by J. T. Edson
Slowly as a snail crossing a leaf, Dusty moved forward. He did not for an instant take his eyes from the woman’s face, trying to hold her attention on him. So far she had not pressed the shotgun’s trigger but one fast move could cause her forefinger to close and send the weapon’s deadly charge into him. Despite his earlier scoffing Dusty knew even a charge of birdshot at that range would be more than lethal and would blow a hole like a cannon’s bore in him. One quick move, one sudden sound even, might cause her to press the trigger.
It was as deadly and dangerous a situation as Dusty had ever been in. Perhaps the most dangerous. If this had been a man bad mean and set on killing, Dusty could have handled things differently. Only this was no man, but a terrified woman driven to the verge of madness, hysterical and not responsible for her actions.
Perhaps Doc Leroy knew the danger better than Rusty, than Dusty even. For a time, before circumstances sent him home to Texas and to become a cowhand working for Stone Hart’s Wedge, Doc read medicine in an eastern college. He did not complete the course but spent every spare minute when in town working with the local medicine man, learning all he could. On the trail he handled the doctoring chores which fell to the cook in most cases. He would take care of injuries, splint and care for broken limbs, diagnose various illnesses and produce their cures, Within the limitations of his medical supplies. He probably knew more about the extraction of bullets than most eastern doctors ever learned. On two occasions, when driven to it by the force of circumstances, he delivered babies. So Doc had knowledge of the effect of hysteria. He knew the full danger of Dusty going towards the woman and he felt more scared than he had ever been in his life.
Still moving slowly Dusty made his way towards the woman, edging to the right with the barrels of the gun following him like iron filings after a magnet. He knew his friends were now clear of the shotgun’s charge and there only remained the problem of getting the weapon away from her without taking its charge full in his belly. For the first time he looked down at the gun, seeing that the right side hammer only had been cocked back, the left lying safe and down.
An inch at a time, moving with the same slowness which covered all his moves since dismounting, Dusty’s right hand went up, gripped the brim of his Stetson and removed it. He was close to the woman, but not close enough to chance a straight grab, not while her finger rested on the trigger. However the gun aimed at him, his friends were in the clear. He had brought them into this mess and must get them out of it without injury if possible. That was the way Dusty Fog thought and acted.
‘Just take it easy, ma’am,’ he said, keeping his voice gentle and fighting to hold the tension out of it. His eyes were on her face once more. ‘Afore you can shoot you’ll have to cock back the hammers.’
The woman’s eyes dropped towards the breech of her shotgun. For an instant her finger relaxed on the trigger. Instantly Dusty slapped his hat around, knocking the shotgun’s barrels to the right while he made a fast side step to the left. For all that it was close, very close. The gun bellowed, he felt the hot muzzle blast and the hot rush of air and burnt powder stirred his shirt, but the lethal load, not yet spread on leaving the barrel, missed him.
Jumping forward Dusty grabbed the shotgun by its barrels and dragged forward at it. The woman gave a scream of terror, she tried to fumble back the second hammer but Dusty plucked the shotgun from her hands. She stood for a moment, staring at Dusty, while Doc and Rusty came out of their saddles and the mount Dusty borrowed from Lasalle took off for home on the run.
‘Catch my saddle, Rusty!’ Dusty yelled, giving the old range request for aid; for while the horse a cowhand rode mostly belonged to the ranch’s remuda it carried his most precious and vital item of personal property, his saddle.
The words seemed to shake the woman out of her paralysis. With a scream she flung herself at Dusty, coming all teeth and fingernails, a wild-cat ready to use primeval fighting equipment to defend her home and husband. Dusty did not dare take a chance. He caught her by the wrists, holding her as she struggled with almost super-human strength, feet lashing out and arms fighting against his grip. He saw Rusty take off after his departing horse and felt relieved. Nothing in the west caused so much anxiety as a riderless, saddled horse. Dusty knew Mark would be worried if his mount came back to Lasalle’s empty. He did not want his big amigo coming looking for him and leaving the Lasalle house with only a small guard.
