by J. T. Edson
‘Some of the crew wouldn’t hold for waiting,’ Dusty warned.
‘We could hold them!’ Narth stated grimly.
‘Not without gunplay,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘This drive’s too important to ruin when there’s a way out.’
‘Nothing’s important enough for you to hang Dawn!’ Narth spat back.
‘Josh!’ Dawn put in quietly. ‘I told the truth about what happened and I’m ready to face up to whatever comes. I know Dusty’ll do the right thing.’
‘You can count on it,’ Dusty assured her. ‘Now stay in the wagon. Get cleaned up and changed. I’ll send for you when I’m ready.’
Swinging himself to the ground, Dusty looked around the camp. He saw Jacko and the Mineral Wells men gathered around de Martin and walked their way. Glares varying from quizzical or challenging to frankly hostile on Jacko’s part, met the small Texan.
‘Dawn told her story—’ Dusty began.
‘Which you have accepted as true!’ de Martin interrupted.
‘Which I listened to,’ Dusty corrected. ‘She reckoned that she heard you asking Jacko here to go fetch your sister back to camp—’
‘I did. I wanted Barbe to help me take some photographs.’
‘Only Dawn allowed that you shouldn’t ought to be sending a feller to fetch her when she might still be undressed.’
‘The idea never entered my head,’ de Martin protested. ‘I knew I could trust my sister and Jacko both to behave in a proper manner.’
‘Dawn acted as she thought was for the best,’ Dusty replied, seeing the rest of the crew gathering around. ‘When she arrived, she found your sister dressed kind of skimpy and had got that shift, or whatever it is, tangled up on a branch. Dawn allows that she tore it getting it loose, which riled Barbe and made her jump her.’
‘My sister wouldn’t do such a thing!’ de Martin insisted and Jacko rumbled agreement.
‘What do you reckon happened then?’ Dusty inquired, knowing the trail crew was hanging on to every word he and the photographer said.
‘I don’t want to say anything prejudicial to Dawn before her trial—if she is given one—’
‘She’s going to be,’ Jacko put in grimly. ‘You can count on that.’
‘Go on, Edmond,’ Dusty requested as if the cowhand had not spoken.
‘All right, Dusty. You asked me to. From the start Dawn was jealous of my sister. You’ve all seen how she snubbed and ignored Barbe. Until Barbe came, Dawn was queen of the camp. Only Barbe ended all that. With such a beautiful woman around, the men stopped taking notice of Dawn and she hated Barbe for it. Then she may have blamed my sister for her brother’s death. So when she heard Jacko and I talking, she saw a chance to take her revenge. She lied to Jacko to send him away, went to where my sister was alone, unprotected, vulnerable, and attacked her.’
‘Your sister put up a hell of a fight for a lady,’ Dusty commented.
‘Fear and desperation must have lent her strength,’ de Martin answered. ‘She fought back with such fury that Dawn was afraid of being beaten, so pulled the gun and shot her.’
‘And that’s how you reckon it happened?’ Dusty asked.
‘There’s no other way—’
‘Unless Dawn told the truth. She hung her gunbelt over the bush—’
‘Doubtless thinking that she could easily thrash Barbe without needing it,’ de Martin countered.
‘The holster was on the side of the bush away from the clearing,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘Dawn’d’ve had trouble getting to it in a hurry. And she allows that somebody else shot Barbe, then threw the gun over the bushes and she picked it up.’
‘Is that likely?’ de Martin demanded, directing his words to the assembled men. ‘Who else but Dawn had reason to want my sister dead?’
‘Nobody!’ Jacko stated and there was a general rumble of agreement.
‘Can you prove any of what you have told us, Dusty?’ de Martin went on.
‘There was no sign on the ground, but the sand’d been churned up in the fussing,’ Dusty replied. ‘There was some sand on the gun.’
‘Gathered when she dropped it and collapsed,’ de Martin suggested.
‘Seems like you’re tolerable set on making out Dawn didn’t do it, Cap’n Fog,’ Jacko growled. ‘I don’t mind there being all this talk when Burle Willock shot Vern Sutherland.’
‘Perhaps Dusty doesn’t think my sister’s death should be treated in the same manner as the killing of Dawn’s brother,’ de Martin went on.
