubbed, shown that the other girl had no desire for her company. Coming from two entirely different environments, they had nothing in common that might have drawn them closer. So, while willing to carry out her orders, Dawn made little attempt at conversation as they rode away from the camp. Concentrating on keeping her seat, Barbe spoke little and Dawn concentrated upon watching for signs of deer, elk or pronghorn antelope.
Evidently the presence of the herd had temporarily driven away the wild animals, for Dawn and Barbe circled the area and approached where the herd was held without the western girl seeing anything suitable to shoot for camp-meat. Dawn made as if to turn away, but Barbe asked if they could go closer and see the cattle. Not wishing to appear obstructive, Dawn agreed. As they rode nearer, Burle Willock saw them and headed in their direction. Removing his hat with a flourish, the cowhand bowed over his saddlehorn.
‘Howdy, Miss Barbe,’ he greeted. ‘It’s sure pleasing to see you out here.’
‘My! What a tremendous lot of cattle!’ Barbe replied, looking around. ‘There seem to be so many more when you see them like this. What do you do if one of them tries to run away?’
‘Turn him back. I can right easy show you.’
Before Willock could make good his promise, Vern came galloping up from the opposite direction and Jacko rode their way.
‘Hey, Miss Barbe!’ Vern said, bringing his horse to a sliding stop.
‘Ain’t you supposed to be up that ways, watching them draws?’ Willock demanded coldly.
‘So?’ Vern challenged. ‘You’re reckoned to be out on that rim, comes to that.’
Moving his horse forward, Willock halted it alongside Vern’s mount and thrust his face forward grimly. ‘You get back to what you should be doing, boy!’
‘Don’t you go giving me no orders!’ Vern spat back.
‘Quit it, the pair of you!’ Dawn snapped. ‘Red’s coming—’
‘Now you back off, sonny,’ Willock snarled, drowning the girl’s warning. ‘This time you don’t have Dusty Fog on hand to take your pa—’
Even as Dawn opened her mouth to repeat the warning, Vern flung himself at Willock. Locked together, they slid sideways from the horse and lit down fighting. Leaping from her saddle, Dawn darted towards the struggling pair.
‘Quit it, you fools!’ she yelled, trying to separate them as they came to their feet. ‘Cut i—’
With a surging heave Willock threw the girl from his arm. She sprawled on to her rump in time to see Vern drive a punch into the other cowhand’s face. Sent back a few paces, Willock caught his balance and went into a half-crouch. When Vern charged in recklessly, the more experienced Willock caught him by his vest. Partially trapping the youngster’s arms, Willock jerked him closer and butted him between the eyes. Shoving the dazed Vern, Willock sent him reeling to tumble over his sister. Continuing to roll, Vern got clear of Dawn and started to rise. With a grin at Barbe, who sat watching with detached interest, Willock moved forward meaning to hand Vern the beating of his life.
The chance did not come. Having seen the girls’ arrival and movement by the cowhands in their direction, Red Blaze wasted no time in making for them. His first intention had been to chase the men back to their work, but the fight gave him a more serious purpose. Maybe Red was a hothead who reveled in fighting, but he never did so at the expense of his duties. So he raced his horse towards the others, ready to end the fight.
Without a glance at Jacko, who had already ridden up and dismounted clear of the combatants, Red quit his running horse and relied on its trailing reins to halt it. On landing, he hurled forward and shoulder-charged Willock. The force of the impact lifted the unsuspecting cowhand from his feet and flung him aside. From doing so, Red pivoted fast to meet the approaching Vern. Lashing around his right arm, Red delivered a backhand blow which sent the youngster spinning. From dealing with Vern, Red started to turn on Willock. What he saw made him put the cowhand out of his thoughts for the moment.
While Jacko was a good cowhand, he was not bright. Loyal to his friends, he regarded Red’s treatment of Willock as unreasonable or part of a plot by the D4S to gang up on the Double Two hand. So he rushed to Willock’s defense and reached for his Colt. In addition to recognizing his own danger, Red knew that a shot might spook the herd and would certainly provoke a gunfight. So he did not hesitate. Leaping forward as the other t
ried to clear the revolver from its poorly designed holster, Red kicked him in the groin. Trained from his earliest days to respect firearms and that he must never pull a gun without the intention of using it, Red figured everybody should follow the same rule. Acting on it, he stopped Jacko in a painful, but most effective, manner. Letting out a croak of agony, the cowhand folded over, forgot drawing his Colt and collapsed face down on the grass.
‘All right!’ Red barked, swinging to face Willock once more. ‘If you want to fight, get up and try me.’
Winded by the charge, Willock shook his head. He knew enough about Red to figure taking him would be far harder and much less certain than licking Vern. So, having no desire to let Barbe see him beaten, Willock declined the offer.
‘I—I ain’t got no fuss with you, Red. It’s betw—’
‘Get your hoss and head back to camp!’ Red interrupted. ‘Tell Dusty to send me three men out here.’
‘Sure,’ Willock answered sullenly and obeyed without offering to help the moaning Jacko.
‘Whooee!’ Vern groaned, standing up and rubbing his cheek. ‘Red, you hit near on as hard as my pappy—’
‘Go watch those draws until somebody comes out to relieve you!’ Red snapped. ‘And if any of the cattle’ve strayed down ’em, I’ll kick you ’round the camp when I come in.’ With that he turned from the abashed youngster and went to help Jacko rise. ‘Sorry, feller, but I had to stop you firing off that gun.’
‘G-Get your hands off!’ Jacko muttered, holding the injured area and shrugging himself away. ‘I’ll—’
‘Take your hoss and head back to camp,’ Red said. ‘See Rowdy and ask him to give you something for your hurts.’
‘I—I won’t be forgetting—!’ Jacko began, then moaned and staggered to one side and vomited. When he had finished, he stumbled to his horse, dragged himself into the saddle and rode awkwardly after the departing Willock.
Red frowned then gave his attention to the girls. Standing up, Dawn went to the waiting bayo-tigre and mounted.