For a moment the woman struggled, until Doc caught her by the arms from behind and held her. Then she seemed to collapse into herself. The shotgun, thrown to one side by Dusty when he found need to prevent her scratching his eyes out, lay on the ground but she did not look at it. Instead she lifted dull, lifeless eyes to his face and spoke in a strangled voice.
‘All right. Do what you like with me, but leave my husband alone.’
Dusty and Doc released her, but Dusty took up the shotgun and removed its percussion cap to make sure the weapon could not be turned against him. Then he stood with his back to the two, allowing the tension to ooze from him. In his time as a lawman Dusty had found cause to use a shotgun on a man, it was not a pretty sight. A man did not just shake off, and laugh at it as being nothing, almost winding up the same way.
Knowing how Dusty must feel, Doc gently turned the woman to face him. ‘Now easy there, ma’am,’ he said. ‘We’re not from the Double K.’
‘Freda Lasalle sent us over,’ Dusty went on, his voice sounding just a little shaky still, and not turning around.
At that moment Doc threw a look at the partly open door of the house. What he saw brought an angry growl from his throat and sent him running for the house. Dusty turned and followed, seeing what Doc saw and forgetting his personal feelings in the urgency of the matter. The woman turned, watching them, looking as if all her will had been drained out of her. Then she heard hooves and turned to see Rusty riding back, leading the Lasalle’s horse. He swung down from the saddle, left his horse standing with its reins dangling and the runaway fastened to the saddle-horn. Coming towards the woman he threw a glance at the stiff body of the bluetick hound.
‘Nobody but a stinking Yankee’d shoot a good dawg like that’n,’ he said in a tone that boded ill for the man who shot the dog if Rusty ever laid hands on him. Where’d I find a spade, ma’am? I’ll tend to burying him.’
He got no reply, for the woman turned on her heels and fled to the house, Rusty did not follow, but headed for the damaged barn to see if he could find a shovel.
Dusty and Doc were already in the house. The building, made on the same lines as Lasalle’s home, had once been just as neat, tidy and pleasant. Now the front room looked as if a whirlwind had passed through it. The table had been thrown over, chairs broken, the sofa’s covers slashed open to expose springs and stuffing. The cupboards were shattered and broken, crockery lying in pieces on the floor. Just inside the door, face down, head resting on a pillow lay the woman’s husband, a tall, powerful looking man of middle-age. His back carried marks left by the lash of a blacksnake whip.
‘Don’t touch him!’ gasped the woman, entering the room just as Doc went to his knees by the man.
‘Get me some hot water, ma’am,’ Doe answered gently. ‘Happen they’ve left you anything to heat it in. And I’ll want some clean white cloth. I’ve got to get that shirt off and tend to his back.’
At last the woman seemed to realize that her visitors meant her no harm. She made an effort, then led Dusty to the kitchen. It appeared the Double K restricted their efforts to the out-buildings and the front room for the neat kitchen remained intact and she had already been heating water when they rode up.
What happened, ma’am?’ Dusty asked, leading the woman from the room as soon as she gave Doc the water and cloth. Doc was never too amiable when handling a medical or surgical chore and it paid to steer well clear of him at such times.
‘Some of the Double K men came to see us early on. They told us to sell out and leave. Said they would be back after they saw the
Joneses. Later on they came back. Ralph told them he didn’t aim to quit and they jumped him. Sam tried to help, but one of them shot him down. They lashed Ralph to the corral and whipped him, while one of them held me, made me watch. Then they wrecked everything they could and rode away. They said they’d be back tomorrow. I thought you — I thought— Oh lord! I nearly k-killed you!’
‘You were scared, ma’am,’ Dusty answered. ‘You couldn’t know.’
The sound of digging brought her attention from Dusty. She looked to where Rusty Willis, who at normal times wouldn’t have thought of touching the blister end of a spade, dug a grave for the dog.
Then she turned and started to cry, the sobs ripping from her, tears pouring down her cheeks in a steady flow. The anguish she must have held bottled up inside while she tried to do something for her husband and about the wreck of her home, boiled out of her. She knew herself to be safe and in good hands. Now she could be a woman and cry out her misery.
