by J. T. Edson
One thought led to another, Mark’s nostrils quivered as he sniffed at the sickly scent which still hung in the office.
‘Remember that first time we came to see Mallick, Dusty?’ he asked. ‘We smelled this same scent in here then. Thought it might be some calico cat Mallick had been entertaining. Only I know it wasn’t. That fat little swish* who owns the Jackieboy Saloon uses it. And the trained ape he had with him was strong enough to have bust this feller’s neck with a punch.’
‘Best go along to the saloon then,’ Dusty replied.
As Dusty expected, the saloon’s owner had departed with Mallick and nobody appeared to know where they had gone. However, on going outside to see that everything in the streets was peaceful and the Double K men cleared out of town, Dusty met Matt Roylan. After the storekeeper thanked him for freeing Barlock from the clutches of the gunmen, Roylan remarked that he had seen Mallick, Disraeli and Knuckles making a hurried departure in the direction of the Double K.
Before any more could be said an interruption, in the shape of a fast riding man, stopped the conversation. They all recognized George Lasalle and wondered what brought him into town at such a speed.
‘Captain Fog!’ Lasalle gasped, even before his horse slid to a halt. ‘Miss Keller came to visit us this morning. Her father thinks he bought all our land. She asked Freda and Morg to go back with her to the Double K house to see and explain things to her father.’
‘Dusty’s face looked suddenly grim. He turned to the listening men and they saw that he considered the situation to be very grave.
‘Mark, Waco!’ he snapped. ‘Get your horses. Mallick’s headed for the Double K and happen he finds Freda and Morg there all hell’s due to pop!’
oooOooo
* Swish: HOMOSEXUAL
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MALLICK’S PLAN
THE redbone hound raised his head and gave a low growl which caused Morg Summers to drop the hammer, come to his feet and reach for his gun. It made Freda Lasalle lay aside the bowl of peas she had been shelling, while sitting on the front porch, so she could talk with Morg as he repaired a section of the flooring damaged in the fight. Freda threw a look to where her shotgun leaned by the door for she caught the sound of horse’s hooves.
‘One horse, gal, coming easy,’ Morg said, but did not relax. He raised his voice: ‘Boss! We got callers!’
This brought Lasalle to the door of the barn. He stepped from the door and crossed the open to the house, a hand resting on the butt of the Colt in his waistband. On the porch he looked at the other two, then at the dog which, having done his duty in giving a warning, now lay on the porch with an eye on the open house door in case a sudden departure to the safety of his mistresses’s bedroom be called for.
‘A gal,’ said Morg, as the approaching rider came into view on the river bank, then turned her horse and rode to where the bank sloped down towards the ford, her eyes on the house.
‘And a pretty one,’ Freda answered.
‘Sure. Rides good too,’ said Morg, his hand going out to gently squeeze her arm. ‘I bet she can’t cook as well as you do. And I never saw a riding outfit like that afore.’
Woman-like, Freda’s first look had been at the newcomer’s clothes. Even at that distance she could tell the clothes were good quality and well-tailored. She had never seen a woman wearing a top hat or an outfit like that worn by the newcomer but grudgingly admitted the clothes looked good and the girl had a figure to show them off.
Sitting her horse with easy grace, Norma Keller rode along the river bank, studying the small house and the three people before it. She reached the top of the slope and rode down towards the water. Then she remembered something the army captain who commanded their escort from Dodge City told her one night. Halting the horse at the edge of the water she raised a hand in greeting.
‘May I ride across?’ she called.
‘Come ahead,’ Freda answered, watching Norma and seeing the easy way the other girl rode through the water and towards the house.
‘Good morning,’ Norma greeted, halting the horse. ‘I appear to have lost my way. I saw smoke from your chimney and rode this way. It puzzled me somewhat. Mr. Mallick did not mention that there were any tenants farming on our property.’
‘Tenants — farming!’ snorted Freda, more annoyed because the other girl drew praise from Morg than for any other reason.
