by J. T. Edson
All around the normal night noises came to Dusty’s ears. A disturbed bird fluttered from a bush close at hand, twittering in alarm until it found another place to roost. Overhead a whip-poor-will sent out its plaintive call as it hunted the flying insects on which it fed. Down to the south, in the far distance, a Great Plain buffalo wolf raised a howl to gather others of its kind. Coyotes yipped eerily from three sides of the wooded area. Only from the north came no calls of the little prairie scavengers—the significance of which Dusty understood.
Hunted at every turn by human beings, the wily coyote learned early to avoid its two-legged enemy and rarely gave a sign of its presence when men were about. So Dusty took note of the lack of noise in the direction of the Bainesville trail and did not need to guess at the cause.
The sound of horses’ hooves came to Dusty’s ears and then voices, although at first too distant for him to understand the words. When the speakers came closer, what he heard confirmed his theories and started him advancing cautiously towards the approaching riders. Leather creaked after the hooves halted and Dusty moved closer. A cold, grim smile came to his lips—and any member of the OD Connected ranch crew would have known the expression, then felt sorry for the men who caused it—as he changed his plans a little, preparing to handle the matter in what he regarded as the most fitting manner.
Seven – Two Heroes Develop Feet of Clay
Bringing his horse to a halt, Baines Gartree eased his aching body and peered through the darkness at the gloomy gap where the trail ran into the woods. Unused to the rigors of long travel on the back of a horse, the ride from Bainesville served to put a considerable damper on his desire for revenge.
“We’ve seen no sign of them yet,” he complained. “Maybe they didn’t come down this way after all.”
“They said they were going south, and this’s south,” replied Turkey Cooper, slouching in his saddle and scowling at the politician.
“They could have turned off the trail back there and gone across country.”
“Pilgrims like that bunch don’t go across country when they can stick to a clear, well-marked trail. And there’s been no wagon tracks going off the trail—I’ve been watching for ’em.”
“Trust old Turkey for that,” grinned Lanny, full of hero-worship as always.
“He knows what he’s doing, for sure,” agreed Coop.
“But we don’t know—” began Gartree.
“We know they left town by the south trail and they haven’t pulled off it,” said Turkey. “Can’t remember passing their wagon on the way neither, can you, Brother Coop?”
“If we did, I figure I might’ve noticed,” answered Coop.
“Well, I think we ought to have caught up with them by now,” Gartree put in, seething with rage at the young men’s disrespect. “Or at least seen some sign of them on the trail ahead of us. ”
“And we might have, if you hadn’t kept slowing us down,” Turkey replied.
“There’s a clearing maybe half-three-quarters of a mile ahead in the woods,” Lanny commented. “That’s where they’ll have made their camp for the night, most likely. Them not knowing this range and all.”
“I can’t see any sign of their fire,” Gartree objected. “You’re not likely to, from here and through all them trees!” snorted Turkey in a disgusted voice. “The clearing’s there all right, and I’ll bet that’s where we find those pilgrims.”
“All right then,” Gartree said, fighting to keep the anger from showing in his voice. “We’ll push on to the clearing. But if they’re not in it, we’ll—”
“Decide what we aim to do next,” interrupted Turkey, starting his horse moving without waiting for further comment.
The other two young men followed on Turkey’s heels, crowding Gartree forward between them. Although the politician hated being treated in such a manner, he knew better than voice his objections aloud. Being handled with such disrespect did nothing to lessen his resolve to carry out the plans made for dealing with the trio after they had served their purpose. A word in Gruber’s ear on their return to Bainesville, telling of the attack on the travelers—without of course mentioning Gartree’s part in it—would be sufficient. No man in the West would condone insult or assault committed on a girl and justice was likely to be swift, if not all-embracing. Gartree doubted if any of the trio would be given a chance to mention his part in the affair, so swift would be their end. Of course, he must handle the affair properly and ensure that the Coopers and Lanny died before they could tell their story. Thinking of the town marshal’s lack of aptitude, Gartree almost wished that he had kept Latter alive to handle the business.