Angry murmurs rose from the assembled men, deep and menacing as the first rolling thunderclaps heralding the coming of a storm. Then Dusty spoke and his words brought silence in their wake.
‘When you talk about your “sister”, Edmond, don’t you really mean your wife?’
Although the small Texan’s comment clearly shocked de Martin, he recovered fast. After a brief flicker of shock and surprise, the photographer’s face took on a puzzled expression.
‘I don’t—’ he began.
‘It’s no good, de Martin!’ Dusty interrupted. ‘I saw the photograph in that book. Remember?’
‘Yes. But I explained—’
‘That’s how I know,’ Dusty stated. ‘If you and Barbe had been brother and sister, you’d not have bothered. But if you were man and wife, you’d not want me thinking so. I didn’t cotton on to it at the time, or until today in fact.’
‘Why today?’ de Martin asked in a brittle voice.
‘You put your love-bites where they shouldn’t’ve been seen,’ Dusty explained. ‘Only you didn’t count on her getting herself stripped to the waist.’
‘Dawn could have bitten her in the fight!’ de Martin spat out.
‘And did. Only the other bites’d been done a heap earlier,’ Dusty replied. ‘Anyways, there’s an easy enough way to prove what I’ve said. Go find that book with the photographs in it, Solly.’
One of the older, more mature Mineral Wells hands, Solly Sodak was all too aware of the danger in the situation. Wanting to help avert trouble, he nodded and moved to obey.
‘Here, Solly,’ de Martin said, reaching into the off side pocket of his jacket. ‘I’ll give you the key.’
While speaking, the photographer grasped something in the pocket and twisted up the side of the jacket to point it in Dusty’s direction. Thrusting himself aside, the small Texan missed death by inches. Flame spurted from the front of de Martin’s pocket and a bullet fanned hot breath by Dusty’s cheek in passing. Across flashed Dusty’s left hand, moving as soon as he began to step away from the danger. The right side Army Colt left its contoured holster and bellowed on the heels of the crack that sounded from de Martin’s pocket. Shock and disbelief twisted at the photographer’s face as lead plowed into his chest. He reeled under the impact, bringing his hand into sight holding a smoking Remington Double Derringer. Fortunately for him, he dropped the weapon as he tumbled backwards.
‘H-how—how did you—?’ de Martin gasped as Dusty came towards him.
‘I’ve known that you were carrying that stingy gun ever since you started doing it the morning after Heenan died,’ the small Texan replied.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ croaked Jacko, staring from Dusty to de Martin and back.
‘You mind how we’ve been expecting that Hayden feller to make fuss for us since the drive started?’ Dusty asked and nodded in the photographer’s direction. ‘This’s who he sent to do it. Him and his wife.’ Then Dusty turned his eyes to where Rowdy, Dawn and Narth were running from the bed-wagon. ‘See what you can do for him, Rowdy.’
~*~
Night had come and de Martin lay on the comfortable bed in his wagon. Looking at the men and girl gathered by him he read their thoughts, which gave added confirmation to his belief that death was close to him. Rowdy had done everything possible, but knew it to be only a matter of time before the end came. So the cook had raised no objections when de Martin asked to see Dawn, Dusty and Jacko.
‘You’re a smart bastar
d, Dusty Fog,’ de Martin said admiringly. ‘Nobody else suspected me.’
‘I’d been starting to after you sent Heenan to stompede the herd that night,’ Dawn objected.
Irritation showed on the dying man’s face and he spoke indignantly. ‘I don’t mind you thinking I’m a no-good murdering son-of-a-bitch, Dawn. But I’d hate for you to think I’d be stupid enough to make a fool play like that.’
‘You’re saying that Heenan acted on his own, huh?’ the girl asked.
‘With a little prompting from my dear, stupid wife.’ de Martin agreed. ‘I’m sorry, Jacko. But I knew her far better than you ever could.’
‘Damn you!’ Jacko spat out. ‘You killed her!’
‘Yes. She was so scared of Dawn that she was about to tell what she’d been sent to do. I had to shut her mouth, so did it in a way that might let me earn my fee for wrecking the trail drive.’
‘By getting us fighting among ourselves, same’s you’ve been trying all along,’ Dusty guessed.
