''Maybe I couldn't,** Dusty replied. "But you tried to kill me widi that fancy cane-gun. That's attempted murder. Fact being no jury'd blame me for killing you defending myself against another try—even if you didn't make one."
'TThe law—I" Hockley started.
TDoesn't cover what you're doing," Dusty interrupted. "So Tm telling you right now. The next time I catch you selling that snake-head rot-gut to cowhands on the range, I'll kifl you where you stand.
Watching the small Texan, Waco could almost believe the threat would be carried out. From all appearances Hockley did not doubt it. All the last attempts at bluster left him. Although the fury and hatred still flickered on his face, it was tempered by fear. However he made a final attempt at putting on a bold face.
"You'll hear more ab—.'*
It seemed to be Hockley's day to have speeches cut oflF in mid-sentence. Dropping from his white's saddle, the Kid stepped between Dusty and the pedlar. A face, suddenly changed to a tight-lipped Comanche Dog Soldier's war mask, thrust itself up close to Hockley's and a pair of red hazel eyes glared into his.
"Misterl" said the Kid in a deep-throated Pehnane grunt "You see to your hired man, then climb on to those bosses and get the hell gone from here afore Dusty lolls you now.**
"Which same I wouldn't want to see him do that," Waco went on. **So I may just have to save him the trouble."
"Which same I wouldn't want the boy to have that on his conscience," the Kid stated. "So I just might do it myself."
Looking at the trio of grim faces, Hockley realised that his life had never been in more deadly danger. One wrong move, a further word out of place, could easily bring lead crashing into him. Possibly Dusty Fog would not kiU him imless given adequate cause, but the other two might have fewer scruples. With that thought in mind the pedlar started towards the team horses.
"You hired him and got him shot up, mister," Dusty said, ''So you see to him now." ^ Throwing a glance at the groaning, wounded man who
was sitting up holding his injured shoulder, Hockley gave a disinterested shrug. "He can go to hell for all of me."
**Take another step and you'll be lying alongside him," Dusty warned as the man continued to walk.
"What the hell do you want now?" Hockley almost screeched, spinning aroimd and glaring at the Texans. *TouVe come here and busted my wagon—/'
"It's called the responsibiUty of an employer," Dusty answered. "See to that feller. Take him with you—and don't come back."
PICK OUT THE LEADERS
While Hockley obeyed Dusty and tended to the hired man*s wound, Waco went over and picked up the cane. At first glance it seemed ordinary enougn, but the weight was more than bamboo, silver decorative connecting bands and a curved walnut handle ought to be. Walking back to Dusty, the youngster turned the cane and looked at the ferrule. A hole of about .36 calibre ran up the centre of the cane, drilled into a steel tube hidden under the coating of bamboo. Closer examination showed rifling grooves cut into the hole.
^That's slick,** he remarked, joining Dusty. T never saw a dingus like this afore.**
"He coimted on it,** the small Texan replied and took the cane. **It's a Remington cane-gun. I thought it might be from the way he kept it on the toe of his boot.**
"So*s he*d not plug the muzzle with dirt,** Waco guessed.
**Sure. Although Thomas, the feller who designed this sort of gun for Remington, fitted it with a piece of cork that*d blow out with the bullet and keep dirt out of the barrel It worked, only it doesn't pay to take chances.**
As he taUced, Dusty drew back the cane*s handle imtil a flat spring-catch flicked into place and held it open. Then he showed die youngster where to insert the self-consuming paper cartridge and percussion cap. Waco next learned that
31
the tip of the catch holding back the casing could be used as a rear-sight and the location of the small stud which served as a trigger. By the time Hockley had finished bandaging the other man's shoulder, Waco knew how to load and fire the Remington-Thomas Model of 1858 cane-gun.
"Reckon he'll be back, Dusty?^ Waco asked as they watched Hockley riding away widiout attempting to retrieve his hide-out weapon.
"I don't reckon so,** Dusty replied and looked at the Kid. *When're you thinking of starting?"
*Huh?" replied the dark young man innocently.
*Work. Earning all the money the taxpaying citizens of Mulrooney're going to pay you," Dusty explained.
"Oh, that."
"Sure. I told you to do something, didn't I?"
"I done it Tlie wagon stopped a mite sudden, but I done it for sure."