Further thoughts on the matter ended as Turkey, riding in the lead of the party for the first time, halted his horse.
“I can smell smoke ahead,” the young man announced. “There’s somebody nighting in the clearing.”
“What do we do, Turkey?” asked Lanny eagerly.
“Let’s charge in like a drunk Sioux coming to a powwow,” suggested Coop.
“No we don’t!” snapped Turkey. “We’re leaving the horses here and moving up on tippy-toe.”
“Why bother sneaking up?” Lanny inquired. “We won’t have any trouble handling pilgrims like them.”
“Maybe not,” admitted Turkey. “But a ten gauge kills just as good in a Bible-toting pilgrim’s hands.”
“Never saw no sign of guns on ’em back in town,” Coop remarked, having a cowhand’s dislike for walking, even though he had never worked on a ranch.
“That young jasper acted like he aimed to go for the wagon and get one when Gav jumped the gal,” Turkey pointed out. “And I’ve yet to see one of them pilgrim outfits who didn’t tote a gun along, even if only to use for shooting table-meat.”
“We don’t even know that it is them ahead,” Gartree said, feeling he ought to make some addition to the conversation.
“Which same the senator’s got him a real good point,” conceded Turkey, sounding considerably surprised that Gartree could think out such a profound remark. “It wouldn’t do for us to go charging in head-down and horns hooking, then find we’d jumped the wrong outfit.”
Recalling the last time they jumped into something without making an adequate study of the opposition, Coop and Lanny felt inclined to agree with Turkey.
“Best leave the hosses here then,” Coop stated.
“Now you’re beginning to use your head for something besides a hat-rack,” Turkey sniffed and dismounted. “Here’s a right good place to leave them.”
The quartet had come to a halt alongside a large flowering dogwood tree which glowed a faint, ghostly white as what little light remained filtered down to reflect from its blossom-hung branches. Such a tree, the only one of its kind directly flanking the trail, would serve as a marker leading them straight back to their horses.
Dismounting, the men fastened their horses to handy protuberances. Gartree opened his mouth to make a protest, but, beyond snarling for quiet, Turkey ignored him. It became clear who now commanded the vengeance-seeking party. On leaving town, and for the first part of the ride, the trio at least made a pretence at letting Gartree command them. After all, the brand of politics he gave out ideally suited their shiftless, work-shy natures, and they felt that he must be a good man for that reason. The farther they travelled in his company, the less their respect for him became. With the waning of Gartree’s command over the quartet, so Turkey’s rose. More and more Coop and Lanny came to listen to Turkey rather than Gartree. At last they had made the step and gone over completely behind the young man they regarded as a hero.
If he had been given to thinking, Coop might have wondered at his brother’s motives for accepting Gartree’s request to take revenge. Generosity, largeness of heart and loyalty to a friend did not figure so large in Turkey’s make-up that he would take a long ride merely to extract revenge on somebody who indirectly caused a companion’s injury. However, it never occurred to Coop that he might question his elder brother
’s motives. If he had, Coop would have received a surprise—always assuming that Turkey told him the truth.
Realizing that they would no longer be able to live high off the hog at Gavin Gartree’s expense, Turkey sought for a means of raising a decent grubstake that might last them until they found another source of work-free income. He discarded the idea of robbing any of the Bainesville businesses as too dangerous. However, the three pilgrims offered no such challenge. Rumor credited ail the small religious groups which , drifted about the range country with possessing large sums of money secreted in their wagons. With that thought in mind, Turkey readily gave his agreement to ride and avenge young Gartree. Knowing what he planned, Turkey wanted no witnesses and never thought to have Gartree senior on his hands. After some thought, he decided that the politician’s presence did him nothing but good. Gartree could not talk to the law without exposing his own part in the affairs and would have to use his authority to prevent any close investigation by the law coming close to them. In the future, too, Gartree ought to be a regular source of wealth rather than have his part in the affair made public.
