by J. T. Edson
“He wasn’t working for me,” she said, watching Dusty Fog all the time. “I reckon it’d make a right nice court case to decide who wins, Captain Fog.”
“Yes’m.” Dusty mentally raised his hat to the woman. She knew the danger of a riot if she did not pay. She also knew his sense of duty would force him to prevent it. “It would. Only thing being I’ll close your place until after we hear the ruling. And that might take time. Judge Shannon’s a real busy man. It might take him a week or maybe even two before he gets around to making a judgment.”
It was now Bearcat Annie’s turn to raise a hat. Her idea would certainly hold Dutchy from getting his money. It would cost her far more for she knew Judge Shannon would follow whatever lead Dusty wanted to give in this matter. The Judge respected Dusty as a fair and impartial lawman. He would know Dusty was not acting for blind revenge in wanting the trial held up. Dusty was also well within his rights to say the saloon was closed. In a Western town a lawman could do pretty near what he wanted and no amount of legal skulldugery would affect his edict.
“All right.” Bearcat Annie knew when she was licked and the time to holler calf rope was at hand. “I reckon I’m to blame for all this. I’ll pay the bet off.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I thought you’d play square.”
Bearcat Annie met Dusty’s eyes; there was a gleam of admiration in her gaze. If this young Texan would throw in with her and her boss they would take over the town. She knew there was no hope of that. Dusty Fog would never throw in with them. From now on it would be war to the death and the devil take the last man. The cheers of the crowd at her sporting offer to assume the loss were hollow mockery in her ears. The men in the crowd regarded her once more as a good sport, paying up for a loss which might not be her own fault. They did not know the bitter gall feeling which filled her. The plan so carefully laid was spoiled now. Worse, not only did Dutchy Schulze still have sufficient money to pay for his mining equipment he now possessed enough of her money to keep his mine going.
Dutchy was about to follow Bearcat Annie to the bar and collect his money when he saw Eeney sat on the stool in the ring, her head in her hands. He noticed the sobs which were shaking her frame and said, “Collect my winnings for me, please, Captain Fog.”
‘Sure, Dutchy.”
Dutchy climbed into the ring, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder. In their own tongue he asked, “What is wrong?”
Eeney looked at him, her left eye was discoloured and her nose bloody. “It is nothing,” she replied.
‘Where are the others?” Dutchy looked around the empty ring. “Why did they leave you here?
“Mundy says I have lost him money. I can no longer go with him.”
Mark Counter swung into the ring. He did not speak German but did not need to. He had seen the way things were going, including Mundy leaving Eeney in the ring and knew what was wrong. “I’ll get Doc to look her over down at the jail,” he suggested. “Take her down there.”
Dutchy helped the girl to her feet, Eeney hung on to him, feeling his strength as he put an arm around her. “Come, liebchen,” he ordered.
Bearcat Annie handed Dusty Fog the money to pay off Dutchy, smiling with her lips but not her eyes. She saw Dutchy and Mark helping Eeney from the ring and her voice went over the noise of the crowd. “Hey, Dutchy, come on up and have a drink. Just to show there’s no ill-feelings. Bring Eeney with you.”
Dutchy was about to object, but all round were men he liked and was friendly with. They urged him and the girl towards the bar where drinks were waiting for them. Eeney managed to raise a smile and answer the cheers of the crowd with a wave. “Great fight, gal,” a miner whooped. “She’d give you a good whirl, Bearcat.”
There was a hard gleam in Bearcat Annie’s eyes as she looked at Eeney. With a smile on her lips she studied the girl. Bearcat Annie was known to be tough and a better than fair exponent of the art of hair-yanking, all-in frontier fighting as practised by the saloon women.
“She might at that. How about it, Eeney?”
“No!” Dutchy answered, his voice firm and definite. “From now on Eeney does not fight again.”
“That’s a real pity.” Bearcat Annie held down her annoyance. If she could get this German girl in a fight she would have some of her revenge. “Reckon you’re right. She doesn’t want to get hurt after coming off lucky like that.”
“What do you. mean?” Eeney bristled like a cat; she was proud of her fighting skill. “Lucky?”