"You ve done one itty-bitty chore, not a da/s work,** Dusty told him. "Get on that white goat and go earn your keep."
'T)amned if I don't go back to smuggling for a hviag,** grumbled the Kid as he went to his horse. "Leastwise then I'll only do one day's work a day, not three days all rolled into one."
With that he swung into his saddle, saluted Dusty by applying the tip of the thiunb to the nose and waggling his fingers. Before the small Texan could make any adequate reply, the white stallion tiuned and loped across the range. Grinning more cheerfully than he had since learning of flie whiskey-pedlar's activities, Dusty walked with Waco to the waiting paints. They mounted and rode back in the direction of Mubooney.
A feeling of well-being and content filled Waco as he rode at Dusty's side through the fringes of the town. Already a good piece of work lay behind them and with the afternoon well advanced he gave thought to the evening. He decided to spend the time improving his relations with Babsy, a pleasant occupation. AU such notions departed when, after leaving the horses at the hvery bam, he and Dusty arrived at the marshal's office. They foimd Big Sarah standing at the desk, feeding shells into one of the ten-gauge shotguns from the wall rack. Rehef showed on the woman's face at the sight of the Texans.
"I'm sure pleased to see you, Cap'n Fog,** she stated.
*What's upr Dusty asked.
''Shamus O^Sullivan, Fritz Voigt and Frenchy Rastignac re down at the Fair Lady with their gang of gandy-dancers, fixing to hang a raikoad lamp outside tne front door."
Such an action might not appear a cause for alarm to some people, but Dusty knew it to be a situation calling for immediate action. Hanging the lamp outside the saloon signified that the railroad workers considered it to be their private domain. Any cowhand who saw it would regard it as a challenge, an infringement on their hberty, and feel compelled to take up the matter.
^Xet's go talk to them about it," Dusty said. **Put up the scatter, Sarah.**
**! don't reckon ITl be needing it now,** grinned the woman, removing the shells and returning the gun to the rack.
On the way along the street Dusty explained the seriousness of the situation to Waco.
"How d we handle it?*' the youngster asked.
"That depends on how they want to play it,** Dusty replied. 'The first thing to do when you're handling a crowd gathered for fuss is to pick out the leaders and deal with Qiem. This time we know their names. You won t always have that much of a start. So well play it like we don't and see how you get along—^if there's time to do it, that is.*'
While Dusty realised the gravity of the affair, he did not forget that his only backing was a youngster inexperienced in the work of a peace officer. He knew Waco to be brave and not likely to panic, but wanted the yoxmgster trained as a lawman. So he was prepared to delay dealing with the gandy-dancers, railroad construction workers, long enough to give Waco a practical lesson.
**Maybe I should've loaded up that fancy cane-gun and brought it along," Waco said with a grin, having left the weapon at the office.
"That'd be as much use as an udder on a bull," Dusty replied. ''If you figure on quieting a crowd, tote along a ten-gauge scattergun. One look at those big black-eyed barrels and it's surprising how peaceable folks can get."
Arriving in front of the Fair Lady, Dusty and Waco paused to look through the window. There being only the gand
y-dancers present. Dusty delayed his entrance while Waco gained experience.
Some twenty men of European extraction had gathered
before the long mahogany bar. Ignoring the very attractive sight of Freddie clad in her working clothes, or Babsy dressed saloongirl fashion, Waco studied me men. Three caught his eye, being in the centre of the crowd and in conversation with Freddie.
Holding a railroad engine's lamp was a big, brawny black-haired man so obviously Irish that he might have been painted bright shamrock green. To his left stood a blond, crop-headed German almost as large. At the right of the trio, the third of Waco's selection looked almost weedy compared with the other two, being a shortish, slender man of Gallic appearance. Yet somethSig about him made Waco regard the third man as a leader rather than one of the led.
"Good choosing," Dusty complimented when Waco pointed out the trio, "rd say you called them right.*'
"As right as the off side of a boss," agreed Sarah. *Those three used to come in while the town was being built and what they said went with the rest of the rust-eaters."
*Trhen they're the ones we'll dicker with," Dusty said. *T.eave me do the talking and start the doing, boy."
"Siu-e," Waco replied, too impressed by the serious way the other spoke to make any further comment.
