by J. T. Edson
~*~
‘General Buller wants me to state that he has no knowledge of handling a sword,’ Major Montreigen announced. ‘He wishes to fight with pistols.’
‘That is to the satisfaction of our principal! ’ replied Colonel Baron Ludwig von Dettmer, Prussian military observer who, along with Colonel Sir Arnold Houghton-Rand, was acting as second for Captain Dusty Fog, after having asked if this was acceptable by their principal.
‘Furthermore,’ Montreigen continued. ‘As we have been unable to find a pair of dueling pistols at such short notice, the General suggests each uses his own Colt revolver. That will be fair to both participants and each will have only the nipple of the cylinder next to fall under the hammer capped. Will that be satisfactory?’
‘We accept,’ Houghton-Rand confirmed, having received a nod of concurrence from the small Texan.
‘Then prepare your principals’ weapons, gentlemen!’ instruced Colonel Andre, Comte du Brissac, acting as controller of the duel which was about to take place in the orchard behind the mansion used as officers’ quarters by the Third Cavalry. He concluded such behavior was acceptable by the code duello of the United States of America.
‘If you will take the caps from Captain Fog’s revolver, major,’ Houghton-Rand offered. ‘I will attend to that of General Buller.’
‘Certainly,’ Montreigen replied.
‘Bring me Captain Fog’s revolver, sergeant major!’ the English colonel called.
‘Yo!’ Billy Jack assented, removing the weapon from the holster of his commanding officer’s gunbelt which he carried across his left shoulder and advancing to do as he was instructed.
Having decided the suggestions made by Montreigen would offer him an excellent chance of taking his revenge upon the young man he—correctly as it happened—believed responsible for the loss of the liquid gas, Buller had put them into effect. Going to a reception being given for Lieutenant Cogshill by the officers of the Third Cavalry, he had pretended to be drunk and provoked the small Texan into issuing a challenge to a duel. With the foreign military observers present, Colonel McDonald had been unable to prevent it taking place. All he had been able to do was have the affair postponed until the following morning, hoping his superior would have sobered sufficiently to call it off. This had not happened and he was compelled to let events take their course without further interference on his part.
Although the selected venue was in the grounds of the mansion, all the officers other than those participating had been ordered to keep clear of the area. Convention demanded that Dusty had two seconds and, wanting to avoid possible repercussions or embarrassment, he had asked the English and Prussian military observers to act for him. The same reason had caused the French colonel to be made controller and the local doctor was to officiate. Serving as witnesses to report to General Jackson Baines ‘Ole Devil’ Hardin that all had been conducted fairly, Billy Jack and Sergeant Kiowa Cotton were present. Although the former was carrying his superior’s weapon belt, they had left their own in the room they had been using. In addition to Montreigen, the General had Packard—promoted to second lieutenant in gratitude for the misguided way in which he had behaved over the death of Major Gerald Buller, or so it had been announced—acting as a second.
Exchanging the Colt 1860 Army revolver for the one he was holding, the major removed all but one of the copper percussion caps from it. Having done the same with the walnut butted weapon he was given, Houghton-Rand passed it back. Seeing Montreigen doing so, he eased the hammer to half cock and rotated the cylinder of the bone-handled revolver until the remaining cap would be placed beneath it at the next operation of the mechanism.
Turning away after this was done, the major walked to where Buller was standing well clear of the others. Moving with a speed which implied he was not performing such a deed for the first time, he opened his tunic and extracted an almost identical revolver to the one he was holding and thrust the first back into its place. Fastening the buttons, he gave the second Colt to his superior.
‘Here!’ Montreigen breathed. ‘Don’t forget what I told you!’
‘I won’t!’ the General answered, glancing down to ensure the cylinder’s nipples were all capped ready for use.
