The Code of Dusty Fog

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Doctor Cosgrove has everything we’d need at Mulrooney,’

  Farnsworth replied. ‘Including a surgery equipped for the operation.’

  ‘Then, should you need,’ Todhunter said, without even glancing at Dusty, having listened to the conversation. ‘We’ll get him there.’

  ‘How?’ Sangster inquired and, although he did not say, ‘Why should we?’ it was implied in his tone.

  ‘By the work train,’ the railroad magnate replied. ‘Get everything that isn’t absolutely necessary cleared off it.’

  ‘But there might not be any need,’ the young New Englander protested.

  ‘There might not,’ Todhunter agreed. ‘But, happen there is, I don’t want any damned delay if we find out the feller’s got appendicitis when he’s brought here.’ Then, swinging his gaze from Sangster, he continued, ‘Go and do what needs doing, Doc!’

  ‘Do you know something, Dusty?’ Farnsworth asked, while he and the small Texan were riding northwards along the trail. ‘That’s the first time Mr. Todhunter’s called me “Doc”.’

  ‘He’s a man I can like,’ Dusty replied. ‘I know helping that old cowhand’ll put him in good with the Front de Boeufs right when he needs that bad—!’

  ‘You mean because of the slow-elking?’ the doctor guessed, before the comment could be completed.

  ‘And that,’ the small Texan said cryptically, but decided against mentioning the unauthorized change of route. ‘Only I’d bet everything I’ve got that he’d have done the same anyways and, which being, that’s my kind of man.9

  ‘I agree,’ the doctor declared without hesitation, having failed to draw any conclusions from the first part of the answer. ‘But I wish he hadn’t split up with young Harland. That’s how Ray Sangster came to be put in charge.’

  ‘Could be they’ll make it up again,’ Dusty suggested, but the need to concentrate on getting the best possible speed out of the horses prevented him from being asked to explain his second cryptic—yet hopeful in this case—remark.

  ‘Get everything unloaded off the flat cars, Ray!’ Todhunter commanded, being unaware of the remarks passing between Dusty and Farnsworth as they rode away and giving his attention to what might lie ahead.

  ‘Everything?’ Sangster repeated, frowning’ with a lack of comprehension.

  ‘Everything,' the railroad magnate confirmed. ‘Rails, sleepers, tools, the whole god-damned lot. I want those cars emptied so’s what they’re carrying can be used after the train’s gone back with the feller who’s sick.’

  ‘But there might not be any need—’

  ‘Then we’ll have ’em loaded again.’

  ‘But the delay—!’

  ‘There’s been so much delay already that the bit extra won’t make any difference,’ Todhunter said, eyeing Sangster coldly, and he raised his voice to a bellow. ‘Tom Riordan! Mose Jones!’ When the engineer and his black fireman arrived on the run, he went on in an amiable tone, ‘Could be you’ll have to take a sick man to Mulrooney as quick as it can be done, Tom, Mose.’

  ‘Then you couldn’t get it done no quicker any other way, boss,’ Riordan declared. ‘Could he, Mose?’

  ‘Not without sprouting wings and flying,’ the fireman seconded.

  ‘Something told me you’d say that,’ the railroad magnate asserted with a grin. Then he became serious. ‘Should it happen, what’ll you need to get the best speed?’

  ‘Plenty of wood for the boiler, enough water to keep a good head of steam and the best journal oil to stop a hot box, which we’ve already got,’ Riordan replied. ‘There’s only one thing I’d ask for.’

  ‘It’s yours if it can be had,’ Todhunter stated.

  ‘There won’t be no trouble afore we’ve got the Colonel facing south at Fogville, which’s what we’ve started to call the base camp,’ the engineer declared with confidence. ‘But we’ll only take along the caboose, happen it’s all right with you.’

  ‘You’re doing the driving, Tom,’ the railroad magnate authorized.

  ‘Right then,’ Riordan said, nodding approval. ‘With the speed we’ll be going, I want every switch ’tween there and Mulrooney spiked shut tight to cut out any chance of us jumping the track.’