‘I’m afraid this isn’t your land, Miss Keller,’ Lasalle put in, guessing who the girl must be for he had heard upper-class British accents before.
A slight frown came on Norma’s face. ‘That’s strange. I pride myself on being a good judge of distance and I thought I had at least another two miles before I came to the end of our property.’
Lasalle saw the light immediately. He also had to admit the girl was a good judge of distance for there would be another two mile or so more — if the Lindon Land Grant covered the area shown on the map he fixed together for Dusty Fog and which still lay in the side-piece drawer.
‘I think there’s something you should know, ma’am,’ he said, stepping forward. Would you come inside please.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Norma. ‘I would like directions to the house though.’
‘You must have a cup of coffee first,’ Freda put in, her hospitable nature coming to the fore. ‘We haven’t had a chance to meet you so far.’
‘Thank you again,’ smiled Norma. ‘I think I will stay. I haven’t met any of the neighbours yet. Papa managed to crock his ankle up and we haven’t managed to get around much as yet.’
She slid down from her saddle without needing any help and, a point in her favour, attended to the horse before she came on to the porch. She looked down at Bugle for a moment and he beat his tail on the porch floor.
‘I say,’ she said. ‘He’s a redbone, isn’t he?’
‘Sure is, ma’am,’ agreed Morg. ‘Real good one, too.’
‘Papa hopes to bring some foxhound and staghounds from England if the hunting is worthwhile,’ she replied. ‘Are there any foxes about?’
‘A few,’ Lasalle replied. ‘But more chance of cougar, or bear.’
‘I never thought of hunting such dangerous beasts with hounds,’ Norma remarked. ‘It sounds interesting.’
The girl’s attitude surprised Lasalle and puzzled him. She did not appear to have any idea of the trouble the Double K men caused throughout the Panhandle country. In fact, from the way she acted, she did not appear to know there were other people in the country. Lasalle decided to show the girl the map and tell her how Mallick and his men acted in her father’s name. It would be interesting to see her reactions.
With that in mind Lasalle escorted Norma into the dining-room and seated her at the table. Then he crossed to the sidepiece and took out a map and a deed box. Norma glanced at the kitchen where Freda had gone to make the coffee and slam things about. A smile crept to Norma’s face for she had not failed to notice the other girl’s hostile looks and read them for what they were, the jealousy of a young girl very much in love.
‘Have you seen anything like this before, ma’am?’ Lasalle asked, spreading the map before her on the table.
She looked down at it, then raised her eyes to his face.
‘It appears to be a map of our est — ranch,’ she answered. ‘But what is this piece marked off for?’
‘I can show you better on this map,’ Lasalle replied, opening the metal deed box to take out and open another map of the area. ‘This is the correct shape of the Lincoln Land Grant. This part down here is not a part of the Grant. There are, or were, four small ranches on here?
Norma frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘The map Papa received from Mr. Mallick showed that we own all the block of land. I forget how many thousand acres it came to. What does this mean?’
‘I think I’d better start at the beginning and tell you everything,’ Lasalle replied, taking a seat and facing the girl.
Starting at the beginning and
hiding nothing, neither making things worse nor better, Lasalle told Norma of the happenings since Mallick offered to buy them out. The girl watched him, her face showing horror as he spoke of one family driven from their home and the other three attacked, brow-beaten, having pressure brought to bear on them to sell and clear out.
Looking at the shattered windows, the bullet holes in the walls and sidepiece, Norma’s lips drew tight and grim.
‘You mean that my father’s employees did this?’ she asked. ‘Attacked your home, whipped that poor chap and wrecked his home?’
‘They did.’
Strangely it never occurred to Norma to doubt Lasalle’s word. She thought of the sullen men at the ranch, of little incidents, like that party which returned late one night cursing and making a lot of noise. Norma fancied her judgment of character and liked this family even though they had not introduced themselves nor she to them.
‘Papa and I have only been here a few days,’ she said. ‘And with Papa having crocked his ankle he hasn’t been able to look over his property. He loathes riding in a carriage of any kind. But he must be told. Would you come with me to the ranch and help me explain?’