On receiving a signal from du Brissac, Dusty and Buller went to where he was standing. Each was bareheaded and had removed his tunic. Although Dusty had attended the court martial in the correct attire of an officer in the Confederate States’ Cavalry, he had reverted to his more usual style of uniform and had on a white shirt, riding breeches and Hessian leg boots.
‘Is there no chance of a reconciliation, gentlemen?’ the French colonel inquired formally, as the intended combatants stood, each with his revolver in the right hand and muzzle downwards. When there was a negative response from both, he continued, ‘Then stand back to back and cock your weapons. With this done, I will say, “Commence” and, as you step off, begin to count. When I reach ten, both will turn and fire. Is that understood?’
‘It is,’ Dusty confirmed and went to the spot indicated by du Brissac, drawing the hammer of his Colt to fully cocked as he raised it until holding it perpendicular by his right ear.
‘Yes!’ Buller assented a moment later, advancing to stand as instructed and adopting a similar position of readiness with his weapon.
‘Commence!’ the Frenchman commanded. ‘One! Two! Three!’
Perspiration began to form on Buller’s porcine features as he stepped out the paces. Despite the advantage he possessed as a result of Montreigen’s duplicity, he was nervous. While he had allowed himself far more ammunition with which to practice shooting than had been made available to the enlisted men of the New Hampstead Volunteers, he was aware that he was far from being an accomplished shot with a revolver. Nor, until that moment, had he envisaged the need for greater skill as it had never been his intention to take a personal part in the fighting. On the other hand, youthful appearance notwithstanding, the Texan he no longer regarded as being small and insignificant in appearance had seen action several times and undoubtedly possessed far greater expertise.
‘Four! Five! Six!’
Listening to the count and continuing to walk, the General decided he had only one hope of salvation!
‘Seven!’
Without giving a thought to the consequences, or anything other than saving himself from being shot, Buller put the idea into effect!
‘Look out, Dusty!’ Billy Jack yelled, forgetting the military honorific in the urgency of the situation.
On taking his eighth step, Buller swung around. Halting sideways to his intended target, left hand going to rest on his hip, his right lifted the Army Colt into the shoulder high and arm’s length posture he had learned from Montreigen. Taking aim more quickly than he would have wished, as shouts of alarm and warning burst from most of the other onlookers, he squeezed on the trigger. The long barreled weapon crashed, its bullet hissing just over Dusty’s head. In his haste, the General had flinched at the last moment and missed. Snarling with rage as the recoil kick raised the Colt, apparently forgetting there was only supposed to be one chamber of the cylinder fitted with a percussion cap, he started to cock the hammer with his thumb.
At the sound of the shot, Dusty turned fast!
Seeing what Buller was doing, the small Texan knew there was not a moment to lose!
Knowing the General was not making a mistake and the revolver was fully capped, Dusty reacted to the treachery. Not for him the fancy posture of a conventional duelist. There was no time for him to adopt it, even if he had been so inclined. Instead, halting on spread apart feet and slightly bent legs, with torso inclined forward to offer a smaller target, he brought his bone handled Army Colt to waist height and central in respect to his body.
Such was the stance of a frontier gunfighter, used to starting in leather and drawing to hit a mark the size of the human torso in not much over a second. For all that, it was not a method conducive to excessive accuracy except at close quarters
.
With his own weapon conforming to the conditions of the duel, the small Texan was aware he had only one load available to him and this one must be made to count!
Seventeen – I’ll Take You First, Fog
Roaring and sending out the contents of its solitary capped cylinder, the Colt 1860 Army revolver justified the misgivings of Brigadier General Moses J. Buller with regards to the skill of Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog!
Flying as truly as could be hoped when directed in such a fashion, the .44 bullet took the burly Yankee officer between the eyes. On striking, it caused a reflex action which discharged the weapon he was holding. However, the barrel was turned from its alignment and came even less close than its predecessor to achieving a hit upon the small Texan. Going over, the revolver slipping from his lifeless grasp, he was dead before his body alighted supine on the ground.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen!’ a coldly commanding masculine voice called, bringing an end to the startled and angry comments which were arising from the foreign military observers. The words caused them all to look to where Thaddeus Barnes was approaching through the trees of the orchard. ‘I am afraid I cannot allow my former employer to bear the stigma of what he had done alone. He was put up to this base act by Major Saul Montreigen!’
