by J. T. Edson
“Looks just like any other catbird’s nest,” he said, noticing the four eggs inside, but seeing nothing to tell him how near to hatching they might be.
“And to me,” Vaza answered. “But the eggs are ready to hatch. I will watch them when they do. But now let us go, for you disturb the parent birds.”
Taking Dusty’s hand in hers, Vaza led him away from the nest and along the path down which the coon disappeared. Before they had gone far, the black and white shape appeared before them. Although the coon looked back, it made no attempt to either run or go into a tree. After standing staring at the girl, who drew slightly ahead of Dusty, the coon continued on its way, acting as if there was not a human being within miles.
Side by side, Vaza and Dusty followed the coon as it ambled along. Up until that day Dusty’s sole interest in coons stemmed from their providing good sport and a fine inducement to make hounds sing out trail music. Following the animal, he learned a number of things of interest and answered a few questions that had puzzled him when hunting.
Suddenly Dusty realized that they had been away from the others for over an hour, although circling the open area of the valley in which they made camp.
“We’d best get back to Jarrel and Adek,” he told the girl.
“But I wish to make a more extensive study of the raccoon’s habits,” Vaza objected.
“We’ve coon down in the Rio Hondo,” Dusty replied. “And I don’t like being away from the camp for too long. Jarrel’s not used to handling the carbine yet.”
“You fear that the escaped prisoners may be close?”
“I’d as soon not take a chance. If they’re around, the smoke from our campfire might bring them. They’re mean and desperate.”
“Jarrel is not entirely defenseless,” Vaza smiled.
“Maybe not, but I’d as soon not take chances,” Dusty answered.
Turning, he and the girl started to walk back in the direction of the camp. The bushes, though thick, were laced with animal tracks and Dusty stuck to one which headed in the right direction. While crossing a place where two paths met, Dusty caught a movement along the other track and swung to obtain a better view. What he saw sent a chill of apprehension ripping through him and caused him to send his left hand across to the butt of the right side Colt. Even as he made the move, he knew it to be no more than a gesture of desperation. An Army Colt did not have sufficient power to deal with the deadly danger which threatened the girl he loved.
Becoming aware of Dusty and Vaza’s presence, the bear approaching along the other path halted in its tracks and growled low in its throat. Standing almost four foot high at the shoulder’s distinctive hump, the bear had a huge head with a broad muzzle and forehead strongly elevated above the line of the face to give a somewhat concave profile, and smallish, rounded ears placed well apart and far back on the skull. The white tips of the dark brown hair gave the coat a grizzled effect which was terribly significant.
Even without needing to see the great, long claws on the feet, or the wicked canine teeth and broad-crowned crushing molars, Dusty knew what kind of bear stood before him. That was no black bear; to which the old-time Indians apologized before killing with a club and regarded as unworthy of death by arrow or war lance. The bear facing Dusty belonged to the species Ursus Horribilis Horribilis and any man who tried to club a Great Plains Grizzly would barely live long enough to regret his folly. Fact being, any man who went up against a grizzly armed with less than the heaviest calibered buffalo rifle asked for trouble in plenty. Certainly an Army Colt—fine man-stopper though it might be—was no weapon with which to face the charge of a grizzly bear.
“Make a run for it, honey,” he ordered.
With luck he could hold the bear’s attention while the girl made good her escape, but it would cost him his life. Willing, Dusty prepared to make the sacrifice, but Vaza ignored his words. Dusty threw a glance at the girl when she did not move, expecting to find her rigid with terror. No fear showed on Vaza’s face, but her eyes glowed luminously as she stared at the bear.
“Have no fear, Dusty,” she said and took a step forward. “Do not move whatever you do.”
Cold sweat trickled down Dusty’s face and he stood like a statue. He noticed that the bear’s left ear had been torn in the past by a rifle bullet—an old wound long since healed, which might be termed a small consolation. Such an injury would not make the bear any better disposed towards members of the hated species which gave it.
“Move aside, Vaza,” he gritted. “When I shoot, run.”