The men moved in silence along the trail, each busy with his thoughts and none showing any great alertness. While Gartree planned the removal of the three young men on their return to Bainesville, Coop and Lanny savored the pleasure of jumping the pilgrims’ camp, and Turkey thought of the "easy life lying ahead as a result of judicious blackmail to bring in wealth. Then all thoughts of the future came to a sudden halt.
“Listen!” hissed Turkey, stopping and swinging around to look in the direction from which they came.
Obeying the command, all the others heard the sound of departing hooves.
“One of the horses has got loose!” announced Gartree dramatically—and completely unnecessarily.
“And another!” yelped Lanny as the drumming of horse’s hooves repeated itself on the trail behind them.
“I fastened mine up ri—” began Coop.
“Get back to them—quick!” Turkey snarled and led the rush, for already there came the noise of another horse departing.
The thought of a ten miles walk back to Bainesville lent urgency to the quartet’s movements and prevented them thinking of certain aspects of the affair. Once free, a hungry range horse, riderless and started moving, would head back to where it knew food could be found. Home to the four animals was the livery barn in Bainesville, or the stables behind Gartree’s house. It was unlikely that any of the freed horses would stop before reaching the town. Certainly they would not stop for some distance and then not for long.
Thinking about the walk took the other problem from their minds. Not one of the quartet came to think how four horses managed to free themselves and light out for home.
Running along the dark path, each man tried to keep up his hopes that his ears tricked him, or at worst only the other three’s horses had escaped. At last, as they approached the flowering dogwood tree, all accepted the bitter truth. The four horses ought to be standing close by, secured and patiently awaiting their riders’ return. No waiting mounts greeted the four searching pairs of eyes.
“What the hell happ—” Gartree began.
With the faint sibilant hiss of sound an owl’s wings made as it flitted through the darkness, something passed over the politician’s head and dropped in a circle about him. Before his startled mind could form any conclusions and react to a possible danger, he felt his legs dragged together by the constriction of some thin, mysterious substance which encircled his ankles. Just as he realized that the thing gripping his legs was a rope, which must have a human agency handling it, Gartree felt a violent tug, lost his balance and started to fall. In desperation, he threw his arms around Coop and brought the young man down with him. Never one to suffer alone, Coop contrived to lay hands on Lanny and add him to the already growing heap of humanity upon the trail.
Hearing the commotion behind him, Turkey whirled around and reached for his gun. He did not know what might be happening, but guessed that it boded evil for his party.
Instead of jumping Gartree’s party as they approached him, Dusty Fog had conceived a far worse punishment; probably the worst, short of death, to spring to the mind of a man raised on the great Texas range country. Even without the verbal confirmation, the quartet’s action proved their intentions. Men on a peaceable and well-disposed mission did not leave their horses and move in on foot when approaching a camp at night. So Dusty figured to teach them a lesson they would never forget.
Standing unseen among the bushes, Dusty watched the four men go by and then moved silently along the trail in the direction from which they came. Taking a knife from his pocket, Dusty approached the horses. A low, gentle and soothing whisper checked any restiveness the horses might have shown and he moved alongside the first animal ready to put through his plan. Thrusting the carbine into his gunbelt to leave his hands free, Dusty severed the horse’s reins close to the bit. A range horse was trained to stand when its reins hung free before it and he wished to ensure that the freed mounts had nothing to halt them.
After freeing the first horse and starting it moving, Dusty turned his attention to the second. His knife sliced through the leather and he sent the horse on its way after its companion. Just as Dusty reached the third animal, he heard voices raised along the trail and knew that Gartree’s party had heard the departure of the first two.