‘It was a technique I developed in the last year of the War to create dissent among various Southern outfits, and have used to some success in the East since then. So I thought that it would work with no trouble, especially when I learned that several different ranches were involved. I felt that the inter-outfit rivalry could easily be fanned into open conflict. What I didn’t take into consideration was the high quality of leadership Colonel Goodnight and you showed, Dusty. That was a smart move at the start, having Mark take charge of Barbe. Yours, I presume?’
‘Uncle Charlie’s, but I’d likely’ve done the same.’
‘I don’t doubt it. The scheme nearly worked better than you expected. My dear wife had the morals of an alley cat. She was falling in love with Mark, or as near love as her cash-box mind could conceive. Her simple little brain got the notion that marriage to a rich rancher’s son might be preferable to that
with a professional trouble-maker. Fortunately I knew how to handle her. She yearned to have her love handed out roughly—I’m sorry, Dawn. This is hardly for your ears.’
‘I’ll live through it,’ the girl answered, blushing a little.
‘Let us say that I persuaded her to remain as she was,’ de Martin said. ‘So she met Mark with the reason I had taught her and I hovered in the background. If she had failed me, or offered to betray me, I’d have killed them both and been the tragic brother who found his sister being raped, then shot her by mistake along with her attacker. Mark had a narrow escape that night.’
‘So did you,’ Dusty told him. The Kid was watching you watching them. I’ll give you one thing though. At that time we figured the way you wanted us to and hadn’t got round to suspecting you.’
‘I’m good at my work,’ de Martin stated. ‘And who’d suspect a man involved in a business like photography? Anyway, I set Barbe to work on the younger hands. She worked on Vern and Burle and in the end caused the fatal fight. Only you stopped the trouble, Dusty—’
‘And Heenan killed Burle so we’d not learn he gave Burle the whiskey.’
‘As soon as he saw Burle show signs of surrendering,’ de Martin agreed. ‘I’d arranged for that when I supplied Heenan with the whiskey. You smoothed off the trouble I hoped to start over the crossing of the Staked Plains. Lord, how I had to work to keep Barbe from breaking down during the rains and across the desert. I had promised her we’d have our business done before we needed to cross. You spoiled that. I was willing to settle for tricking Austin into something that would stampede the herd, but you stopped him.’
‘He’d refused before I cut in,’ Dusty corrected.
‘Be that as it may, the idea failed. So Heenan decided to act on his own. If I’d have been stupid enough to plan that try, I’d certainly not have let you find me in the wagon. Barbe wanted convincing about the crossing and I was doing it when you came back. I hoped to do something on the desert, but Barbe wouldn’t let me out of her sight. I think Dawn saw one hysterical outburst—’
‘Sure,’ the girl confirmed.
‘Anyway,’ de Martin continued. ‘We crossed and on reaching the Pecos I put another scheme into action. I sent Barbe off into the bushes with instructions on what to do. Then I asked Jacko to collect her. The idea was that I should see Austin and express worries about having seen Jacko sneaking off in the direction Barbe had gone to bathe. Naturally Austin would have investigated, to find Barbe struggling to “protect her honor” from Jacko, having enticed him into a position where she could do so.’
‘Only I went, not Jacko,’ Dawn said.
‘Seeing Jacko coming after me handed me a hell of a shock,’ de Martin replied. ‘When he told me why, I wondered if you’d become suspicious. So I followed and watched the fight. I must say that I was pleased at the thrashing you gave Barbe. I also saw a way of getting rid of her. She was getting a little too unstable for our kind of work. When she looked like blabbing, I picked up your gun from its holster and shot her. Then I tossed the gun near you, waited until you had picked it up, slipped away and joined on to the rear of the men coming from camp.’
‘She was your wife!’ Dawn gasped.
‘Not a very satisfactory one,’ de Martin answered. ‘I saw a way to get rid of her without the risk of a legal comeback and to finish my work. With Barbe dead, I knew I could stir up bad feelings. Jacko and some of Willock’s friends, pointed the right way, would demand that “justice” was done. There would be others just as determined that they must protect Dawn.’
‘You came close to doing it,’ Dusty said.
‘Not close enough,’ de Martin objected weakly. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t be laying here.’