“Dusty!” the girl’s voice came back urgently. “Take your hand off your gun.”
Why he obeyed, Dusty could not think, but he let the Colt slide back into leather and moved his hand. Then he stood without movement, watching the girl face the bear. Still as stone, the girl continued to stare at the bear and slowly the savage snarling died away. After what seemed like several hours to Dusty, but was only a matter of a minute at most, the bear swung around and began to eat the ripe berries from a near-by bush.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dusty whispered.
“Very well,” the girl replied and turned unconcernedly to walk back to his side. “I hope that I have another opportunity to study a bear.”
“I don’t!” stated Dusty firmly. “Honey, I was a tolerable young man until I met you, and want to stay that way for a few years yet.”
“You make a joke?” Vaza asked.
“Only to stop me running away,” Dusty replied. “If I hadn’t seen it, I’d never believe it was possible. How did you do it?”
“I told you I am a naturalist,” Vaza answered. “It is something we are selected for and trained to do. How else could I do my work if I cannot gain the confidence of the animals so that they act naturally in my presence.”
“Honey, that bear didn't behave naturally—thank God!”
“I don’t wish to hurt you, Dusty,” Vaza said gently. “But I could have reached the bear far easier if I had been left alone. Your presence disturbed it.”
A harsh bark of laughter burst from Dusty before he could stop it. “Well I’ll tell you, honey,” he said. “That makes us evens. That old bear disturbed me a mite too.” He caught the girl and kissed her hard. “Now let’s get back to the camp.”
Fifteen – The End of a Peaceful Day
After the meeting with the grizzly, Dusty escorted Vaza back to the camp. They found that Adek and Jarrel had prepared a meal and during it Dusty told of the incident, but found that his news did not surprise the men. Although he felt decidedly uneasy about having a grizzly prowling so close to the camp—for the big bear showed a partiality to horsemeat—Dusty soon found he did not need to worry.
An explosive snort from his paint brought him spinning around. The bear stood at the edge of the clearing and the paint showed considerable objections to its presence. Even as Dusty threw a glance to his carbine, which leaned against the side of the wagon, Vaza left her seat and walked towards the horse. Dusty no longer felt any concern over the girl approaching his horse, for the paint accepted her and made no attempt to attack her. After a short time the stallion settled down, ignoring the bear which munched a few berries and then ambled on its way once more.
“I’ll never know how you do it, honey,” Dusty told the girl, “but it sure licks the be-jeesus out of anything I ever saw before. I’ve seen animal trainers in travelling shows who couldn’t do half of what you do.”
“I don’t understand,” Vaza answered.
“That paint of mine knows enough about bears to run a mile to avoid one. But he just stood there and let a damned great silvertip walk by not fifty yards from him. How’d you do it?”
“I have done nothing,” the girl smiled. “If the bear had been hungry, it would have acted in a normal manner. All I did was calm your horse.”
More than that the girl refused to say and Dusty found himself involved in a discussion about the cattle industry. Not until laying in his blankets did he realiz
e that he had not asked any of the questions puzzling him about his companions. Then the thought struck him that every time he made his mind up to obtain the answers to his questions about the travelers, he found himself involved in a discussion which left him no opportunity to satisfy his curiosity.
Over breakfast, Vaza asked that she be allowed to spend a day in the valley so as to see the eggs hatch out. Dusty agreed, mainly to please her, but also because the team horses showed signs of strain after their hard pushing of the previous afternoon.
For once in his life Dusty relaxed and lost his alertness when away from the safe confines of the OD Connected ranch house. There seemed to be an air of unreality in the peace of the valley. Three times during the day, he saw the grizzly in or around the clearing, but none of the horses showed the slightest concern and the bear ignored them and the men.
At first Dusty worried about the girl going alone out of sight of the camp, but she insisted. Thinking on how she handled the bear, Dusty’s fears soon died away and he lounged in the camp, taking things easy.