  ‘You’ve got it,’ Todhunter promised. ‘Ray, have the telegraph crew here send back for things to be got ready to do it as soon as I give the word, and tell ’em if there’s any mistake, the man who makes it will never work on another railroad as long as he lives.’

  ‘You’re taking all this much trouble just for a cowhand?’ Sangster inquired sourly, instead of going immediately to carry out the instruction.

  ‘I’m doing it for a sick man,’ Todhunter corrected coldly. ‘And, if you can’t understand that, you’re no man to be running the building of my railroad.’

  Seventeen – It Was Him Who Hired Us

  ‘Here comes the Colonel!’ Harland Todhunter Junior said. ‘I wish we’d heard something,’ Antonia Front de Boeuf replied, also looking to where the engine—still with only the caboose attached—was approaching at a more leisurely pace than when it had departed shortly before noon.

  ‘They do say no news is good news, Tony,’ Dusty Fog drawled in a soothing fashion. Then he grinned disarmingly as the girl swung towards him with annoyance on her beautiful face. ‘Which, afore you tell me, isn’t a whole heap of comfort when you’re real worried about somebody.’

  ’Worried?’ Tony yelped, seeking relief from her anxiety by a pretence at indifference. ‘Who’d be worried about what happens to a worn out, ornery old cuss like Ben Cull?’

  ‘Well, if you aren’t,’ Junior said with a sympathetic grin, watching the play of emotion which gave the lie to the outburst. ‘You’ll do until somebody who is worried comes along.’ Arriving at the bridge, Doctor Brian Farnsworth had only needed a quick examination to conclude the old cowhand had collapsed with an acute attack of appendicitis and declare only an operation would save him. The medical practitioner had made no attempt to minimize the risks involved, not the least being transporting him to where it could be carried out, but he had also stressed it was the only way to save his life.

  The youngest of the cowhands, asking why it was necessary to take Ben to Mulrooney instead of removing the appendix on the spot, said he had heard Doc Leroy had done the same operation after rendering the sufferer unconscious with a blow from an empty whiskey bottle and using a borrowed bowie knife to operate. Before the doctor could reply, Dusty, saying he hated to spoil the story for his amigo from the Wedge, had explained it had become considerably embellished in the telling. While Doc had kept a man from dying of acute appendicitis during a trail drive, working far from the nearest town, he had employed the whiskey and not the bottle in lieu of a conventional anesthetic and the set of surgeon’s instruments he carried in his father’s medical bag with the rest of his ‘thirty years’ gatherings.

  With the point settled, Tony had inquired whether the operation would prove successful. Admitting frankly he could not guarantee the result, taking into account the patient’s age and the need to go so far before it could be performed, Farnsworth reiterated the belief that nothing else would keep him alive. Without taking time to consult with even the second oldest of the cowhands—who was introduced as Mike Hazeltine, segundo of the Beefhead ranch—the girl had reached what was obviously a very difficult decision and had given her consent. What was more, while Dusty was collecting the doctor from the construction area, she had had an Indian-style travois made from branches and shirts donated by Junior and the younger men of her party.

  While the Easterner had shown he would like to remain in Tony’s company, he had accepted that neither Dusty’s big paint stallion nor any of the cow ponies used by the Beefhead hands would be suitable for pulling the travois and he had surrendered his horse without hesitation. Placing the old man on it and making him secure, the girl had said she and Hazeltine would accompany him at least as far as the base camp and for the rest to take Harl—as they were now calling him—b
ack to the ranch where her father would want to express gratitude. Pointing out that such a visit would allow the matter of the slow-elking to be concluded in a way satisfactory to both sides, and believing this would strengthen his chances of affecting a reconciliation between Todhunter Senior and Junior, the small Texan had given his support to the suggestion.