‘Why’ve you told us all this?’ Dusty asked.
‘Why am I betraying my employer, you mean?’ de Martin sighed. ‘It’s simple enough. I’ve the greatest admiration for you, Dusty. You’ve licked me all the way along the line. And I’d hate like hell to die without figuring you’ll take care of the man who caused me to be killed.’
Chapter Sixteen – It Licks Being Hung As a Cow Thief
‘John Chisum’s coming, Colonel Charlie!’ the Ysabel Kid announced, entering the Yellow Stripe saloon where Goodnight sat with his trail hands waiting to start the evening’s festivities.
It was the second day after the drive’s arrival at Fort Sumner. The Army’s cattle buyer had expressed his complete satisfaction with the three thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight steers which had survived the journey from Young County. In addition to purchasing the whole herd at the promised eight cents a pound on the hoof, Colonel Hunter had agreed that Goodnight had fulfilled the contract made on the rancher’s last visit. Buffalo had not been sold, the crew refused to part with him.
Dusty and Dawn had stayed with de Martin until he died. During the hour or so he had lingered, the man cleared up everything which puzzled them; including how he simulated such grief at Barbe’s death. While burying his face against his dead wife’s body, he had rubbed sand into his eyes and achieved the desired effect. He had also signed a statement that implicated Hayden as his employer.
After de Martin’s death, the remainder of the trip had gone by without incident. Receiving payment for the herd, Goodnight had paid out to his crew more money than most of them had ever seen. It would be a long time before the town of Fort Sumner forgot the celebrations that followed.
Coming to his feet, the rancher looked at Dusty and Mark. All around the room, the trail hands moved towards their leaders with hands loosening revolvers in holsters.
‘Let’s go see him!’ Austin Hoffman suggested.
‘Hold it!’ Goodnight barked, halting the concerted movement towards the bat-wing doors. ‘John Chisum saved my life, way back. So if he hands over the Mineral Wells cattle, we take them and call it quits.’
That’s good enough for us, Colonel Charlie!’ Ahlen stated and the others of the various ranches concerned rumbled their agreement. ‘We’ll play it any way you say.’
Needing beef urgently to feed the reservation Apac
hes, Colonel Hunter had split up and dispatched the herd to various agencies as soon as he had completed the purchase. So there was nothing in the Army’s big holding corrals to warn John Chisum that he had been beaten to Fort Sumner. Tall, thickset, bald, with coldly calculating eyes which belied the jovial aspect of his face, he dressed like a saddle-tramp and wore no gun. Swinging open the gate of the nearest corral, he rode aside and allowed his men to drive the herd in.
That’s got ’em here!’ declared Chisum’s tough-looking segundo, watching two of the hands close the gate on the drag of the herd. ‘I wonder if that second bunch got through the Kweharehnuh?’
‘I sure hope so,’ Chisum answered with such sincerity that he might have been telling the truth. ‘Fact being, I hope ole Charlie Goodnight makes it—’
‘He has!’ the man ejaculated, pointing with a thumb.
Turning, Chisum stared to where Goodnight, Dusty, the floating outfit and Ahlen were walking from between two of the houses that stood about fifty yards from the corral. Not all the floating outfit, Chisum noticed, for the Ysabel Kid was absent. If Chisum felt any concern, either by the Kid’s absence or Goodnight’s presence, he gave no sign of it as he rode to meet the approaching party. Behind him, the hard-faced, well-armed trail hands followed like buffalo-wolves on the heels of their pack leader.
‘That’s not Targue, the segundo he had in Graham,’ Dusty remarked to Goodnight. ‘Nor any of that bunch he had along.’
‘They’re the same kind though,’ the bearded rancher replied.
‘Howdy, Charlie,’ Chisum greeted. ‘Well I swan if I ever expected to see you here. How’d you lick us?’
‘Could be we passed you on the trail one dark night,’ Goodnight answered.
‘You’re joshing me!’ Chisum chuckled. ‘It’s good to see you and right pleasing that you’d come to say “Howdy” to ole Uncle John after a long drive.’
‘That’s not all we’re here for,’ Goodnight warned. ‘We’ve come to take the Mineral Wells cattle off your hands.’