The late afternoon sun shone down on the peaceful valley and Dusty sat with Adek at the table while Jarrel emerged from the wagon. Seeing two shapes rise from the bushes, Dusty began to thrust back his chair. Although the shapes wore range clothing, Dusty knew that they were nothing so innocent as chance-passing strangers. Neither looked like a half-breed or showed signs of being wounded, so they would be Buck-Eye Baise and Tom Moon, least illustrious of the four escaped prisoners.
“Just set still, feller,” the taller of the newcomers ordered. “And don’t reach for a gun.”
“Happen you look over that ways a piece, you’ll see why,” the second went on.
Obeying the man’s suggestion, Dusty looked and what he saw caused him to release the butt of his gun and sink down into his chair. Vaza came from the bushes closely followed by a tall, slim man with a handsome face and wearing rumpled, trail-dirty but expensive clothing of the style worn on the Texas-Mexican border. One arm locked about the girl’s waist, the other held the blade of a knife across her throat. Sick with anxiety, Dusty knew that Vaza had fallen into the clutches of Javelina.
For the first time in his life Dusty felt completely helpless. Given but a split second, he could draw and shoot; but not while Javelina held the knife to the girl’s throat. The expression of terror on Vaza’s face held Dusty in check and shocked him. After seeing her face the grizzly bear, he could not conceive her being afraid. Then Dusty knew the reason. Vaza’s powers were of no use against the most ruthless, merciless animal of all—man.
Dusty bore no antipathy towards any race, creed or skin color—the Ysabel Kid, who Dusty had risked his life to save on more than one occasion, had a Comanche grandfather—but he knew that few men were more devoid of human feeling than half-breeds of Javelina’s bloodline. Without a single hesitation, the man would kill Vaza and never give a thought to her being a girl.
“Stand up slowly, cow-nurse,” Javelina ordered, his face a happy mask which did not fool Dusty and brought about instant obedience. “Now take off the gunbelt and toss it aside.”
Having come to his feet, Dusty unbuckled the gunbelt and tossed it away from him. He knew that doing so meant death, but so did refusal and while alive he could still hope for a chance. Already the taller of the men had picked up his carbine and worked the lever to ensure that its breech held a bullet.
“Go fetch him, Buck-Eye,” Javelina ordered as Dusty’s gunbelt landed.
“I’ll just get me them guns,” answered the shorter of the man.
“Do what I said!” hissed the half-breed. “He might die any minute and we don’t want that—at least, not until after he tells us where he hid the money.”
“Jav’s right, Buck-Eye,” commented the third member of the escaped trio, handling the carbine with casual ease. “We’ve got this bunch corralled now.”
Apparently Javelina did not wish to find himself the only member of the trio without a firearm. Equally he used an argument for obedience that both his companions could understand.
“All right,” Baise growled, hovering over the belt. “I’ll leave it, but don’t neither of you touch it while I’m gone.”
“Don’t you trust us, Buck-Eye?” purred Javelina.
“I trust you—as much as you trust me. Which same I’ll just take me one of these plow-handles in case I run into any wild Injuns.”
Bending, the man drew the Colt from the left holster, glanced down to check that it had percussion caps on the nipples, then placed it into his waistband. Although a grin twisted Javelina’s lips, it did not reach his eyes; but he made no comment as Baise walked back into the bushes.
“Get food and coffee, old man,” the half-breed ordered.
“What do you want with us?” asked Adek, his voice faltering. “We have—”
“I said get food,” Javelina replied and the knife moved from Vaza’s throat to place its point against her cheek. “Or do I have to show you her blood.”
“Do as he says, Adek,” Dusty said.
“Release the girl, she has done you no harm,” the old man groaned.
“No,” admitted the half-breed, “and you can’t do any while I hold her. The word is that you’re a good doctor, hombre. Don’t argue. Buck-Eye was in Linton last night looking to steal horses and guns. He heard about you and came straight back to us. I never expected him to show that much good sense.”
“I know a little about medicine,” Adek said.
“Then I’ve something for you to do.”
“He saved that cowhand’s life, but I don’t reckon he knows how to dig a bullet out of a man,” Dusty put in.