Which was true enough!
Montreigen had spoken the truth when telling Belle Boyd he had operated a salle des armes in New Orleans before the War Between the States. It had not rated among the better known and highly respected of such establishments in the city, but had had one special service to offer. Regardless of laws prohibiting dueling, the engagement in ‘affairs of honor’ had continued to take place throughout the South. There had frequently been those seeking his aid who, while disinclined to incur the social stigma of refusing a challenge, were disinclined to take the risks of fair combat. In addition to giving instruction in swordsmanship and shooting, he had also given advice on survival by employing measures which went beyond the rules of the code duello.
Being aware of the major’s unsavory past, Buller had had no hesitation before accepting his proposals for taking revenge upon Dusty Fog!
However, loyalty to a superior who was also an employer had not caused Montreigen to suggest the means of taking vengeance!
Appreciating just as much as Buller the potential for profit offered by its manufacture, the major had realized on hearing of the consignment being destroyed along with its maker that now only two people—unless one counted whoever Belle Boyd had informed of it—knew such a thing could be produced. Accepting there was nothing he could do about the Southrons, he had seen how he might cause the removal of the other participant in the knowledge. Suspecting his superior would not issue the challenge to the small Texan unless believing the result was a foredrawn conclusion, he had made his proposals, satisfied that he personally could not be the loser no matter how the duel turned out. On hearing of such a gross example of misconduct, should Buller win, Colonel McDonald’s sense of honor would demand that he was brought to justice for it. What was more, knowing that what had happened was witnessed by the three military observers from Europe, the General Staff and leading politicians would know that the effect upon the relationship of the United States and the country each represented would be adverse unless Buller paid for what would amount to murder. Although an accomplice, Montreigen hoped to escape too severe consequences by claiming he had been ordered by Buller to help. He would almost certainly be cashiered and dismissed from the service, but this would merely allow him to devote more time to finding how the liquid was made.
While the fully loaded revolver had failed to produce the promised result for the General, mainly due to his attempt to acquire an even greater advantage, the major had been far from disappointed by the result until hearing Barnes.
‘You lying bastard!’ Montreigen snarled, right hand flashing across to bring the epee de combat from its sheath. ‘I’ll make you change your tune. Keep them all back, Packard. You’re in this too!’
Having been taken partly into the confidence of the major; Second Lieutenant Alden Packard—as he now thought of himself—concluded his days as even a sergeant major were numbered. What was more, he also had reason to hate the small Texan who he blamed for everything which had befallen him. Snarling a curse, he knocked open the flap of his holster, and his right hand closed about the fancy Tiffany grips of the Colt Model of 1855 Navy revolver he had looted from the body of Major Gerald Buller. Knowing none of the others present had a firearm on their persons, he was confident he could acquire the acclaim Montreigen had promised the General would accrue to the man who removed such a competent young officer as Dusty Fog from the conflict on the Arkansas’ battlefront.
‘Montreigen!’ the small Texan shouted, allowing the inoperable Army Colt to slip from his grasp and starting to move forward. ‘See if you have better luck than last time you tried to kill me, you stinking hired butcher!’
‘All right!’ the major answered, swinging towards his challenger. ‘I’ll take you first, Fog!’
Even as the words were being spoken, others present were preparing to intervene!
Although Sergeant Major Billy Jack and Sergeant Kiowa Cotton had obeyed their commanding officer and left their revolvers behind, neither was completely unarmed!