Followed by his two deputies, Dusty stepped through the batwing doors. What he heard on entering showed him that they had come not a moment too soon.
T tell you. Miss Freddie," O'Sullivan was saying, waving the lamp. **With this here hanging out front all the cowhands, buffler-hunters and other riff-raff will know this's imder railroad pertection."
"And ril lose their trade," Freddie replied.
TDivil the bit," O'SulUvan assured her. "Well let it be knowed that any as wants can come on in-—As long as they treats you civil and don't get under our dainty lil feet."
*TIey, Shamus," Voigt hissed in a dramatic stage-whisper, nodding towards the batwing doors. "Just take a look at what's come in."
"Sure, and 'tis a cowhand," the burly Irishman said, after directing a long stare at Dusty. "But what's that thing on his vest?"
"A badge, mon ami," Rastignac told him.
"So it is. Now there's an evil thing somebody's gone and done, pinning a great, big, heavy badge on him that ways,"
O'Sullivan commented. ^'And wliat can I be doing for you, me lad?**
"I hear tell you're fixing to hang that lamp outside," Dusty replied.
'TThat we are.''
'Tfou know doing ItTl mean trouble?*'
^'Not as long as what it's there for's respected by one and all," O'SuUivan answered.
"You know it won't be," Dusty pointed out. "And that being the case, I'm not letting you hang it."
'Toti're not?" Voigt growled. ^
^TTou caught on real fast," Dusty drawled.
"Just how do you and your deputy there aim to be after stopping us then?" demanded O'SuUivan, nodding in Waco's direction as the yotmgster stood behind Dusty with hands thinnb-hooked into his gunbelt.
"Any way we have to," Dusty assured him. "Stay here as long as you like. Have your fim, but don't try hanging up that lamp."
"And if we says we re going to hang it, regardless?" asked O'SuUivan, then answered the question. "I suppose you'U put lead into us?"
**You reckon you could stop us without them guns?" Voigt inquired.
What happened next handed the gandy-dancers the surprise of their Uves. Reaching down. Dusty untied the pigging thongs holding the bottom of his holsters to his legs. Just as unconcernedly he imbuckled and removed the belt, handing it to Freddie. Then he looked at the trio and grinned.
*Trhey do say showing licks telling about it, and proves more," he said.
'*You means to rassle with us?" O'Sullivan gurgled in a disbelieving tone.
"I'd prefer it one at a time," Dusty replied. "But that's your choice."
"One at a—I" the Irishman croaked, eyes bugging out whUe his companions stared in speechless amazement at the smaU Texan.
"It'U have to come sooner or later," Dusty told them. "So we might just as well get it over with right now."
"And no hard feelings at the end of it, win, lose or draw?" O'SuUivan wanted to know.
'Tike you'd say, devil the bit of it," Dusty answered. *Tf you win, the lamp goes up. If you lose, it doesn't.**
"And fairer you couldn't be," boomed the Irishman. **WeTl let Pierre here give you the first whirl."
'That's the only fair way," Voigt agreed.
"As long as he doesn't hurt me," finished Rastignac with a wink, peeling off his jacket.
Taldng in the Frenchman's slight build, it seemed strange that he should be one of the leading Hghts of a hard-muscled, brawny gang of gandy-dancers. Any thoughts that Dusty might have had on Rastignac being merely in such an exalted position by virtue of friendship with O'SuUivan and Voigt ended at his selection to fight first
Quickly a circle formed, large enough to permit the fighters plenty of moving space. Waco stood by Freddie's side and exchanged a glance with her, both wondering if Dusty might be biting off more than he could chew. For his part, Dusty concentrated on studying his opponent and noting certain significant details.
From all appearances, Rastignac knew more than a little about fist-fighting. He adopted the ready stance rapidly replacing the old bare-knuckle style in pugilistic circles back East, right fist cocked ready, left held across to guard his jaw. However he appeared to have learned the style badly, for his foot placement might have been faulted by a purist. Although positioned about a shoulder's width apart, the left foot at the rear pointed sideways instead of both being aimed to the front
If Dusty noticed the apparent fault, he overlooked it. In fact he showed very little sign of being ready to defend himself. Grinning confidently, Rastignac prepared to attack. Only he did not use his fists. Up lashed his left foot, rising with speed, power and skilled precision. Always before his savate attack had come as a complete surprise when used against men unaware of the French Creole style of foot-and-fist fighting.