“Wasn’t it luck that brought you through?” Bearcat Annie mocked. “I thought Russian Olga was whipping you.”
The two women faced each other at the bar and the crowd felt a surge of anticipation running through it at the prospect of another fight. Dusty Fog looked the two women over and remarked, “One thing’s for sure, Bearcat, you know when to make a challenge. You sit back and wait for an edge.”
“Meaning?”
“Eeney’s just ended a real tough fight, now you want her to stack against you. I call that being real brave.”
The crowd listened to every word, the eagerness for the fight dying as they looked at the exhausted German girl, then at Bearcat Annie. The big blonde woman scowled. It appeared that Dusty Fog was once more stopping her plans. She wanted to fling herself at Eeney and savage the girl to relieve her own feelings. To do so now would lose her the favour of the crowd after regaining it by paying off the bet. Once more she forced through a smile. “All right. Pity you won’t be staying here, girlie. Otherwise we might have put on a match.”
Dutchy gently slipped the robe over Eeney’s shoulders and with his arm around her turned from the bar, he did not mention it but if his plans went right Eeney would not he leaving town. However even if she stayed Dutchy did not intend to let her carry on making her living in the manner she had been doing it. Eeney was annoyed at Bearcat Annie’s attitude, she felt ashamed by her refusal to meet the challenge. She started to strain away, to tell the fat blonde woman she was willing to go into the ring immediately.
“Come Eeney!” The voice was stern, and she felt herself obeying it meekly.
Bearcat Annie watched Dutchy and Eeney walking away and threw back her head. She laughed loud and bellowed, “Belly up to the bar, boys. Looks like the champion’s retired.”
There was a laugh at that and Eeney, face flushing scarlet tried to turn. Dutchy kept hold of her shoulder, meeting her eyes and saying gently, “No, liebchen, you have finished with that way now.”
Dusty and his deputies followed Dutchy from the saloon. The small Texan looked at the robe Eeney wore and asked, “Where are your clothes, ma’am?”
“At the back of the saloon, in Mundy’s wagon. He said I could not have them.”
“Did huh?” Dusty’s reply was mild. “Reckon he can be talked round if you do it right. Let’s go, Lon.”
Eeney was about to say something but she was too late, Dusty and the Ysabel Kid were gone, walking around the corner of the saloon. Mark looked at the girl then at Dutchy. “Come on. Let’s go down to the jail and wait.”
“Mundy won’t give up my clothes,” Eeney warned. “He is very violent when annoyed and he carries a gun.”
“Don’t you worry none, ma’am. Ole Dusty’s real persuasive when he needs to be,” Mark answered. “Come on, let’s get off the streets.”
The back of the saloon was surrounded by a board fence and used as a dump for cases of empty bottles. A street ran behind the saloon and on it stood Mundy’s wagon, lit by a lamp. Inside the four girls were sat at the back, Olga lay on a rough bunk, still unconscious and Mundy was trying to open a trunk.
“Don’t bother, friend. We can carry it without emptying her.”
Turning Mundy saw two men, one tall, the other smaller. They stood in the light of the lamp, the badges on their vests reflecting the light. “What do you want here?” he growled.
“Miss Haufman’s gear,” Dusty answered. “So turn her loose and we’ll herd her to home.”
Mundy
straightened up, his lips drawing back in a sneer. “Yeah?” he asked, his hand dropping casually to his coat pocket.
“Yeah!” Dusty’s right hand made a sight-defying move, the left side Colt corning out and lined. “Just hand her over, right now.”
Slowly Mundy’s eyes went from the gun to Dusty’s face. He could read no sigh of indecision or lack of purpose in that face. He knew that if he did not hand over the box he would wish he had. “This’s it. I was just going to take the money she’s made me lose.”
Dusty climbed into the wagon and shoved the box towards the Kid. He holstered his gun and turned to face Mundy. “I don’t like you or your way of making a living, hombre,” he warned. “You set that fight up to cost a friend of mine plenty.”
“You can’t prove that,” Mundy sneered.
