"Now there's something you don't often see," Freddie commented, first of the audience to recover from the shock of seeing Voigt's dreaded bear-hug broken with such ease.
"He's a tricky one for sure," O'SuUivan agreed, a shade imeasily.
'Two down and one to go," Dusty drawled.
Realising what that meant, O'Sullivan gave rapid thought to his social position. He held an enviable standing among die gandy-dancers, being known as their unofiBcial leader. Many concessions came his way from the bosses of the construction crews, in return for which he maintained a form of law and order among the other workers. Such a position came and was retained by his ability to beat his companions physically. Should he tangle with the small Texan and be bested, the loss of prestige would have a serious effect on his standiag. Yet refusing to take up the challenge was just the same.
Although not a man given to deep thinking, O'Sullivan could on occasion make a rapid decision.
"Sin*e and we all know you can fight, friend,*" he said, waving a hand to his fallen companions. "So let's try something different, shall we?"
**Such as?** Dusty inquired.
^'A friendly game of Ttouse-The-Candle'."
A faint grin twisted Dusty's face at the Irishman's suggestion, for he knew it meant a rougher version of wrist-wres-thng. While Dusty's knowledge of ju-jitsu and karate gave him an advantage in a straight fight^ he knew that he stood no chance at all in the contest O'Sullivan suggested. So did the majority of the crowd and one member of it in particular.
Standing unnoticed on the stairs, ready to help if the need arose, Mark Coimter decided the time had come for him to intervene. Not that he would have gone imnoticed without such a centre of attraction as Dusty's actions offered. Six foot three in height, golden blond curly hair topping an almost classically handsome face, Mark stood out in any crowd. Great shoulders, hinting at the enormous muscular development undemeatib, spread wide the material of a costly, made-to-measure shirt. From there he tapered down to a slim waist and curved out to long, powerful legs. Along with his green silk bandana, all his clothing hinted at wealth. The gunbelt about his middle, carrying ivory-handled Army Colts in carefully tooled holsters, told another story. Although showing the finest *Best Citizen s Finish' Colonel Colt's Hartford factory could produce, the revolvers were purely functional fighting weapons, hanging just right for rapid use.
Dandy dresser the elegant blond giant might be, but he possessed few peers in the various cow-land arts. Third son of a big South Texas ranch owner, rich in his own right since a maiden aunt died and left him her considerable fortune,
Mark still preferred to ride as a member of Ole Devil's floating outfit. Nor did his sartorial tastes make him a less useful member of that eflScient fighting force. Few who saw him in action during a rough-house brawl soon forgot the scene. Already his great strength had become legendary. Calamity Jane often told how he single-handedly lifted her wagon out of a gopher hole and performed other feats of muscular prowess in her presence. Nor did Miss Martha Jane Canary for once stretch the truth. Riding as he did in the shadow of the Rio Hondo gun wizard, Mark's ability with his Colts rarely garaed its just acclaim. Yet many gentlemen experienced in such matters put him second only to Dusty Fog in speed and accuracy. Anybody who took Mark Coimter for no more than a dandy stood a good chance of regretting it.
However, Mark did not appear to be in a position to make his full contribution to the affair at that moment. He had been shot in the shoulder during a brawl on his arrival in Mul-rooney. While Waco's intervention had prevented any further injury, the blond giant's left arm hung in a sling. For all that he moved forward.
T)on't you reckon Dusty's just a mite light to take you on at T)ouse-The-Candle*?" he asked, elbowing through the crowd.
"And who asked you to bill in?^ O'Sullivan demanded indignantly, swinging around to see who was interfering.
"I'm Dusty's deputy," Mark repUed. "So I reckon I can take some of the work off him."
*With a busted wing?" O'Sullivan asked, nodding to die sling.
"I only use one hand for TDouse-The-Candle," Mark told him. ^'If you don't mind, it'll be my good one. Get the candles out and Ut, then let's give her a whirl."
"MarkI" Freddie gasped. **You may burst open your wound."
"Nope," he grinned. "I'm fixing to use my other hand."
