by J. T. Edson
‘With or without the part you don’t own?’
Mallick growled out something in his anger. ‘So, I thought Miss Lasalle was here for something. It makes no difference. We want every cent you have in the house. And all your collection of jewellery.’
‘Really?’ answered Keller, still as calm as ever.
‘Don’t fool with us, Keller,’ warned Mallick. We’ve too much at stake to play games.’
‘We could always let Knuckles have fun with the girls,’ purred Disraeli.
‘One thing’s for sure,’ Morg put in. ‘You wouldn’t have any use for fun with a gal.’
Smiling, a vicious smile which did not reach his eyes, Jackieboy Disraeli minced across the room. His hand lashed out, the Remington’s foresight raking Morg’s cheek and rocking his head back. Morg started to rise and with an. almost beast-like snarl Knuckles bounded forward. With speed and agility which was surprising in such a man, Disraeli stepped aside. Knuckle’s huge hands shot out, closing on Morg’s throat and squeezing.
‘Stop him!’ Mallick barked out the order. ‘You hear me, Disraeli, stop him.’
At the same moment Mallick jumped forward and caught Freda’s arm, holding her as she tried to throw herself at Knuckles. Disraeli looked at Mallick, a slobbering sneer on his lips. Then he gave the order and Knuckles opened his fingers, letting Morg flop back into his chair. The young cowhand sucked in breath and looked ready to throw himself into the attack again.
‘Tell him to sit still, Miss Lasalle!’ Mallick ordered. ‘I might not be able to stop Knuckles again.’
‘Morg!’ Freda gasped. ‘Don’t move.’
‘Look here, Mallick!’ barked Keller, standing up and ignoring the gun Mallick swung towards him. ‘Get this lot over and let’s have you out of my house so I can start making up for what you’ve done to people around here.’
‘It’s just like we told you,’ Mallick replied. ‘I want the money you’ve brought along to complete the purchase of this place and any more you have, as well as that collection of jewellery you own.’
‘And who told you about that?’ Keller asked.
‘I did!’ Disraeli spat out the words. ‘I did. To avenge my brother, Emmanuel.’
‘You seem to think I know this brother of yours,’ Keller replied, speaking to gain time, in the hope that something might happen to get them clear of the danger they found themselves in.
‘You knew him. You and your accursed kind knew him. You ruined him. You brought him to be hanged. Have you forgotten Emmanuel Silverman. My brother!’
‘Silverman,’ said Keller softly. ‘Silverman is it. I remember him. Money-lender, owner of crooked gambling hells, sweat-shop owner. I remember him and it is true I helped lay the trap which brought proof of his guilt. And he killed two women trying to escape, shot them in blind panic—’
‘Stop!’ Disraeli screamed.
‘Keep Knuckles back!’ Mallick snarled the words out. ‘Do it, Disraeli, or by God I’ll kill him. We want something from Keller and he can’t give it to us if he’d dead or unconscious.’
For a moment Disraeli stood with his mouth hanging open. Then slowly, with an almost visible effort, he got control of himself.
‘You helped hang my brother and I swore I would have my revenge,’ he said. ‘It is easy for one of my race to learn something. I learned of your plans to come out here, Sir James Keller. I came ahead. I met Mallick and we managed to get ourselves in, he as Land Agent and I in a saloon. Then we offered this Lindon Land Grant for sale and you took it. Mallick thought only of the profit, his percentage of the sale and the extra for the small ranch properties. I thought of revenge. We sold you several thousands acres of land which did not belong to the Lindon Grant, and hoped to drive its owners out, to sell to you at a profit. I thought of stringing the wire across the trail. Soon the trail herds would be coming north. When they saw the wire they would attack the man who ordered it to be there. And they would blame you for that. I would have avenged my brother.’
‘In a most courageous manner,’ Keller replied.
‘Cut the talk!’ Mallick snarled. ‘How about that money, or do I turn Knuckles loose on your gal?’
‘You’re welcome to what money I have,’ Keller replied. ‘A matter of a thousand dollars.’
‘Don’t fool with me, Keller!’ snarled Mallick.