Two hands bunched his coat lapels and dragged him forward, cold grey eyes on his face from real close. The voice which replied to him was not loud yet it was a voice he never forgot.
“Mister, I don’t aim to prove it. Dutchy came out the winner and I’m satisfied. You’ll be out of this town by noon tomorrow. If you’re not I’ll send you an your way personally.”
With a contemptuous thrust of his powerful arms, Dusty sent the man staggering back. Dusty saw the girls moving to allow their boss as painful a landing as possible and knew they did not care for him. Turning, Dusty was about to leave the wagon when he saw the Ysabel Kid point like a coon-hound hitting a hot scent. The box fell from his hands, his right twisting to bring the old Dragoon out. Dusty swung back, expecting Mundy to be making some treacherous move, his left hand bringing out its gun. The man still lay where he had landed and made no move which might have caused this sudden action by the Ysabel Kid.
“All right. Come on out with your hands showing!”
Dusty turned and swung from the wagon as he heard the Kid give out with his challenge while lining his gun on the shadows formed by the high fence. Landing by his friend’s side he tried to see what attracted the other but could not. For a moment he thought for once the Kid was wrong. “I’m counting to three, then shooting,” the Kid went on. “One!”
Something moved in the blackness, something which the Kid’s Indian keen senses located. The two young Texans were tense ready to either shoot or hit the ground. Into the light came a tall, thin shape clad in a black suit and a high hat.
“Howdy, Mr. Grimwood,” Dusty greeted, recognising the undertaker. “You like to scare the Kid out of a year’s growth?”
“It sure did,” agreed the Kid, surprised that the undertaker had managed to come so close before being detected by his exceptionally keen ears. “You’re a mite off your home range, Mr. Grimwood.”
Grimwood gulped, his face holding a look like a man caught out doing something he should not. He glanced back in the direction he had just come, to where the red lamp of Jenny’s place gleamed in the darkness.
“I was merely taking a walk, marshal.”
Dusty holstered his gun, a grin playing around his lips. Grimwood was loud in his condemnation of the red light section of town and a stout member of the Civic Improvement Guild. From the guilty look on his face he was doing something he should not. “Bad area for a man to be walking, back here.”
“I agree, I agree.” Grimwood looked around again. “Could speak to you alone Captain Fog?”
“Why sure. Lon, take the box down to the jail.”
The Ysabel Kid winked as he holstered his gun and took up the box. He could make a fair guess at where Grimwood’s walk took him. He turned and headed for the jail. Grimwood watched him go and with the nervous, mother-hen attitude of a man caught doing something really wrong.
They went into the alley at the side of the saloon and Grimwood halted, his sallow face working nervously. “Er, I . . . er . . . that is. Well, it’s like this, Captain Fog. I was merely taking a walk along the street there. I have a toothache and er . . .”
“I understand, Mr. Grimwood.” Dusty’s tone showed that he did understand all too well.
“Of course you’re a man of the world, Captain. You realise what the consequences of my walk would mean if the wrong people heard of it. After all I’m a founder member of the Civic Improvement Guild and . . . well . . . er. I . . .”
Once more Grimwood floundered to a stop. He was obviously embarrassed and Dusty could guess why. Grimwood was one of those pious-talking do-gooding kind of hypocrites who believe that the common folk must be protected from lust and sin while being quite ready to dabble in that same lust and sin on the sly. It fitted in with the impression Dusty formed of Grimwood on the few times he had met the undertaker.
“Like I said, I understand.”
“There are some who would not take a charitable view of my walk. Especially as I have the misfortune to be coming from this direction. May I rely on your discretion, Captair Fog?”
“Why sure.” Dusty ignored the folded bill Grimwood held to him. “It’s none of my business where you spend your time. Goodnight, Mr. Grimwood.”
Dusty walked away and Grimwood left the alley to go back in the direction of his shop. The young marshal was still smiling when he entered the jail office and found all his deputies sat around describing the fight to the Bollingers who had been acting as jailers while the lawmen took a rest. Maggie was looking Eeney over as the German girl sat talking with Dutchy. The big woman nodded a greeting to Dusty and remarked, “We’re going to have a wedding soon.”