Once again O'Sullivan assessed the situation. While a defeat over the small Texan might save his face, he knew there would be sceptics who commented on the disparity between their weights. Although sHghtly smaller than Mark, he weighed a Uttle heavier and did not figure there ought to be too much trouble in licking the blond Texan.
"Ill douse it quick for you," O'Sullivan promised and
nodded to Freddie. "Could we trouble you for two candles, ma'am?"
Taking seats on opposite sides of a small table, Mark and O'Sullivan waited for the final preparations to be made. Collecting two candles from the bar, a gandy-dancer lit them and c&ibbled wax on to the table to hold them in position where the contestants' hands would arrive at the conclusion of the bout. Then Mark and O'Sullivan placed their right elbows on the table and interlaced fingers.
"Start us off. Miss Freddie," Mark suggested. "If that suits the Irish gent here."
"It'd be a honour," O'Sullivan answered. "Go to it ma'am."
"rU coimt to three and say *go,'" Freddie told them. "One—two—three—go."
Instantly O'Sullivan started to press at Mark's hand, with the intention of forcing it down on to the flickering candle flame. Already the Irishman had felt the hard solidness of the Texan's hand, but did not expect any great difficulty in forcing it over. Only that did not happen. Instead he met a rock-like resistance tiiat refused to yield.
Aroimd the table startled exclamations rose from the gandy-dancers. Sitting up, groaning and holding his head, Voigt muttered curses in German. However Rastignac caught him by the arm, helped him rise and pointed to the table. Any ideas the German might have formed about resuming hostiUties with Dusty ended. Sinking into a chair, he accepted the drink Babsy brought and watched the game of *Douse-The-Candle' nm its course.
Slowly the confidence oozed from O'Sullivan's face, being replaced by a mixture of strain and amazement. No matter how much pressure he exerted, he could achieve nothing. Then slowly but inexorably Mark started to force the Irishman's hand dov^n. Not that he brought an end to the game immediately. Twice O'Sullivan strained every muscle to bring his hand to the vertical. Then slowly it sank a few inches. Gathering in his reserves of strength, Mark threw it all into a final effort. Dowm went O'Sullivan's hand, crushing the reduced candle under it and dousing the flame.
**The saints preserve us I" the Irishman yelped, shaking his hand in an attempt to restore life into it. "If you can do that with one arm in a sUng, bucko, I'd hate to see what you can do when well."
'Tve never met a man who came so near to licking me,** Mark replied. "This calls for a drink, I'd say."
"That it does, that it does," O'Sullivan agreed. "And I reckon seeing's how youVe bested us, we'll not be hanging the lamp—."
"They've not bested us all!** put in the youngest member of the railroad men, and the only one to wear a gun in a holster tied to his leg. "We come here to hang that lamp and I'm going to do it.
"The hell you are, Wickerl" O'Sullivan growled.
**Don't you or anybody else try to stop mel** Wicker warned, hand hovering with spread fingers above his Colt's butt. "I'm taking that lamp and hanging it just like we planned."
At which point Waco became aware that Dusty had not yet strapped on his gunbelt. For once the small Texan had failed to take the elementary precaution, feeling there would be no need for guns with die situation so well in hand. He also knew that it was too late to rectify the mistake. Then Waco took the matter out of his hands.
"Come ahead," the yoimg Texan said. "All you have to do is pass me."
YOU'LL NEVER KNOW HOW LUCKY
With that inborn instinct all weste
rners gained, the crowd knew what it must do. So gandy-dancers and saloongirls fell back, standing well clear of the two young men. Much as Dusty wanted to interfere, he knew he could not without implying a lack of trust in Waco. At the small Texan's side, Freddie watched with a growing feeling of concern. Not that she feared for Waco, having seen how fast he could draw a gim. Inexperienced she might be, but she guessed killing the gandy-dancer would make trouble. Maybe not that night, but later it would be remembered and Wicker, despite being the aggressor, raised to the status of a martyr. Freddie could still remember the expression on Waco's face as he burst into the saloon to kill the man who shot Mark. Unless she was very mistaken, only the blond giant's intervention had prevented more of his attackers from feeling the youngster s lead. So when Waco gave out his quiet challenge, she expected the worst.
