Waco 7: Hound Dog Man (A Waco Western)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘It’s the living truth, boss. Dale and the gal come into town. They’re down at the livery barn right now.’

  Having the saloon to themselves, except for the bartender – who knew better than listen to private conversations when in that kind of company – Schuster did not trouble to hide his surprise at the man’s information.

  ‘But the Indian—’ Thorpe began.

  ‘Damn his stinking red hide!’ Schuster growled. ‘If he lost the trail, I’ll blow his stupid head off.’

  ‘He must have lost it,’ Thorpe said nervously. ‘Dale wouldn’t have come here if he’d killed all three of them when they caught up to him.’

  ‘He might,’ Schuster answered. ‘Rudbeck’s Dale’s friend and Dale doesn’t know we sent the marshal, along with every able-bodied man, out of town on a wild goose chase.

  ‘What do you aim to do, boss?’ asked the man who brought the news.

  ‘What we came out to do,’ replied Schuster’

  ‘I’ll wait here—’ started Thorpe.

  ‘The hell you will!’ Schuster spat out. ‘You’ve lived well and easy while I took all the risks for too long. It was your stupidity that started this and you’ll be in it at the finish. Get Tonopah and the other boys here, Sam,’

  ‘Scared, Pauline gal?’ asked Scobie, closing the door of the small cabin loaned to him as kennels for his pack when he first arrived in Desborough.

  ‘N – No,’ she replied, having helped him by feeding the pack while he unhitched the wagon’s team. ‘I always shiver at this time of day.’

  ‘I reckon you do,’ Scobie smiled and gave her a gentle hug which brought a gasp of pain. ‘Sorry, gal.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ she answered. ‘I’m only bruised where there’re no bumps or lumps.’

  ‘You should pick a fight with somebody your own size,’ drawled Scobie. ‘I reckon it’s time we started.’

  Taking up his Lightning rifle, Scobie started to walk from the cabin with Pauline at his side. He held the rifle in both hands, negligently before him but ready for use. Before they had taken many steps, he and the girl saw Schuster, Thorpe and Kid Tonopah approaching along the alley between the livery barn and the next building.

  Once clear of the building, the three men halted so as to block Scobie and Pauline’s path. Schuster had to look twice before he recognized the girl, being used to seeing her with longer hair and in a dress. Instead he wore the new shirt and Levis, while her face showed marks of the fight with Norah. Not that Schuster worried how she came by her battle scars. His eyes went to where Strike stood eating alongside the wagon. With something like relief, Schuster saw no sign of the rest of the pack. He had not fancied tangling with Scobie’s full pack of fighting hounds.

  ‘You’re in bad company, Dale,’ Schuster said. ‘That girl with you came to ask Mr. Thorpe for help and robbed him.’

  ‘She did, huh?’ Scobie drawled’ That’s not what she told me.’

  ‘I don’t expect it is,’ Schuster answered, hearing Tonopah move restlessly at his side and hoping the young man had taken to heart threats made as to his fate should he provoke trouble.

  ‘Reckon I’d better take her to the marshal’s office,’ Scobie said.

  ‘You don’t need to bother. We’ll tend to her.’

  ‘You said she robbed Mr. Thorpe,’ Scobie remarked. ‘That’s not what one of those fellers with the Indian told me.’

  ‘Sage didn’t know I killed the teller!’ Thorpe screeched.

  ‘You damned fool, Thorpe!’ Schuster roared and readied for his gun.

  At the same instant Kid Tonopah became aware of something menacingly significant in the way Scobie held his rifle.

  Although it hung in a casual manner, Scobie gripped it by the small of the butt and his forefinger was inside the trigger-guard. An experienced man like Scobie Dale did not place his finger on the trigger unless expecting to use the rifle real soon.

  Even as the thought came into Tonopah’s head and sent his hand driving for the butt of the holstered Colt, he saw Scobie go into action.