  The first part of the journey had been accomplished without difficulty or without adding to Cull’s suffering more than was absolutely necessary, such was the excellence of the way the travois had been constructed. By the time they reached the construction area, goaded by the orders and example set by Todhunter Senior, the gandy dancers had everything ready for the next stage. The flat cars had been unloaded and all that was needed had been to make the patient as comfortable as possible in the caboose. However, although the magnate stated his intention of going along, Farnsworth had prevailed upon the girl and her segundo to stay behind. In the circumstances, realizing it might prove a lengthy process, Dusty refrained from mentioning the presence and behavior of Junior to his father. After the train left, building up a far higher speed than the small Texan had previously seen, Tony and Hazeltine spent the intervening time watching the construction work and trying to relax by making casual conversation with Dusty and the assistant gang bosses. No word had come from Mulrooney. However, as the sun was going down, they had been told the Colonel was returning and they had gone to meet it.

  Under less trying conditions, having learned how Tom Riordan would only carry people he considered worthy of the privilege in the cab, Dusty might have been at least puzzled at seeing a man wearing range clothes standing behind him and the fireman. Nor, although it brought a number of the gandy dancers hurrying over from their accommodation, did the small Texan attach any importance-other than thinking it was the engineer’s way of announcing the operation had proved successful—to the repeated whooping call of the Colonel’s whistle as it was approaching. His first inkling that all was far from well came as the engine was brought to a halt in front of him and he saw the Colt 1860 Army Model revolver which the man was holding.

  However, the realization that something was badly wrong came an instant too late!

  ‘Don’t nobody try nothing!’ bawled a voice with an Illinois accent, as half a dozen men dressed in various Western styles and holding guns began to leap from the doors at each end of the caboose. ‘We’ve got Harland Todhunter hawg-tied to a chair in here with a sawed-off ten gauge in his favorite gut and he’ll get both barrels should there be any fuss at all.’

  ‘Don’t anybody make a move!’ Dusty instructed in a carrying voice, seeing Shamus O’Sullivan, Louis “Frenchy” Rastignac, Fritz “Dutchy” Voigt and the Molloy brothers in the forefront of the crowd and knowing none of them, or the others, were armed.

  ‘That’s real smart, short stu—!’ the speaker praised, proving to be wearing the attire of a successful professional gambler and holding an Army Colt in his right hand, as he came from the front end of the caboose, followed by Michael Meacher.

  ‘That’s Dusty Fog, Mr. Short,’ the young man put in urgently.

  ‘Him?’ David Short snorted.

  ‘I know he don’t look it,’ Meacher admitted, once again becoming aware of the small Texan’s true height on seeing him in less demanding circumstances and with a girl by his side to serve as a comparison. ‘But he’s Dusty Fog for sure.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Short said quietly, having studied the small Texan more closely and reaching accurate conclusions regarding his potential. ‘I reckon he is at that.’

  ‘There’s no pay roll due for a couple weeks at most,’ Dusty said, allowing his hands to dangle by his sides well clear of his weapons. Although he felt sure such was not the reason for the visit, he continued as if believing it to be the case, ‘So, should this be a hold up, you’ve come a fair way for poor pickings.’

  ‘It’s no hold up,’ Short corrected. ‘And I don’t for a moment reckon you think it is, Cap’n Fog. I’ve come to settle accounts for my nephew’s you downed when him and this knob-head tried to gun you down.’

  ‘They didn’t give me a whole heap of choice in the matter,’ Dusty pointed out, having suspected the motive and watching the armed men spreading along the side of the track in front of the train so as to be able to keep the growing crowd covered.

  ‘So the knob-head said,’ Short conceded. ‘Trouble being, I’ve spread word’s nobody was to do anything to him on account of him being something special to me.’

  ‘He was special to you?’ the small Texan asked, being genuinely puzzled at an outlaw with a sizeable price on his head being willing to chance seeking revenge for the killing of a man like Ronald ‘Rocky’ Todd.

  ‘I know it don’t sound likely,’ Short admitted frankly, suffering from no illusions where his nephew was concerned. ‘Trouble being, his momma’s got a helluva a lot of my money stashed away back to home and, knowing her, she’d use me not getting evens for him as an excuse to hang on to it should I let things pass. So I’ve just natural’ got to do something about you making wolf bait of him.’