“You’re smart, cow-nurse,” Moon growled. “Got it all figured out who we are and what we want. For a short-growed r—”
“That’s right, Tom boy,” Javelina grinned. “Make the most of it and be real thankful that he can’t get to you. I recognize him now. That’s Dusty Fog.”
“Him?”
“Him. I’m right, aren’t I, Cap’n Fog?”
“You’re right,” Dusty answered as the knife made a tiny gesture towards Vaza’s face. “And the Kid and Mark Counter are close at hand.”
“A good try,” the half-breed said. “You’re alone. We’ve been trailing you all day and know that.”
“I will cook you food,” Jarrel remarked, but he lacked training in the game of poker and gave warning to the alert half-breed.
“Go to it,” Javelina answered. “Only we’ll eat one at a time and the first hint that anything’s wrong, this girl won’t look pretty anymore.”
“What happens to Adek and the others if he gets Tetley well enough to talk?” asked Dusty.
“What do you think?”
“You’ve everything you want here. Take it and leave them be.”
“I may just do that,” grinned the half-breed.
“You mean to kill us after I have served my purpose,” Adek informed him. “So if I refuse—”
“I’ll start carving the girl’s face to pieces,” the half-breed finished.
“What would your Cousin Betty do, Dusty?”
Vaza’s eyes locked with Dusty’s and he could hear her words, although her lips never moved and the other gave no sign of knowing she spoke. During one of their nightly discussions, Dusty had told how he learned the deadly techniques of karate and ju jitsu from his Uncle Devil’s Japanese servants and mentioned that his cousin, Betty Hardin, also gained some proficiency in the Oriental bare-hand fighting arts.
Automatically Dusty’s mind mapped out a course of action. Not that he had any intention of telling Vaza. The risks would be too great, even discounting the fact that he could hardly explain without arousing Javelina’s suspicions.
Almost as the thoughts came to Dusty, Vaza followed them; acting as if he spoke aloud. Giving a frightened gasp, she went limp and sagged against Javelina’s left arm which encircled her waist and pinned down her own arms to her sides. From what he had seen of the travelers, Javeli
na experienced no surprise when he felt the girl collapse as if in a faint and he relaxed, allowing the knife to move away from her cheek.
“Do !” Dusty began to yell, knowing the deadly peril Vaza’s moves entailed. While his Cousin Betty might have brought off the move, given the inducement of certain death awaiting no matter whether she obeyed or not, Vaza lacked the training.
Inexperienced or not, Vaza acted correctly, following Dusty’s thought pattern exactly. She took a long step forward with her left foot and by bending her knees lowered her body in the grasping arm. By suddenly raising her arms, she freed herself, knocking Javelina’s encircling arm upwards. Before the half-breed realized what had happened, Vaza pivoted slightly and smashed back her elbow, driving it hard into his solar plexus.
Dusty wasted no time in yelling more than the two letters. Whichever way things went, he knew that only one course remained open to him. Already Baise approached through the bushes, leading a horse which trailed a travois that bore the fourth member of the escaping party. However, Dusty hoped that the man might be too far away to take a hand in the proceedings during their vital opening stage. Moon expected no trouble, certainly not a reaction as swift as the girl’s, and stared in her direction, the carbine still across the crook of his arm.
Going forward in a rolling dive, Dusty caught up his remaining Colt in passing. A jerk slid the holster free and sent the belt flying. Then he came to his knees, edge of his left hand chopping back the hammer of the Colt in his right and fanning off a shot. While fanning could not be termed an accurate way of shooting, a skilled man could plant a bullet on a big enough target at reasonable ranges. Dusty possessed that skill and his lead drove into Moon’s belly even as the man tried to swing free the carbine. Having taken the most pressing menace out of the game, while Jarrel sprang towards Moon with hands reaching for the carbine, Dusty twisted to face Javelina. What he saw drove all cohesive thought from Dusty’s head. Fighting man’s instincts made him deal with the most immediate danger, but they deserted the small Texan from that moment.