Keller shrugged and sat at his desk. ‘I’ve never felt less like fooling. My good chap, do you expect me to carry the amount this place costs in a valise? I intended to pay for my place, when I was satisfied with it, by a certified order on the First Union Bank in Dodge City. I brought a thousand along as running expenses and no more.’
For a long moment Mallick stared at Sir James Keller who met his stare and then looked away. Mallick turned towards Disraeli and snarled:
‘He’s telling the truth, damn it to hell!’
‘And as for my collection of jewellery, as you call it, ‘ Keller went on. ‘I left it in the bank at Dodge City, in my strongbox. So it would appear that you can’t have that either.’
Disraeli gave a scream of rage and frustration. The hand holding the Remington quivered. For a moment Keller expected a bullet to slam into him for the man stood facing him and lining the gun. Norma, face pale, tensed, her hands opened and curved into talons as she prepared to try and defend her father. Morg watched this, he knew that the girl would jump Disraeli at any moment. He knew the little fat man would shoot her out of hand, then cut down Keller. There was only one way to stop, or delay it.
‘Hey, swish!’ he said. ‘You watch yourself, or I’ll let Freda hand you a licking and sh—’
With a howl of fury Disraeli swung around. He seemed ready to burst into tears and screamed. ‘Get him, Knuckles! Gouge his eyes out!’
Gamely Morg flung himself at the huge man, straight into the huge hands which clamped on to his throat. Morg felt himself lifted and shook like a dog in the big man’s hands. Desperately he lashed out a kick at Knuckles, felt his boot connect with the man’s shin but Knuckles gave not a sign of knowing it landed. Only his grip on Morg’s throat tightened.
Shooting out a hand, Mallick grabbed Norma Keller’s wrist and dragged her to him, thrusting his revolver barrel into her side. His move ended Sir James’ attempt at opening the top desk of the drawer wherein lay a magnificent ivory butted 1860 Army Colt.
‘Freeze, Keller!’ Mallick snarled.
His warning went unheeded by Freda. With the ferocity of a bobcat defending its young she threw herself straight at Knuckles. She screamed, although it was doubtful that she knew the screams left her lips. Full on the huge man’s back she hurled herself, one arm locked around his throat, the other trying to rip hair out and failing changed to scratching at his face.
Letting out a howl like a fattened short that had felt the butcher’s knife. Disraeli jumped forward. His left hand caught Freda by the neck of her blouse and dragged at it, trying to get Knuckles free. The buttons on the blouse popped but the girl clung on. Then Disraeli raised his other hand to bring the gun down on to Freda’s head. He struck hard but the girl’s hair prevented the worst of the blow, even so it knocked Freda down.
Snarling like a wild animal Disraeli raised his hand again. Sir James Keller started to open his desk drawer. His daughter’s life lay in the hands of Mallick but he could not see either the girl or cowhand killed in cold blood.
Faintly, as from a long way off, Freda heard words, Mallick snarling a warning, Disraeli cursing her in his high-pitched voice. Even more faintly she heard the thunder of approaching hooves. Then everything went black.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WACO’S DECISION
THE Ysabel Kid felt puzzled as he rode by the side of the leading wagon. By now they were so far into the Double K range that he could make out the empty, deserted look of the buildings, and still no sign of the hired guns who had roamed the range on his way north.
He looked up at Weems and the housekeeper as they shared the wagon’s box with the taci
turn driver.
‘That there’s the house, Bill,’ he drawled. ‘Looks a mite too quiet for me.’
‘I’m afraid you have the advantage over me there, Kid,’ Weems answered as he squinted his eyes and tried to make out more than a few tiny buildings.
Since leaving Bent’s Ford on the day after the Kid’s rather hectic arrival Weems had changed. With the Kid he acted in a friendly manner and even thawed out to some small extent with the menials, the two grooms, as he called them, who drove the wagons and the ‘tween-maid who was the lowest of the low amongst female employees. He still made them keep their places, but he relaxed slightly under the Kid’s influence.
Much to his surprise, Weems had found the Kid to be anything but an uncouth savage. True he lacked some formal schooling, but he made up for it in matters practical and there was little he did not know about how to live most comfortably while travelling in Texas.