  ‘You,’ Dusty queried, his manner derisive and challenging. ‘Or you and all these fellers you’ve brought along for backing?’ An interruption came before the outlaw leader could reply! ‘Mr. Short, sir!’ Meacher put in urgently, pointing to a man who was coming to the forefront of the crowd. ‘It was him who hired us, and then warned Cap’n Fog when we was coming out to gun him down without him expecting it.’ Resenting the rebuke he had received from Todhunter Senior, Raymond Sangster had spent the afternoon sulking in his quarters. However, on hearing the train returning, curiosity had compelled him to put in an appearance. Seeing the finger pointed at him and hearing the statement by the survivor of the abortive attempt to kill Dusty Fog, he realized the decision had put him in a very dangerous position.

  Pampered by his middle class-middle management parents, and filled with a sense of his mental superiority almost from birth, Raymond Sangster had later found this quality more imaginary than real. When setting out for college he had been confident he would easily make his mark on life. But while he had been completing an education paid for by his doting father, to fit him for a senior position in engineering projects, he had become aware that book-learning would not be enough to set him above others in that line of Endeavour. However, unlike many of his kind when making a similar discovery, he had not adopted ‘liberal’ persuasions and proclaimed a complete disinterest in the financial benefits of success as an easy way of avoiding failure in his chosen field. Instead, satisfied that he was well equipped in theory, he had sought for a means of utilizing his talents lucratively.

  Getting to know the Todhunters had offered a way for the New Englander. He was aware of the hostility between the father and the Dean of the college and saw how it might be turned to his advantage if the latter was given cause to gloat because of the son’s failure to graduate. Unfortunately, Harland Junior, despite giving the impression of being relaxed and more interested in taking part in various sporting activities—attaining considerable proficiency in all of them, whereas Sangster could not succeed at any—and having fun rather than study, he was such a good student that no reason was likely to occur for him to fail to graduate. However, an opportunity was presented by the celebration following the successful outcome of a Boston game against the team’s strongest rivals, the University of Notre Dame. The Dean had expressed disapproval in very strong terms of the rowdy and high spirited behavior which accompanied previous successes and had given dire warnings of the consequences if these should be continued.

  Going to the party, Sangster had ‘spiked’ what should have been comparatively harmless punch with pure alcohol obtained from the medical laboratory. Junior had been less culpable than the others, in fact he was trying to quieten them down when the police arrived in response to complaints about the noise from the neighbors, but the Dean had made the most of the chance by dismissing him, even though his final examination papers for graduation were await
ing adjudication. Having already ingratiated himself with Todhunter Senior, the New Englander had ensured the breach caused by the news would widen while pretending to try and seal it. Having ordered his son to leave home, the railroad magnate had offered Sangster the post of supervisor for the spur-line going north from Kansas which he was financing.

  Again like many others of his kind, regardless of his parent’s high opinion of his ability to get things done—with which he whole-heartedly concurred—the New Englander had found reality a vastly different proposition to his fantasies. The mental superiority which he had believed he possessed and which he expected would bring success had failed to produce the desired results. In fact, it had soon become apparent to him that he had neither the personality nor the capability to make the men over whom he was in charge work as well as was required to keep to the schedule of construction he promised. Coming into contact with a man who had all the qualities he lacked and realizing how this might be turned to his advantage, he had concocted a plot to bring it to fruition.

  Knowing of the Southern code of honour to which he felt sure Dusty Fog adhered, Sangster had used this as the basis of his scheme. Hearing about the reputation of Honesty John’s Tavern in Brownton, he had believed he could find the assistance he required there. Realizing he must not allow his true identity to be detected, he had made use of the skill in disguise and acting acquired as a member of the college’s dramatic society to avoid being recognized. Watching the three would-be hired killers—being unaware that Ronald ‘Rocky’ Todd’s special relationship with David Short made using him inadvisable—he had concluded they were exactly what he required, and his subsequent negotiations had confirmed the supposition. He was satisfied that, even if they had failed to notice the clue he gave that he was a member of the Little family engaged on a quest for revenge against the small Texan, they had no idea who he really was or what he actually looked like.