  From being held casually relaxed, Scobie brought the rifle around and hip-high to point at Schuster. There would be little or no time to spare if Scobie wanted to stay alive. Fortunately, the three men stood bunched together instead of fanning out into a better fighting formation.

  Flame lashed from the Lightning’s barrel and a .50 caliber, solid lead bullet tore into Schuster’s belly with a force that flung the man backwards, made him drop his gun, knocking all the fight out of him. So far Scobie had guessed correctly, figuring Schuster to be the fastest of the trio. Everything now depended on one of the Lightning rifle’s advantages. Controlling as well as possible the recoil caused by ninety-five grains of powder exploding inside it, Scobie began to swing the rifle in the direction of Kid Tonopah. Holding back the trigger in its firing position, Scobie used a reciprocating action of his left hand to flick back the slide, eject the empty case, replace it with a loaded bullet, fire the round and repeat the cycle.

  No other manually operated rifle, not even the traditional and fabled lever action Winchester, could equal the Lightning’s speed of fire when handled in such a manner. A second bullet tore through the swinging flap of Schuster’s jacket, a third passed between him and Tonopah, then the fourth ripped into the amazed young gun-hand as he froze into shocked immobility at the volume of fire. Spinning around with the back of his head burst open from the bullet’s exit – the rifle’s recoil forced Scobie to shoot higher each time – Tonopah dropped his gun and fell on to Schuster’s body.

  Everything seemed to be happening at once. Turning, Thorpe tried to run as the remainder of Schuster’s hired hands burst into view from different points. It was a gun-trap, but not quite in the way Schuster planned.

  ‘Strike!’ Pauline yelled. ‘Get him!’

  Having raised his head at the first shot, Strike hurled forward to the defense of his master. Racing by Scobie and the girl, the big Rottweiler overtook Thorpe, hurled himself into the air and closed his powerful, crashing jaws on the man’s arm. Struck by Strike’s chunky, heavy body, Thorpe crashed to the ground and screamed for help.

  Flicking another bullet into the rifle’s chamber, Scobie started to swing around and meet the new menace. While he would have preferred to use his dogs for added protection, that had been impossible without endangering the lives of Waco and Flax Fannon. On hearing the shooting, they put in their appearance from their place of concealment inside the wagon; having left the wounded men in Loxton’s care outside town,

  Waco came into view at the front of the wagon and threw a shot with his right-hand Colt, tumbling over one of a pair of men who dashed around the other end of the livery barn. Before Scobie or Waco could make a move against the second man, he screeched, a shot sounded from Main Street and he went down with a bullet in his shoulder.

  Bounding out of the rear of the wagon, Flax Fannon tossed a couple of shots in the direction of two more Schuster men, but without effect. They did not return his fire, seeing their employer sprawled on the ground. Being of the kind who fought only for pay, neither relished a gun battle which offered no wages at its end. Turning, they ran back to Main Street, collected the waiting horses and, shortly followed by the last of their party, left Desborough at full gallop.

  Scobie handed his rifle to the girl, then darted forward to drag Strike away from Thorpe. Sobbing, babbling, the politician glared with terrified eyes from the Rottweiler to the advancing men. Marshal Tex Rudbeck strolled along the side alley from Main Street and kicked the revolver away from the man his shot wounded.

  ‘I’d sure as hell like to know why the peace’s been disturbed in my town,’ he told Waco indignantly.

  ‘How’d you get back here so quick?’ Waco smiled, glancing around to make sure everything was under control.

  ‘It didn’t set right with me that Thorpe’d help a peace officer against an owl-hoot,’ Rudbeck explained. ‘So I left the posse out there and come in careful like.�
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  ‘I’m sorry I played them close to the vest, Tex,’ apologized Waco. ‘No offence meant. But I didn’t want to tip my hand in case any of your posse worked for Schuster.’

  ‘None took – as long as I get to know what’s happened.’