For his part the Kid found Weems to be far from helpless and a man with some knowledge, even if shy on other vital subjects. He enjoyed the trip down from Bent’s Ford and would be sorry to part from his new friends at the end of it.
After another mile Weems could study the buildings. He grunted as he looked the main house over.
‘Not exactly like our country house in Yorkshire,’ he said. ‘A sturdy enough structure though.’
‘Reckon,’ replied the Kid.
His eyes took in the general deserted aspect of the ranch buildings and he did not like what he saw. Three saddled horses before the front of the main house, a two-horse riding wagon behind the big barn, like somebody didn’t want it seen. To the Kid it spelled out but one thing, trouble.
The wagons rolled nearer, coming down from the north towards the buildings. His right hand near the butt of the old Dragoon Colt, the Kid sat relaxed but watchful and alert for trouble.
A scream shattered the air, coming from the big house, followed by more.
‘What’s that?’ Weems gasped.
He spoke to the Kid’s back for on the first scream a touch of the spurs sent Nigger racing for the house. As well as he could tell the screams came from the room towards which he now made.
Through the window he saw Knuckles choking Morg. Mallick holding a gun on Norma while Sir James stood at his desk, hand still on the drawer of the desk. He also saw Disraeli drag Freda from the huge man and raise the Remington Double Derringer to strike down at her. Of all the people in the room, the Kid knew only Freda. How she came to be at the Double K he could not guess, who the rest might be he also did not know. He could tell who sided with Freda from how they behaved.
The big white stallion raced towards the house but at the last moment, when it seemed certain to collide with the wall, Nigger turned. The Kid, ready for the turn, left his saddle. He held his Dragoon Colt in his right hand as he flung himself through the air. Hands covering his head, the Kid went through the window carrying its glass and framework in a shattered wreck before him.
He lit down on the floor, rolling like he’d come off a bad one. Disraeli released Freda and allowed her to slump to the ground. Flame spurted from the small Double Derringer and splinters kicked to one side of the Kid’s rolling body. He lined the dragoon and touched off a shot. The bullet ripped into Disraeli’s chest and tossed him backwards across the room. At the same moment violent action broke out amongst the others.
Snarling like an animal Knuckles hurled Morg to one corner and turned to face the Kid who lay on his back, the smoking Dragoon still in his hands. Seeing the huge man bearing down on him the Kid knew his danger. Knuckles might not carry a gun but was no less dangerous for it. His huge hands and great strength along with his beast-like rage, were fully as dangerous as any gun once he got close enough to lay hands on a man.
Only he did not get close enough. The Kid’s big old Dragoon boomed out again and Knuckles at last met a force his strength could not withstand. One third of an ounce of soft round lead ball, .44 in calibre, powered by forty grains of prime du Pont powder, drove up, entered his mouth and shattered its way out through the top of his head. The force of the blow knocked Knuckles back so he crashed into the wall and slid down never to rise again.
The Kid’s sudden and unexpected arrival took Mallick, Keller and Norma by surprise. Keller thrust back his chair and came to his feet. Mallick turned his gun away from Norma, thinking to line it on the blackdressed shape. Then Norma took a hand, reacting with cool courage even as the Kid’s gun cut down Disraeli. She drew back her boot and lashed out a kick, the riding boot catching Mallick on the front of his shin. The man let out a howl of pain, released her arm and staggered back. Norma’s face lost all its colour as she saw Knuckles take lead. With a gasp she slid to the floor in a faint.
Gun in hand, Mallick still did not make a fight of it. He saw Sir James open the desk drawer and saw the Kid starting to turn. Then he flung himself back through the library door slamming it behind him. He raced along the hall to the main door and wrenched it open. Behind him he heard the study door open and spun around to fire a shot. He backed through the main doors, firing again and sprang to the ground outside.
Behind him, from the house, he heard running feet and sent another bullet through the door. From the house sounded a piercing whistle then a voice yelled one word:
‘Nigger!’