**You reckon I can't pass you?" Wicker snarled.
'That's for you to find out," Waco answered.
Much of Wicker's time had been spent in practising his draw and he expended hard-earned money on fodder for his Colt. Like most youngsters of the day, he revelled in stories of the great gun-fighting names and longed to emulate their achievements. Working among gandy-dancers offered
few chances to display his talents, for they tended to be fist- or knife-fighters, with various erotic variations thrown in. At last he found himself faced with the real thing, in the kind of position he had dreamed about
Only a nagging doubt bit into him. Apart from a very few cases, western peace oflBcers received their appointments by virtue of exceptional gun-skill. So far two of those Texan John Laws had proved more than able to handle the best the railroad could offer. Maybe the tall, blond yoimgster came up to their high standard in his own line. However Wicker did not wish to back down.
'Tm comingi" he warned and hoped his voice did not sound as strained to the others as it came to his ears.
*'Come or go," Waco answered evenly, raising his right hand to wave at the lamp. **But that dingus stays right whe—."
Sensing the chance Waco's action offered, without having the knowledge or experience to question it. Wicker stabbed his hand down at his gun. While such a move might pass as fast when performed against his even less skilled gandy-dancer admirers, it failed to come even close to the standard required when used against Waco.
At the other yoimgster's first movement, Waco sent his left hand from hanging with deceptive negligence at his side to aroimd the near Colt's butt. Out came the gun and roared while Wicker still tried to draw his clear of its holster.
There had been a time, not too long past, when Waco would have killed Wicker on the spot. Only since meeting Dusty Fog he gained a slightly higher opinion of the value of himian life. When he stepped in between Wicker and the lamp, Waco did so out of a sense of duty. He knew neither Dusty nor Mark could stop the yoimg railroad worker at that moment and so moved in to do so. And he came prepared to halt Wicker any way he found necessary. Instinct and knowledge told him of Wicker's indecision, allowing him to gauge the other's true potential.
So, instead of planting the .44 bullet in Wicker's body, Waco drove it into the boards between his feet.
Shock numbed Wicker at the soimd of the shot and he stared with imbelieving eyes to the smoking Colt in Waco's left hand. Even as he watched, the Colt performed a pin-wheel on the young Texan's forefinger and flipped back into its holster all in one continuous move.
**Still fixing to come on?" Waco asked.
**And that he's not!" O'SuUivan put in grimly. ''Give it up. Wicker lad. We've had our fun and nobody's been hiut—."
"Speak for yourself, mon ami'' Rastignac put in, rubbing his rump and wincing. "I'll never be the same again."
**There's some'd say any change'd be an improvement," O'Sullivan sniffed, then went on. "None of us's been hurt bad. Let's keep it that way."
"Mick's right," Freddie continued. 'TDonna, pour out a round of drinks on the house. Then for Pete's sake let's start making some money."
The prospect of free drinks prevented any comments on Wicker's failure as a gun-fighter. Gathering at the bar, the gandy-dancers reached for the glasses which Donna's deft hands filled. O'Sullivan turned and grinned broadly at Dusty.
"You'll be taking something with us, marshal?"
Before Dusty could answer, cowhand yells and drumming hooves sounded on the street outside. Giving a shrug, the small Texan nodded towards the doors.
"Some other time, Mick. Right now IVe got to go earn my pay. Let's go see who it is, Waco."
"There goes a real big man, and 111 lick the pants off anybody who says different," O'Sullivan boomed, then nodded to Mark. "Well, ahnost anybody."
"You'll get no argument on that from me," the blond giant answered, watching his companions leave.
"And you leave off 3iat damned gunbelt. Wicker boyi" O'Sullivan growled, turning to the yoimg railroad man who stood clutching a whiskey glass in a hand that shook a trifle. '*You're lucky not to've been shot."
Thinking of how Waco had been when they first met, Mark nodded in sober agreement.
"You'll never know how lucky," he said. "Set up another round on me, Donnal"
"And when you've done it, you're going back to bed," Freddie whispered into his ear.
"The night's young—," Mark began.
"I could always have the girls undress you and carry you there," Freddie smiled. "And you know they'd do it tf I told them."