Stepping along the flank of the last horse, Dusty felt a familiar object brush against his shoulder. A thought of how he might cause further devilment struck him and he pulled free the rope from its place on the saddle’s horn. Swiftly he cut the last horse free and found little difficulty in starting it moving after the others. By that time he knew he must move fast, for the four men returned hurriedly although not yet in view. Sliding free the carbine, Dusty crossed the trail and halted alongside the sturdy trunk of a big white oak tree which offered cover and protection. No sooner had the small Texan taken his place than Turkey led the others into sight of the flowering dogwood.
Dusty rested his carbine against the tree trunk and close to his hand. Shaking out the coils of the rope, he opened out a loop and watched the approaching quartet with calculating eyes. Being a good leader, Turkey came slightly in advance of the others—or more likely he intended to lay claim should only one horse remain under the dogwood tree. Dusty checked his impulse to throw at Turkey, deciding that a better target for his attentions would be presented by the closely-bunched trio following the leader.
Allowing Turkey to pass unmolested Dusty watched until the other three came level and gave the rope a quick, deft twirl which caused its loop to rise up before him. Like an extension of his arm, the thirty foot length of seven-sixteenths of an inch hard-plaited Manila rope sailed out and away, its loop spreading and turning parallel to the ground as if possessing a mind of its own. Through necessity-handling a strange rope which had not been cared for or used as much as his own—Dusty threw a much larger loop than he usually employed. Working in darkness prevented him from tossing a small, neat hooley-ann loop and anyway that particular throw would not have served his needs under the circumstances; being a head catch primarily intended for snaking selected horses out of a crowded corral without spooking the remainder of the animals. Instead he threw what might have been termed a “belly-rope,” although it would be unfair to give so disparaging a name to a throw which brought about such a splendid result; the belly rope being so called when thrown with a loop too large so that it slipped over the sought-after animal’s head and shoulders to tighten about its midsection, highly amusing to the onlookers but not to the thrower.
Aiming at Gartree, whose white shirt showed up well even in the darkness and made him by far the most prominent target, Dusty knew he threw true. When the rope fell, the small Texan gripped hold with both hands and hauled back on it. He used a fair amount of strength, feeling the rope slip through the honda until it clamped around Gartree’s legs. Then Dusty really threw all his powerful effort into a
heave which brought about the results already noted.
Even as the three men went down in a tangled, cursing, shouting heap, Dusty dropped the rope and stepped behind the white oak’s trunk. Catching up the carbine in passing, he prepared to handle it from his left side and took up a position accordingly behind the tree trunk. He raised the carbine, keeping most of his body in cover, and took aim towards the trail.
Consternation reigned before Dusty as the three men fell in a tangle. Some fairly inspired invective rose, interspersed by demands for information from the still standing Turkey. Dusty allowed the first flow to die down before making his presence more definitely known.
“Fun’s over for the day!” he announced. “Now it’s time to get up and start walking home.”
Recognition of the soft, easy drawling voice came to Turkey first. Snarling with fury, the young man realized his fears had had good founding. When he heard the shooting back at Bainesville, certain significant points sprang to his mind. The first shot came from an Army Colt such as the small Texan carried, followed by one with the lighter note of the Adams Latter wore. Which meant the Texan got off the first shot and, if Turkey remembered correctly, also the third. Then another Army Colt’s detonation followed on the heels of the shotgun’s blast, but no more sounds to show that Latter still remained an active participant in the fight. Turkey had been afraid that the Texan might be still alive, but comforted himself with the thought that a shotgun, properly used, only rarely missed doing its work.
Clearly Marshal Gruber botched up his duty, as he had done on so many previous occasions, for the Texan still lived. Worse, that soft speaking, deadly efficient young man stood close by, having already disrupted Turkey’s party and set them afoot.
Jerking out his Colt, Turkey threw a shot in the direction of the voice and sent it with some accuracy, for the lead struck the tree behind which Dusty stood. Not that the Texan had any need to feel concerned; the white oak’s trunk had bulk enough to stop the bullet of a Sharps Old Reliable or Remington Creedmoor buffalo rifle and the Army Colt lacked their power. In fact the shot fired at him served a very useful purpose.