The Half Breed

by J. T. Edson

  ‘I’ll take money these are what we’re after,’ he remarked casually. ‘Take me for a tenspot, Chris?’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ Madsen replied, grinning. He could not lose on the bet. If the Kid was wrong the ten-dollar bet would be his, if the Kid was right they’d got part of the gang and that was worth the tenspot.

  Without another word the Kid went to the sorrel, reaching up behind the cantle. Then extended a hand to Madsen, holding a woman’s overnight bag in it. Madsen looked at the two sets of silver initials on the bag; BH and OD, the O touching the straight side of the D.

  ‘You saw it,’ he growled.

  ‘And you didn’t,’ replied the unsympathetic Kid, holding out his other hand.

  ‘I’ll pay you when we get through.’

  ‘Oh no,’ drawled the Kid. ‘My pappy allus used to tell me, “Trust in the Lord, but make other folks pay their gambling debts right off.” ’

  Madsen grinned, handing over two five-dollar pieces which the Kid slid away. Then they both went to the window. There was not much to see: a few men sitting at tables and three youngsters wearing cowhand clothes, lounging at the bar. They were a poorly dressed trio, but even as the posse watched, one of them pulled a ten-dollar bill from a roll and paid for a round of drinks.

  ‘They’re our boys,’ Eph said eagerly. ‘Cowhands as poor looking as them shouldn’t have all that money.’

  ‘Let’s make some talk,’ Madsen replied.

  The three youngsters at the bar, and the rest of the customers studied the new arrivals with interest, for their town saw few strangers. The three youngsters at the bar started drunkenly, their eyes focusing on the Marshal’s badge Madsen wore pinned to his calfskin vest. The whisky died in them, leaving only a cold, scared feeling in their stomachs. It was plain they were guilty men.

  Chris Madsen was a trained law officer. He knew the rules for approaching a suspect and watched the three young men all the time. They might not be the men he was looking for, but they were scared at the sight of his badge and a scared man was every bit as dangerous as a hardened killer. So they gave all their attention to the youngsters at the bar. Not one of them noticed a whiskered, hard-faced man who sat with his back to the wall, near the door. He gave Chris Madsen a hard look and dropped his hand out of sight behind the table, glanced at the door and gently eased his chair back, preparing to come to his feet.

  Madsen halted in front of the three youngsters, his hand hanging by the butt of his gun ready to draw. He sensed that the Ysabel Kid was just as ready at his left side and wondered what Eph was doing at his right.

  ‘You boys done much riding?’ he asked.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ Ben asked, the whisky making him tough.

  ‘Chris Madsen, U.S. Marshal,’ Madsen introduced himself.

  Eph was not paying much attention to the three youngsters, knowing Madsen and the Kid could handle them. He glanced in the bar mirror and saw the bearded man coming from the chair, his gun lining on the marshal’s back. Eph’s left hand shot out, thrusting Madsen violently to one side and sending him staggering behind the Kid. The bearded man’s shot crashed out, the bullet making a hole in the bar between Sam and Jube. Eph turned, his right hand lashing down as he moved, the ivory handled Colt swinging up ready. When he was fully around his left hand fanned the hammer. The three shots came so fast they sounded as one continuous roll, the bearded man took the lead. He spun around, crashed into the wall and slid down, his gun falling from his hand as he went.

  The Ysabel Kid never accounted himself fast with a gun, for it took him all of a second to draw and shoot his old Dragoon. A fast man could halve that time and kill at the end. He caught a glimpse of what was happening, saw the three young men starting to move towards their guns. His palm twisted outwards, caught the worn walnut grips of his old gun and lifted the Dragoon from leather. His thumb cocked the hammer and he threw down on the three youngsters long before they moved. He picked Ben out as the most dangerous and the yawning muzzle of the old cap and ball .44 lined on his stomach.

  ‘Freeze fast and solid!’ growled the Kid.

  Madsen landed on his hands, and knees, he rolled over, gun coming out to line first at Eph, then on the three young men at the bar. The trio of outlaws were standing as if frozen for Eph turned to line his Colt on them and augment the Kid.

  Slowly Madsen came to his feet, he’d seen the crumpled body of the bearded man and knew what must have happened. ‘Thanks, Sam,’ he said to Eph. ‘Lordy, a man who’s worn a law badge for all the years I have, falling for a trick like that.’