Unfortimately Dusty not only knew of savate —including how its foot placement differed from ordinary boxing—but possessed a real good method of countering the attack. On a visit to New Orleans in the early days of the Texas Republic, Dusty's uncle, Ole Devil Hardin, had met and hired a small Oriental man most folks thought to be Chinese. Actually Tommy Okasi hailed from the Japanese Islands and brought
with him certain strange skills. To Dusty alone of the Hardin, Fog and Blaze boys. Tommy had passed on the secrets of ju-jitsu and karate, alien fighting arts virtually imknown at that time in the Western Hemisphere.
Faced by such an attack many men would have tried to grab the leg, but Dusty knew a far better—and safer—way of dealing with it. Swiftly he brought his hands dowTi, crossing his aims just above the wrists. Instead of making an attempt to catcii the leg, he allowed it to pass into the lower section of the X his arms formed. Only when the kick's upward rise had been blocked and brought to a halt did he make the next move. Catching hold of tiie toe of Rastignac's boot in the right hand and its heel in the left, Dusty gave it a surging, twisting heave. A howl of mingled pain and surprise broke from the Frenchman as his other foot left the floor. Unable to stop himself, he somersaulted over and landed with a thud that drove all wind or cohesive thought from his body.
"I'd say it was you next, mister,'' Dusty remarked, looking at Voigt.
The soft-spoken words cut through the excited chatter of the crowd and silenced it. While the gandy-dancers had expected Dusty to tangle with Rastignac, although not with the result just witnessed, they had doubted if he would take on either Voigt or O'SuUivan.
"Don't you b'ar-hug him too hard, Fritz,** warned one of the crowd. **You'll likely squeeze him in two halves.**
"I just give him ein kleine bischen, make his eyes pop out of his head and break a couple of ribs,** Voigt answered. "I'm not wanting hurt a lawman too bad.**
With that the German a
dvanced on Dusty. It seemed that the small Texan did not take the threat too seriously, for he moved to meet Voigt. Watching them, Freddie sucked in a deep breath and opened her mouth to give a warning. Having seen Voigt give a man ein kleine bischen bear-hug, she knew just what it meant. Yet Dusty made no attempt to avoid the reaching arms. In fact he appeared to walk straight into them. Although imused to opponents wiUingly entering his grasp, Voigt did not intend to look a gift-horse in the mouth. Curling his brawny arms around Dusty's torso, he prepared to give a crushing pressure.
"Oh lordl" Freddie breathed, wondering what had
prompted Dusty to act in such an apparently reckless manner.
She learned quickly enough.
Like his every action since entering the room, allowing Voigt to gain the hold fitted into Dusty's plan. He knew that for the most part the gandy-dancers were not gun-fighters and displaying superlative skill in that respect would have only a subsidiary interest for them. Proving that he could beat them at their own style of fighting was the way to deal with them. Once that had been established, he figvued there would be no trouble keeping the railroad workers' high spirits within bounds.
Although Dusty allowed Voigt to obtain the bear-hug, he made sure that his own arms stayed outside the other's grasp. That did not worry Voigt—at first—^for he reckoned die agony of his pressmre would prevent his victim doing anything effective. Which theory might have worked better had it been given a chance to mature. Even as the brawny arms started to tighten about his middle, Dusty cupped his hands and clapped them over Voigt's ears.
In making the move Dusty tried to achieve a compromise between too little power and striking so hard that he burst the German's ear drums. It seemed that he succeeded. On the hands slapping home, Voigt's body went rigid and his arms relaxed. Tlmisting the German away, Dusty followed up with a style of attack none of the watchers had ever seen. Although he drove his hand into Voigt's belly, he did not close it into a fist. Instead he used the hira nukite, the level-piercing hand of karate, taught to him by Tommy Okasi. With the fingers extended and together, thumb bent across the palm of Ms hand, Dusty stabbed Voigt full in the solar plexus. An explosive croak broke from the German and he staggered back, holding his middle as he folded over. Again Dusty struck, still with his hands held in that ahen maimer. Only this time he chopped the heel of each palm into the sides of Voigt's neck, tumbling the man to the floor like a back-broke rabbit.
The making of a lawman Page 4