‘We will,’ agreed Lasalle.
‘And of course Papa will discharge all the men and make restitution for the damage caused in his name,’ said Norma. ‘I promise you that not one of the men will remain here when they return from their work today.’
‘What work’s that, ma’am?’ Morg asked.
‘I don’t really know. They all rode out early this morning and I haven’t seen anything of them.’
Three faces looked at each other. Lasalle, Freda and Morg exchanged glances which were pregnant with expression.
‘Morg, take Miss Keller and Freda to the Double K. I’ll head for town to warn Captain Fog!’
‘Be best!’ Morg agreed.
All thought that the hired guns might be gathering to make one last final onslaught on the small ranchers. In that case a fighting force such as Dusty gathered would be of vital importance.
Freda dashed into her bedroom to change for the trip while Morg left to catch and saddle two horses. Lasalle and Norma talked on and the more they talked the more sure of Sir James Keller’s innocence Lasalle became.
The door to Freda’s bedroom opened and Norma looked towards it, a smile came to her lips.
‘I say, that is a fetching outfit,’ she said, studying the shirt-waist, jeans and high heeled cowhand boots Freda now wore. ‘I must get something like it. I’m afraid these togs are more suited for a Hunt meet in Leicestershire than for out on the range.’
In a few seconds Freda had lost her jealous suspicions and was talking clothes with Norma like they had been friends for years. The girls took their horses and with Morg riding on one side, Norma on the other, Freda headed them in the direction of the Double K house.
Talk passed amongst them as they rode across the range. Norma wanted to know so much that the sullen hard-cases who formed the ranch crew could not, or would not explain. She managed to preserve a nice balance of keeping Morg answering her questions without giving Freda anything to complain about. In fact Freda could tell of conditions in this section of the range far better than Morg. Norma told the other two of her adventure with the courgar and Freda recognized the Kid’s description.
When the Ysabel Kid did not return from Bent’s Ford, Freda had worried but Dusty and Mark told her not to. They stated flatly that Double K didn’t hire a man capable of catching up to, or downing, their amigo. Sure the Kid hadn’t returned, but most likely he had good reason for it. Red Blaze might need help with the herd, some word from Ole Devil Hardin might have been received, or the Kid might be around, staked out on the plains somewhere, watching every move the Double K made. Their very confidence reassured Freda. From what Norma, they knew each other’s names by now, said the Kid had been busy on his way north.
They came to the big old Double K house, a fine, stoutly built, two story wooden structure strong enough to act as a fort in time of trouble. Right now it looked silent and deserted, a few horses in the corral moving about, but not a sign of life. The bunkhouse and cookshack looked empty, devoid of life, the chimney of the latter showing no smoke to give evidence that a cook prepared food for all hands.
‘They’re not back yet,’ Freda said and Norma nodded.
Morg loosened his gun in its holster as they rode towards the house. He felt worried about the emptiness, it did not seem right. He wondered if Norma might be leading them into a trap.
The front door of the house opened and a tall, burly man stepped out, leaning on a cane. He wore a round topped hat — known as a fez or smoking cap in more refined circles — a dark green smoking jacket, well pressed trousers. On one foot was a shining black shoe, the other had bandages around it. His face looked tanned, healthy, but not vicious. It looked very much a man’s face and one Morg felt could be trusted and who would make a real good boss.
‘Papa!’ Norma said, dropping from her horse and going to the man. ‘I’d like you to meet two good friends, and neighbours, Freda, Morg, this is my father.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Sir James Keller said. ‘Come in and I’ll see if I can scare up a drink. The blasted cook took off this morning with the others. Don’t know what they’re playing at.’
‘They’re not playing, Papa,’ Norma replied seriously. ‘Come inside. Freda’s father told me some distressing news.’
The inside of the house still looked much the same as when Lindon owned the place for it had been sold furnished. Freda remembered the library into which they were taken, it looked out on the north range. The window was open and the room cool after the ride. Keller proved an excellent host, he produced chairs for his guests and seated them at the desk.