  ‘He warn’t with us, Marshal!’ Jube yelped nervously. ‘Honest to Henry, we never saw him afore.’

  ‘Pull their teeth, Lon,’ Madsen replied. He could tell the young outlaw was speaking the truth. The man was not one of them and they’d no part in the attempt on his life, ‘Where were you bunch yesterday?’

  ‘Why you accusing us honest folks for, marshal?’ demanded Ben, trying to hold his voice tough and hard, though he had no gun now.

  ‘Figger you might know something about the stage that was held up yesterday,’ replied Madsen, watching the townspeople through the bar mirror, then glancing at the bartender as he came into view after diving for safety when the shooting commenced.

  ‘We war’nt nowheres near Bent’s Ford yesterday,’ Ben answered, then stoppe4 and his face lost its colour.

  ‘How’d you know the coach was held up near Bent’s then?’ snapped Madsen. ‘I’m taking you in for it.’

  The batwing doors were tossed open and a fat man stepped in, a ten gauge shotgun in his hands. He was a jovial, leisurely-looking individual wearing old cavalry trousers and a collarless shirt. Holding the batwing doors open he let the light shine on the bearded man, then stepped in through the door. The shotgun was held with careless competence, like he knew well enough how to handle it.

  ‘Who’d have done this?’ he asked in a lazy drawl.

  ‘One of my posse,’ Madsen replied. ‘Man was all set to gun me from behind. I’m Madsen, U.S. Marshal.’

  ‘Name’s Jeffers, constable and marshal of Trimble,’ introduced the fat man coming forward. ‘Would you know this gent, marshal?’

  Madsen crossed and looked down. He bent over and made a closer examination, then straightened and nodded. ‘I know him. It’s Dutch Charlie. Used to run with the Doolin gang until Bill kicked him out. Took him a lodge oath to get Billy Tilghman, Heck and me.’ He looked across the room towards his posse men. ‘I’m obliged, S . . . Eph. I’m not sorry to see the end of him,’

  ‘Wondered some about him,’ the constable of the town said thoughtfully. ‘He come in quiet enough, troubled nobody. Would have spotted him if it warn’t for the whiskers. What’s wrong with the other three?’

  ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘Seen them and two more hanging around here. Thought they worked for one of the cattle outfits. Never had much money . . .’

  ‘They got plenty tonight, Slim,’ called the bartender. ‘All of ‘em bought drinks and changed a ten spot each. Peeled it right off a roll.’

  Madsen nodded. The young fools could not resist flashing their money, never realizing they were giving themselves away by doing it. He explained what the three were suspected of but the constable was unable to help in any way.

  ‘Where’d you get the money?’ Madsen asked, returning to the bar.

  ‘Picking blueberries,’ Ben sneered.

  The Kid moved forward, his face hard and savage. ‘Face the bar!’ he ordered,

  There was something in the Kid’s face which made Ben obey. It sank through the whisky fog which whirled in his head that here was a man who aimed to be obeyed. It was all very well to fool around and give lip to a lawman who was bound by certain rules as to how he treated his prisoners. This black dressed Texan was no lawman; he was not the sort to care for rules either and would be quite willing to use his old Dragoon Colt or his bowie knife to enforce his orders. With this in mind Ben turned and faced the bar.<
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  The Kid went forward, caught Ben’s leg and lifted it to look at the sole of his boot, then raised the other leg. Letting hold of Ben, the Kid went along the bar and looked at the other two pairs of boots. The heels of each pair were badly run over and he recognized them from the marks he’d seen during his trailing. But they were not what he was looking for. The pair of boots which were almost worn through had not shown to his inspection.

  ‘Where’s your pards?’ the Kid asked.

  ‘We don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Ben answered, then he remembered something he’d heard said by a man arrested by a marshal, ‘I want to see a lawyer before I say another word!’

  ‘Where do you hold prisoners, constable?’ Madsen asked.

  ‘Don’t often have none. When I do they go in the cellar under my house. We’re a poor town and don’t run to a jail. If I get a prisoner anytime I send word to the County Seat and they come over to collect him.’

  The Kid was looking thoughtful. ‘Know, Chris,’ he drawled. ‘We don’t have a hell of a lot we can hold this bunch with.’ He winked at Eph who was watching him with some interest, ‘Nope, we couldn’t hold them on much at all. Tell you, turn ‘em loose one at a time. Me’n Eph here’ll just take this one out and see him on his way.’