Having reverted to his skirtless tunic and riding breeches, after having worn full dress uniform and accoutrements at the court martial, Dusty had been wearing his Western style rig instead of the type of weapon belt proscribed in the Manual of Dress Regulations. Therefore, the saber being carried suspended from the saddlehorn when he was clad in such a fashion, there was a second bone handled Army Colt in its holster. This was readily available to the lanky sergeant major. While the Indian dark sergeant had no firearms, he was still carrying the knife in its concealed sheath.
Moving from where they had stood slightly apart from the officials of the duel, the two Texans showed a complete understanding of how the other was meaning to cope with the situation!
Extracting and thumb cocking the Colt as he tossed aside the gunbelt, Billy Jack showed how well he could use even an unfamiliar revolver. Swinging it up and taking sight, he sent a bullet into the center of Packard’s chest. Spun around as his stolen Colt was clearing its cumbersome holster, the burly ‘officer’ fell to the ground. He made an effort to force himself on to hands and knees, then went limp and sprawled face down again.
Despite knowing how well his superior could fight with bare hands, Kiowa was not willing under the circumstances, to let this take place. For all his faults, Montreigen was an excellent swordsman and his weapon gave him a decided edge over the unarmed combat techniques learned from Tommy Okasi. With that in mind, the sergeant reached upwards with his right hand. Bringing the knife from inside his collar, he swept his arm down and made a throw with all the skill at his command. Flashing through the air, the blade buried itself deep into the left breast of the major. Shock and agony distorted his swarthy face. Releasing the epee, his right hand went to join the left in gripping the hilt of the weapon which he sensed had struck him a mortal blow. All his strength ebbed away before he could pull it out and, crumpling like a doll from which all the stuffing had been removed, he toppled dying a few feet in front of the small young man he had tried to kill.
~*~
‘I must apologize to you, Captain Fog,’ Thaddeus Barnes said, coming into the stable where the three Texans were saddling their horses ready for setting off to rejoin their regiment beyond the Oauchita River. Glancing around to ensure he would not be overheard by anybody other than the trio, he went on, ‘I was aware of the plot to kill you in the duel, but I was watched over so carefully at, I suspect, the instigation of Major Montreigen, that I was unable to warn you. However, having seen my late employer shoot, I did not doubt you would emerge victorious and you fully justified my confidence. May I ask how Colonel McDonald responded to the news of what had happened?’
‘He’s written a full report to
be sent to Washington and given copies to the three military correspondents, and has provided another for General Hardin,’ Dusty Fog replied. ‘He also apologized to me on behalf of the United States’ Army for the way Buller and his crowd behaved.’
‘I anticipated no less, sir,’ the Englishman declared. ‘From our first meeting, I knew him to be an officer and a gentleman.’ Taking an envelope from the inside breast pocket of his jacket, he darted another swift look about him before going on, ‘I have taken the liberty of writing and informing General Hardin of why you did what I asked of you, sir.’
'Gracias,’ the small Texan said quietly, yet with genuine gratitude, accepting the document.
‘I know how badly you feel about it, sir,’ Barnes asserted, with a gentleness and respect which impressed the two listening non-coms. ‘But, by doing so, you have rendered a service not only to the Confederate States but to all humanity itself in my opinion and, unless I am mistaken, General Hardin will regard it in the same light. You, sir, have done your full duty as an officer and a gentleman.’
‘Thank you again, Mr. Barnes,’ Dusty answered, holding forward his right hand.
‘You know, sir,’ the Englishman remarked, after he and the small Texan had shaken hands. ‘I find your presence here not without its, shall we say, interesting aspects. As I understand it, you wounded Mr. Cogshill on the one previous occasion you met each other?’
‘Seemed like the thing to do at the time,’ Dusty drawled.
‘And if you meet again in action, you’ll fire upon him perhaps with more lethal effect?’
‘Likely.’
‘And yet, without your evidence, he might have been shot by order of the court martial,’ Barnes pointed out. ‘Would it have made any difference if he had died at their hands, or perhaps later at yours?’
‘Not over much,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Except to his honor.’