Dusty let her get on with it, knowing she would be better once the crying ended. He waited by her side and at last she dried her eyes, turning to him once more and showing she had full control of herself,
‘I should help your friend. I was a nurse for a time in the War. After the men rode away I managed to get Ralph inside the house. I had laudanum in the medicine chest, they hadn’t touched it. I gave Ralph some to ease the pain. I didn’t know what to do for the best. Can your friend do anything for my husband?’
‘Reckon he can, ma’am? There was a time when a trail hand for the Wedge took sick, like to die. Ole Doc there, he went to work and operated with a bowie knife and a bottle of whisky. He saved that hand’s life. Yea, I reckon he can handle your husband’s hurts all right.’
At that moment they heard the sound of hooves. Rusty dropped the spade and fetched out his Dance. Dusty turned, hands ready to bring out the matched Colts. He knew only one horse approached but prepared to tell the woman to head for the house. It didn’t seem likely that Double K would send one man to visit the ranch, but one of the hired guns might have the idea that a woman left alone and in a state of terror would be easy meat.
‘Don’t shoot!’ Joyce Gibbs gasped, seeing and recognizing the rider. ‘It’s Yance. He works for Pop Jones.’
Riding at a fast trot the grizzled cowhand came towards the others. He halted his horse and threw a glance at Dusty and Rusty, then relaxed. Neither were the kind Double K hired.
‘See they been here, too,’ he said in an angry tone. ‘They treat you folks bad, Mrs. Gibbs?’
‘Ralph’s hurt,’ she replied. ‘These gents came by and lent a hand. Have they been to your place?’
‘Came in on their way through here. Told Pop to sell out and go. He allows to do it. Him and Maw’s getting too old for fussing with that bunch. I’d’ve started shooting, but Maw said no.’
‘When do they have to leave by, friend?’ Dusty asked, stepping by Joyce.
‘Double K allow to come in tomorrow and make sure we’re ready to up stakes and pull out.’
Studying Dusty, the cowhand did not see a small, insignificant man, he saw a master of their trade, a tophand more than normally competent with the matched brace of guns he wore. Yance did not know from where Dusty and Rusty came, but he knew they looked like the kind of men who could handle the Double K bunch. He hoped they would stay on and help the Gibbs family who were real nice folks and deserved better than to be driven out from their homes. Yance was more than willing to listen to any words of wisdom the small Texan might hand out.
‘You head back to your spread,’ Dusty told him. ‘I’ll try and get a couple or so hands over to you in the morning. If they haven’t made it by ten o’clock tell your boss to upstakes and head for Lasalle’s. Don’t stand and fight.’
‘You at Lasalle’s?’ Yance asked.
‘Sure.’
‘I’ll tell Pop. Only I sure hope that you-all can get the men to us. I’d like to tie into Double K with some good men at my back.’
He wasted no more time in talk. Turning his horse he headed for his home spread, but he rode in a more jaunty manner. Joyce saw this and wondered who the small man might be.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, then her face flushed red for such a question was never asked in polite western society.
For once Dusty took no offence at the words. He introduced himself and Rusty telling her who Doc was. Then he kept her talking while Rusty finished the grave-digging and buried the dog.
‘They broke a tea set my mother gave me for my wedding!’ she said suddenly, recalling something. Tears glistened in her eyes as she said the words and she clenched her fists, trying to avoid breaking down once more for the reaction still hung over her.
‘One thing I promise, ma’am,’ Dusty replied. ‘The man responsible for this lot here’s going to pay for it.’
CHAPTER TEN
THE COMING OF THE WEDGE
BEFORE Joyce Gibbs could sink into despondency again she saw Doc come out of the cabin and started towards him with Dusty at her side.
‘I’ve fixed his back, ma’am,’ Doe drawled. ‘Cleaned the wounds and got them covered. It’s bad enough. He’ll likely carry the scars until he dies and it’ll hurt like hell for a time. But there’s no injury to his spine as far as I can tell.’
‘We can’t move him, then?’ Dusty asked.