Hooves thundered behind Mallick. He started to turn and saw a huge white stallion charging at him. Saw its laid back ears, the bared teeth, heard its wild fighting scream. Desperately he tried to turn his gun, he fired one shot which missed. He never had the chance to fire another. Nigger came at him, rearing high on its hind legs, the fore hooves lashing out. One ripped into the top of Mallick’s head, crunching home with wicked force. Mallick screamed once, then he went down under the savage and awful fighting fury of the enraged white stallion.
The Ysabel Kid and Sir James Keller came from the library side by side although as yet neither knew who the other might be. They were not at the front door when they heard the screams.
‘God!’ gasped Sir James. What’s that?’
‘Stay here, friend,’ replied the Kid who knew all too well what ‘that’ was. ‘And keep those gals inside.’
With that the Kid plunged out to get control of his horse. He hoped that Weems would show enough good sense to either stay well back, or keep the womenfolk to the rear of the building. That bloody wreck on the ground was no sight for female eyes, or male eyes either, happen the man had a weak stomach.
Quickly the Kid quietened his big white stallion, getting the fighting fury out of it. Then he led Nigger around the house and saw the wagons rolling up at a good speed. He went into the saddle in a lithe bound and rode to meet them.
‘Take them around back, Bill,’ he said. ‘And keep the women out here, don’t let them go around front. There’s been a mite of trouble.’
After entering and seeing the master’s library and passing through to the front of the house, Weems decided the Kid had, as he often did, made quite an understatement when he spoke of a ‘mite of trouble’.
Even before the men could do more than take Freda and Norma to another room, they heard hooves. The Kid, gun in hand, went to the front door, followed by Sir James and a shaken, but armed, Morg. They saw three men riding fast towards the ranch house.
‘Don’t shoot!’ Morg croaked, speaking through a throat which seemed to burn red hot. ‘They’re friends.’
‘I’d never have knowed,’ drawled the Kid, holstering his Dragoon Colt as he went to meet Dusty Fog and Mark Counter and a tall, blond-haired boy he had never seen before.
In a few moments Morg managed to introduce Dusty and the others to Sir James Keller and Weems explained the Kid’s presence. Then they went inside to start the work of cleaning up.
It was two days after the death of Mallick and his partner. The spacious dining-room at the Double K held a large bunch of men. Dusty, Mark, the Kid were on hand, Waco, who had been like a shadow to Dusty for the past two days of wire removal and start
ing to clean up after the departed gunmen, sat to one side of the OD Connected men. Stone Hart and Clay Allison represented the trail driving interests. Lasalle, Ralph Gibbs, sitting awkwardly in his chair, and Pop Jones had been asked to come, along with Matt Roylans and the Barlock banker. Weems, back to his official capacity, glided around and served drinks from the stock brought in the wagons along with much of Sir James’ belongings.
‘From what Mallick told me,’ Sir James said. ‘He planned to sell me several thousand acres beyond the true boundary of the Double K and showed on the map I received from him. I paid by deposit and was to complete the deal when I’d seen the property. Then he set out to try and buy the small ranchers out as cheaply as possible or run them out. He did not expect me for another month, but our ship made better time than we expected and I brought my daughter ahead with an escort supplied by an army friend. However I’d managed to crock my ankle and so could not ride around and that gave Mallick a chance to force the last three spreads out.’
‘How about the wire?’ Clay Allison asked.
‘Bought in my name by Disraeli and put up to try and make trouble between the trail herds and myself. He hated me for something which happened in England and helped Mallick arrange this entire thing. He hoped I would either be ruined or killed by the enraged trail crews.’
‘He near on had his way,’ drawled Stone Hart. ‘Happen Dusty hadn’t been on hand and seen what was coming off; well I reckon I might not have stopped to think. You was on to Mallick from the start, weren’t you, Dusty?’
‘Not right at the start. I guessed most of it when I pieced together the map I found in Mallick’s office, and tied it in with the hit at the Lasalle house when they tried to dynamite us out. That meant we’d hit on to something vital and Mallick wanted us dead before we could use it. Didn’t know what part Disraeli had in it though. We’d sniffed that scent he used in the office and tied him in with Mallick. So I figured they were trying to sell land they didn’t own.’