Recalling how the girls had pitched into the bunch of buffalo-hunters who tried to cause trouble on the day he arrived, Mark did not doubt that.
"Maybe I should stick around,'* he suggested. *TTiat Wicker kid might get all liquored up and try something loco like looking for evens. I don't reckon Waco'd hold back twice.**
"I didn't think he'd hold back once,** Freddie confessed. *Don't worry about Wicker. Ill make sure that he behaves.** "Reckon you can?**
*T)o you reckon I can't?" countered Freddie. "Go on, that fool trick you pulled took more out of you than you're wanting to show.**
Which, being the truth, Mark conceded. Guessing he could safely leave matters in Freddie's hands, and hearing nothing to tell him he might be needed in the street, he returned to his room upstairs and went to bed. Although Wicker drank enough to raise his courage, he did not commit such a fooHsh act as going after Waco to resume hostilities. At the first hint that he might, Freddie gave Donna a signal and herself carried the drink the bar-maid—as Freddie called the female bartenders—^had prepared to the yoimg man. Flattered by the attention. Wicker drank it Shortly after he fell asleep and did not wake until back at the construction camp. There, giving the matter sober reflection, he decided that he lacked the necessary ability to make a gun-filter and stopped trying.
While Waco heard nothing of it, he probably saved a young life on his first day as a deputy. If Wicker had continued trying to pass off as a proddy gun-hand, he would have eventually met a man with less scruples than the young Texan and gone the way of the foolhardy.
Any hopes Waco noinished of asking for Dusty's opinion of his conduct in the saloon died as they reached the sidewalk. Down before their office almost all of Colonel Goodnight's JA trail crew milled horses in the centre of the street. Forcing his mount from among the others, one of the cowhands drew his revolver and rode towards the office.
TLfCfs get the town clowns out here and show them that the JA*s arrived, boys!** he whooped.
Before either Dusty or Waco, nmning along the street, could intervene, a screech, like a cougar finding the wild hogs had eaten its young might give, rang out. Hiuling from the shadows at the end of the jaU, the yoimg cowhand Tack bounded on to the hitching rail and from there flung himself at the potential window-breaker. As he hooked one arm aroimd the offender*s neck, Tack used the other hand to
knock up the revolver and its bullet sped harmlessly into the air. Then the two of them slid from the bucking horse, landing on the groimd as it went oflE along the street.
"Best catch it, boy," Dusty said. "I'll go
talk some to them."
An enraged cowhand sat up, cocking a fist ready to strike at his attacker. Then recognition came and he held oflE the assault long enough to demand an explanation.
'What in hell fool game you playing at. Tack?"
Til tell whati" the window's defender yelled back no less heatedly. **! done dug a hole with a shovel to earn enough to pay for that glass and stuck it in with my own two lily-white lil hands. So I'll be tamally danmed if I'U see it all busted up again."
"How come you-all took to digging and fixing windows, Tack boy?" asked a grizzled veteran of the cattle industry. "Don't Colonel CharHe pay you good enough without that?"
**The marshal here allowed that I bust it and he didn't like sitting in a draughty office," Tack replied.
"You mean that there marshal got all mean 'n' ornery?" demanded another of the cowhands. "Made you ride the blister end of a shovel and fix up a window that got busted accidental-like."
"He for sure did," grinned Tack, seeing Dusty approadiing.
**Such doings should be stopped instanter-Ucel" stated the cowhand Tack had pulled from his horse.
"Or even sooner," continued yet a fourth hand. "Where-at*s this mean ole Kansas lawman?"
"Coming up right now," Tack informed him, delighted with the way things were going.
Although the trail crew turned with some hostility to face the approaching lawman, much of it died away on seeing him. While the sim had gone down, the street was sufficiently illuminated for them to tell that no ordinary Kansas trail-end town marshal was coming their way. Nor did Dustj'^'s small size fool cold sober cowhands, even those who did not know him. All knew they faced a master of their trade and a man more than ordinarily competent in handling his guns. Any faint doubts which may have Hngered fled as the oldest cowhand present spoke.
The making of a lawman Page 5