‘From where he lies to the bed is all,’ Doc replied. ‘Happen you mean can we take him out of here.’
‘That’s what I meant. Rusty, lend a hand to tote him to his bed. Then get your hoss and head back to the herd. Ask Stone if he can send a few of the crew to lend a hand up this ways. Tell him what’s happened and that I’ll likely come down and see him in the morning, but to get the boys here if he can spare them.’
‘Yo!’ replied Rusty, giving the cavalry affirmative answer.
‘Lasalle’s place is over that way. Happen you see it, call on in and tell Mark I won’t see him until morning.’
Joyce watched the men heading into her house. It took some getting used to, the way the two men jumped to obey the small Texan, a man she would have passed in the street without a second glance. Of course she had heard of Dusty Fog, but never would she have pictured him as this small, insignificant cowhand.
Following the two men into the house she watched the gentle way they carried her husband into the bedroom and laid him on the bed, face down. She also blushed at some of the sotto voce comments Doc heaped on his friends if they did not handle Ralph in the manner he felt correct. Already the laudanum had started to wear off and Ralph groaned in pain.
‘Just stay by him, ma’am,’ Doe said. ‘Until he’s sane enough to know better, I mean with the pain and all, and strong enough to get out of it, we’ll have to make sure he keeps his face from burying into the pillow. I’d stay on, but I’ll see what Dusty wants first.’
He left Joyce with her husband and headed out to find Dusty watching Rusty ride off.
‘What now?’ Doc asked.
‘We’d best put the hosses in the barn first, then get set for a long wait and maybe a fight.’
They took their mounts to the stable and found that the damage had been done only to the outer walls. So they removed their double girthed saddles and left the horses in empty stalls, then headed for the house, taking the saddles with them.
Dusty spent the rest of the afternoon helping Joyce do what she could about the damage to the house. They set the table up and found that two chairs remained unbroken, but the rest were smashed beyond repair. Dusty swore again that he would make the men behind the raid pay for what they did and he meant it in more ways than one.
‘Your husband’s awake, ma’am,’ Doc said, just before dark as he entered the room. ‘Come on in and see him.’
Joyce followed the slim Texan into the bedroom and found her husband, his face lined with pain still, looking at her although he still lay on his face.
‘I’d like to thank you gents for helping us,’ Ralph Gibbs said, looking at Dusty wh
o followed his wife into the room.
‘There’s no call for that,’ Dusty replied. ‘I only wish that I got here in time to stop them doing what they did.’
‘You fed our guests, honey?’ Ralph asked.
‘I did the best I could,’ she answered. ‘Used some of the chickens the men killed, made up enough for us all. I’ll fetch you some broth in.’
‘You fixing on sticking here?’ Dusty asked. ‘If you are, I’ll have some men on hand to help fight off that Double K bunch when they come.’
‘I’m staying!’ stated Gibbs firmly. ‘Although how I’ll manage for food I don’t know. That bunch told me the only way we could buy supplies was to sell out to Mallick and he’d give us a note for the store.’
‘I’ve got an answer for that,’ Dusty said quietly. ‘How about your market herd, did you get it gathered?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to hire a couple of hands for a roundup but there’s none to be had out this way.’
‘We’ll see what we can do,’ promised Dusty. ‘So— Douse the lights Doc. We’ve got callers.’
They all heard the rapid drumming of hooves and this time not just one horse but several.
Doc quickly doused the light in the room and Dusty darted across to blow out the lamp on the dining-room table. The house plunged into darkness and Dusty stood by a window. He heard a soft footfall and saw Doc coming towards him.
‘You ought to be with her,’ Dusty said.
‘That’s what I thought,’ replied Doc and his teeth gleamed white in a grin. ‘Only I done fetched in, cleaned and loaded that old ten gauge and Mrs. Gibbs done got it by the window, swears to fill the hide of the first Double K skunk she sees out there. She’ll do it, too, or I’ve never seen a gal who could.’
‘I reckon she will,’ agreed Dusty for he knew Joyce had regained control of herself and was the more dangerous for it. Now she could handle the shotgun in cold determination and she knew how to make the most of it.