  Before Chris Madsen could say a word the Kid and Eph took hold of Ben’s arms and hustled him out into the night. Sim and Jube watched their friend go, then exchanged scared looks. They did not know what to make of this treatment and wished they’d Jose or Jesse with them.

  Suddenly, from outside there sounded a most hideous scream; the scream of a man in mortal pain, then it died off to a gurgling moan and ended. Madsen and the constable stared at the door and the two young outlaws lost all their colour. The citizens in the saloon came to their feet. Every eye was on the door and Madsen forgot his prisoners as he stepped forward to investigate.

  The batwing doors opened to admit the Ysabel Kid. His bowie knife was in his grip, he wiped the blade on his trousers leg and grinned at the startled faces.

  ‘What the hell happened, Kid?’ Madsen asked, voice hoarse and worried. ‘What was that scream?’

  ‘He got stubborn, wouldn’t be sociable and talk,’ replied the Kid with a blood-chilling chuckle. ‘Turn the next one loose. Best make it the chubby one, I don’t want to spoil my knife’s edge by hitting bones Not when there’s another one who’ll need her, happen chubby don’t tell us where the other two and Betty are.’

  Chris Madsen did not know what to do or say. He knew the Ysabel Kid’s reputation very well and knew a little about the man called Eph Tenor. It was quite possible, if all the stories, were true, that he’d used that bowie knife on the young outlaw. Madsen gulped and saw the town’s constable looking pale around the gills. That scream was enough to make any man look and act that way.

  Jube opened his mouth and let out a yell of pure terror as the Kid advanced across the floor towards him. ‘Don’t let him get me,’ he howled. ‘Keep him off. We done that stage job but we never hurt nobody. We didn’t harm the gal, she’s out at our hideout.’

  ‘Where’d that be?’ asked the Kid, casually flipping the razor-edged bowie knife from hand to hand.

  ‘An old farm couple of miles north of here. It was empty when we got there and we moved in.’

  ‘That’d be the old Miller place,’ the constable put in. ‘They pulled out for the East and left most of their gear at the farm.

  Madsen knew the youngster was not lying: he was too scared. The marshal was pleased to get the information, but worried as to the means by which it was obtained. He licked his lips worriedly and looked at the Kid but could read nothing in that innocent, inscrutable face. He wondered how he would explain away a prisoner, unarmed, yet killed with the knife of one of the posse.

  In every community there were a section of people who boasted they were for the rights of the working man and set out to prove it by looking for anything detrimental or damaging to the reputation of the Army, Navy or law enforcement officers of the land. There was such a body in Oklahoma, a thorn in the flesh of the Governor and every lawman in the Territory. The killing of an unarmed prisoner would really give this body a thing to get their teeth and claws in. Chris Madsen would be lucky if he was only thrown out of office.

  ‘What the hell happened out there, Kid?’ he finally managed to growl.

  ‘Out where?’ countered the Kid, mildly innocent.

  ‘What was that yell?’ Madsen’s voice rose a shade.

  ‘Was there a yell?’asked the Kid.

  ‘You know there was!’ Madsen yelled.

  ‘You mean a yell like this?’ replied the Kid. He opened his mouth; from it came the same hideous scream of pain, then a gurgle as if the throat was filling with blood.

  For a long moment Madsen did not reply. He, and every other man in the room, stood staring at the Ysabel Kid, hardly believing that a living man could make such a sound.

  At last Madsen found his voice. ‘Then it was you and not—!’

  There was sardonic amusement in the Kid’s voice as he replied, ‘Why sure. What else did you reckon it might have been? You didn’t allow I’d stuck ole Annie Breen here,’ he gestured with the bowie knife, ‘into that young feller we took outside, did you?’

  ‘Dealing with a damned crazy Comanche like you a man doesn’t know what the hell to think,’ Madsen snorted. ‘Where the hell is he?’

  ‘S . . . Eph’s got him out there. Keeping him quiet.’

  There came a scuffling and a thud from outside the saloon. The batwing doors burst open and Ben came in backwards, crashing to the floor with his legs waving feebly. Eph stepped in, rubbing his knuckles and grinning at the young outlaw.