‘Like to offer you something, but I’m not much at cooking,’ he said. ‘Do you have trouble with your help, Miss Lasalle?’
Freda smiled at Morg. ‘If I don’t watch him. Morg’s our only hand. We don’t have a large spread like this, and I’m the cook. If you like I’ll throw up a meal for you. I’d like to.’
‘Then Norma can help you,’ Keller replied with a grin. ‘Time she learned how to cook.’
‘I can cook,’ smiled Norma. ‘It’s just that I don’t like eating what I’ve cooked.’ Then her face lost its smile. ‘You had better hear what I discovered first, Papa.’
Keller threw a look at his daughter’s face, then took his seat behind the desk. Norma told what she learned at the Lasalle’s house. He did not speak until she finished. Then he slapped his hand on the table top, a hand which looked as hard as any working rancher’s.
‘I see,’ he said.
‘Wish I did, sir,’ Morg drawled.
‘It’s easy young feller, very easy. I was thinking of making a change of scenery. Decided to come out here. I’d been out west three years ago, hunting, and liked the look of it. So Norma and I held a conference and decided we’d buy a place out here. Arranged it through the British Embassy, they contacted various chappies and got wind of the Double K. Felt it might be an omen, two K’s and all that, so we said we’d take it. Got it at so much an acre, deuced great oblong of land.’
‘Only it isn’t an oblong, papa,’ Norma put in. ‘Mallick sold us land which was owned by other people.’
‘And then he tried to drive us out, make us sell for a fraction of the value of our places,’ Freda put in hotly, seeing the light for the first time. ‘So that he could show you the full area you have bought.’
‘By gad!’ boomed Keller. ‘So that’s the bounder’s game. I left it in his hands to keep things going for me, after I put down the deposit. It appears he ran it all right.’
‘But why’d he wire off the Old Trail?’ asked Morg. ‘He must have known that’d make trouble when the herds came up.’
‘I don’t know!’ snapped Keller. ‘All I know is I aim to horsewhip the bounder when I lay hands on him.’
At that moment the door opened and Keller started to rise,
his face showing anger. Freda’s nostrils caught a whiff of a sickly sweet scent she seemed to recognize, one she did not attribute to Norma for the English girl had better taste than use such vile stuff. Along with the others Freda started to turn and a gasp of horror came to her lips.
Mallick stood in the doorway, a revolver in his hand, lining on the men. Behind, holding the fancy Remington Double Derringer, stood Disraeli and looming over them, empty handed but no less deadly, Knuckles.
‘I’m here, Keller,’ Mallick said.
The men moved into the room, Knuckles leaning a shoulder against the door while the other two stepped inside. Morg stood half risen from his seat, his hand clear of his gun. He was no gun-fighter and his reactions did not have the ability to make split-second moves. Under the guns of the two men he could not take a chance at drawing his weapon and fighting back.
‘Drop the gunbelt, cowhand,’ Mallick ordered. ‘Kick it this way.’
Morg did as ordered. He knew he had no chance but to obey. He felt Disraeli watching him all the time. Felt also that the fancy dressed little man had not forgotten what happened in the saloon. Slowly Morg unbuckled the belt and lowered it to the ground, kicking it to one side.
‘Stay where you are, Sir James Keller!’ hissed Disraeli. ‘No heroics or we shoot down the two girls then this man. Ah! I thought that would stop you. You English gentlemen, with your high and mighty code of morals. You would attack us and risk being killed if only your life was at stake. But not to endanger the lives of these others.’
‘It sounds as if you know English gentlemen,’ Keller replied quietly.
His words brought a snarl of hatred from Disraeli. ‘I know you. I know you well. So did my brother. So did my brother Emmanuel. You remember him, Sir James Keller?’
‘I can’t say I’ve had that pleasure,’ replied Keller calmly. ‘Now may I ask what you want here?’
‘We want money,’ replied Mallick. ‘The money to complete the sale of this ranch.’