“What do you mean?” Dusty asked.
“Dutchy and Eeney. He told us as soon as they came in. She looked some surprised but she hasn’t objected.”
Dutchy was oblivious of everything except for Eeney. He looked down at her and told her of his plans. She was silent and thoughtful, wondering how she had come to be mixed up in this. For some time she had been wanting to leave the troupe but knew she could not make a living if she did. Now she was being given that chance. Dutchy talked eagerly and in German, speaking as only a man can when using his native tongue and to a woman he loved. Yet he did not speak of love, only of his plans. The money won that night would pay for the mining equipment outright and still leave enough for them to pay help and make a home. He wanted to buy her a big house but she refused that offer, asking only that she be able to stay with him.
Finally he rose and came to where Dusty was seated filling in the Marshal’s log on the desk. “Captain, I am to marry Eeney in the morning. We would take it as a great honour if you would be the best man.”
“Sure thing, Dutchy. One thing though. Miss Haufman’s going to stay with Maggie here tonight and you’re stopping in the backroom. Then tomorrow your money’s going back into the bank.”
“I agree, Captain. But is it necessary for your men to guard us?”
“More than ever now.”
The deputies went out to make their rounds of the town and Maggie took Eeney out back to wash up. Dusty carried on writing up his log, the daily record of all that happened to his men. He was just finishing when Maggie came back. “Eeney’s in your place, changing. Say, was she really fighting in there?”
“Dutchy didn’t hand her that black eye to make her accept him,” Dusty replied with a grin.
“Women fist fighters, what’ll they think of next?” Maggie snorted then gave a smile. “Lon told us you caught old Buzzard going to see his girl friend. I’ve seen him at it before now.”
“What, visiting Jenny’s?”
“No Bearcat Annie’s place. I’ve seen him sneak in the back there more than once.”
CHAPTER TEN
He’s A Calhoun
DUSTY SAT looking at Maggie Bollinger for a time. “Bearcat Annie’s place?” he asked finally.
“Sure. I’ve seen him going in the back way at night more than once. Not that he’s the only one. I’ve seen some more going in there who’d be real shocked if they thought they’d been seen.”
Dusty was a suspicious young man; he looked for motives beyond the first and most obvious to meet the eye. The woman�
��s words took him by surprise; he had been sure from Grimwood’s actions that the undertaker was coming from Jenny’s house. The very way Grimwood acted was enough to make him believe that. Yet it appeared he was wrong, Grimwood was going to Bearcat Annie’s saloon for some reason. There was a solution to it. Grimwood might have been at Jenny’s, making a change from his usual haunt. That he was using the back way into the saloon did not surprise Dusty. Grimwood and those other men Maggie Bollinger mentioned were the sort who would be horrified at the thought of being seen entering a place of sin. Grimwood’s actions were in keeping with his pious, hypocritical way of life. Even that furtive, false friendship was what Dusty could expect, so was the discussion as between two men of the world. There was a reason behind Grimwood’s desire that Dusty think he had been to Jenny’s place. It was a kind of cover; he could always claim, truthfully, that he had never been in Jenny’s place if the young Texan was indiscreet enough to talk.
“You and Cy take Eeney home with you, Maggie,” he said. “And don’t let her out of your sight. She’s not to go with anyone, no matter what they tell her. If I send for her I’ll send one of the boys. Don’t under any circumstances let Eeney go with anybody else.”
“Sure, Cap’n. Do you think that fat blonde cow’d try to get her own back on Eeney for winning the fight?”
“She might at that,” Dusty answered. He did not want to bother Maggie with his ideas that there was some more sinister motive behind any attempt which might be made.
Eeuey went with Maggie and her husband, and Dutchy, and following them, one on either side of the street, went Doc Leroy and Rusty Willis.
The next morning Dusty Fog was best man at the wedding, but the honeymoon was postponed until some later and safer date.
Dusty left the wedding breakfast before the others and returned to the jail. Matt Gillem was waiting. The old banker greeted Dusty but there was a worried look in his eyes.