  Outside Ben had suddenly been overcome with a desire to depart for new pastures and had attempted to bring this about by knocking Eph down. It was not a success for Eph’s left hand parried the wild swing Ben launched, shoving it harmlessly away from him. Then his entirely un-wild right fist shot out and knocked Ben through the door, for he was no mean hand at knocking down.

  ‘Reckon we’d best take these three to your cellar and get Dutch Charlie hauled to your undertaker’s shop,’ Madsen said to the constable. ‘I’d best get the three boys under lock and key before anything else happens. I’m holding them for stage robbery — kidnapping as well — they took a young woman off the stage.’

  ‘And I surely wish we hadn’t,’ Sam wailed. ‘That gal’s enough to turn a man offen women for ever. She had us sweeping and cleaning everything up. Made us wash and shave afore she’d let us eat at the table and bawled me out for eating beans offen a knife. We had her another week and we’d have been paying Ole Devil Hardin to take her back again.’

  The Kid grinned. It seemed Betty was all right. She affected the hands at the O.D. Connected the same way when she was in one of her moods. The thing now was to rescue Betty before the other two outlaws started worrying about their friends.

  ‘Ain’t much room for three prisoners in the cellar,’ remarked the constable. ‘But I don’t reckon they’ll want to walk about much.’

  ‘Where’s this farm, friend?’ asked the Kid of the bartender, watching Madsen and the constable escorting the three young outlaws out of the saloon.

  ‘Just follow the trail north a piece, and you’ll come to a path leading off to the left. The farm’s about a mile along it.’

  ‘How’d you reckon to get up to it, Kid?’ Eph asked. ‘Move in on foot?’

  ‘I daren’t chance it. Nope, I’ve got me an idea that might work out. Happen Chris’ll agree and our friend behind the bar can get us a hat and a pile of blankets. Hope Chris ain’t took their hosses with him. Take a look, Sam, if he has, get them back.’

  ‘Want any of us along?’ asked the bartender eagerly.

  ‘Admire to have you, friend,’ replied the Kid. ‘But they’re holding a gal prisoner and they’d likely hurt her if they heard a crowd coming. The leader of the gang’s still out there and he’s a boy who’ll
spook if things go wrong.’

  ‘See what you mean. We’ll stand out and leave it to you. I hope you can get the gal out without her being hurt.’

  ‘Mister,’ said the Kid grimly and sincerely. ‘So do I.’

  * * *

  ‘I shaw a big-pig Yankee marshal comin’ down the shtreet. Got two Dragoon guns in hish belt, looks fiersh enough to eat.

  Now big-pig Yankee stay away. Stay right, clear of me.

  I’m a lil boy from Texshus and scared ash I can be — hic!’

  Joe listened to the drunken voice and pulled aside the curtains to peer out into the night. He could see a rider approaching leading three horses, the three horses his friends rode to town. Across each saddle was a shape that looked like a body. He felt scared until he saw the rider swing down from his big black horse, stagger and almost fall, and clinging to the saddle for support.

  ‘Hello the housh!’ the man yelled, staggering towards the porch and swinging up on to it with a whisky-soddened abandon. ‘Anybody home?’

  ‘Who is it?’ Joe asked, glancing at Jesse who was still holding Betty.

  ‘Me!’ replied the voice with drunken logic, then a puzzled note took its place, ‘Leasht I think it’s me. Hey, you three, is this one of you up here, and me down there on the hoss?’ There was a pause. ‘Naw, it can’t be. Come on, open up. Your pardsh allowed there’d be something to drink here.’

  Joe grinned and reached for the door handle. It was just like Ben and the other two to get drunk and make friends with a stranger, then have to be brought home across their saddles. They must have told the stranger where to come before they’d collapsed under the load of coffin-varnish. It would be safe to open the door for the man who’d brought Ben and the others back did not sound or look in much better condition than they were.

  Holstering his gun Joe opened the door. Instantly a hand shot out, gripping his throat; something hard, cold and round was thrust savagely under his chin and he was forced backwards into the room. The most savage face he’d ever seen loomed before his startled eyes and he croaked a scared yell. The Ysabel Kid forced Joe backwards into the room, holding his throat with the left hand while the right forced the muzzle of the Dragoon Colt under Joe’s chin. The Kid’s thumb held the hammer back and the trigger was depressed ready to fire. Then he saw Jesse and Betty. He saw the way the young outlaw held Betty, saw the knife so near her face and the fear in the man’s eyes.