  ‘I reckon Mr. Thorpe can tell us most of that,’ drawled Waco, looking to where Pauline profanely quietened the dogs in the cabin. ‘Him and the gal between them.’

  Thorpe talked, giving enough information to ensure the success of Waco’s clean-up in Wyoming and the adjacent States. Although the politician tried to lay all the blame for the Planner’s activities on to Schuster, the other man lived long enough to thoroughly implicate the politician. Learning of his partner’s attempt, Schuster gave full details of the Cattleman’s Trust Bank business, including the fact that all the negotiable bonds and most of the money could be found in the safe in Thorpe’s office. That knowledge, plus a signed deathbed confession, gave Waco all he needed to convict Thorpe.

  Carrying her traveling bag, although still dressed in shirt and Levis, Pauline stood before Desborough’s Wells Fargo office on the day after the fight. While she would still be required to give evidence at Thorpe’s trial, Waco decided she could be let go her own way until needed. Everybody involved in the Planner’s affairs would be too busy hiding their tracks, or fleeing the country, to worry about Thorpe, and the girl’s evidence would hardly be needed to convict him so she was unlikely to be bothered again.

  If Schuster had told the truth, Pauline and Scobie stood to share the reward offered by the Cattlemen’s Trust Bank. With her portion, the girl could go East, buy the right kind of clothes and jewelry, then find work in a good-class saloon which offered better opportunities than any in the West.

  Her eyes went to where Scobie climbed on to his wagon. Word had come in that a cougar killed forty sheep during a night’s blood lust at Newcastle and Scobie was on his way to hunt it down. If Pauline wished, she could go with him, as his wife.

  Only she did not want to go. A girl would be a fool and worse to tangle with a foot-loose hound dog man whose only home was a Rocker ambulance – not that it made a bad home though. Pauline chopped off her thoughts on the matter and tried to direct them to cold winters, a hungry belly, rags to wear—

  Whip walked across the street, wagging his tail and rubbing against her leg as if trying to tell her they were ready to move. Gently she rubbed the dog’s ears and looked at the rest of the pack.

  No, damn it, a girl would be a fool to give up working in a saloon with – drunks pawing her, breathing whiskey-fumes into her face, stamping on her feet when dancing. She could wear fine clothes – but would not feel the warm touch of grass between her toes. Desperately Pauline tried to make herself think of all the good times spent in saloons and could only bring up a picture of Scobie. She remembered his gentleness, the way Vixen licked her hand as she fought to save the life of a weak pup, how the pack grew to accept her. A girl would be a fool—

  ‘So I’m a fool,’ she said and dropped the bag which contained all her saloon clothing. ‘Let’s go, Whip.’

  With that Pauline walked across the street and climbed on to the wagon alongside her hound dog man.

  About the Author

  J.T. Edson was a former British Army dog-handler who wrote more than 130 Western novels, accounting for some 27 million sales in paperback. Edson’s works - produced on a word processor in an Edwardian semi at Melton Mowbray - contain clear, crisp action in the traditions of B-movies and Western television series. What they lack in psychological depth is made up for by at least twelve good fights per volume. Each portrays a vivid, idealized “West That Never Was”, at a pace that rarely slackens.

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  More on J. T. EDSON

  If you enjoy J.T. Edson you may also like the westerns of BEN BRIDGES

  APACHERIA SERIES:

  Apacheria

  Lockwood’s Law

  ASH COLTER SERIES:

  Gunsmoke Legend

  Ride the High Lines

  Storm in the Saddle

  COMPANY C SERIES:

  Hit ’em Hard!

  To the Death!

  HELLER SERIES

  Heller

  Heller in the Rockies

  JIM ALLISON SERIES:

  Rattler Creek

  Blood Canyon

  Thunder Gorge

  JUDGE AND DURY SERIES:

  Hang ‘em All

  Riding for Justice

  Law of the Gun

  Trial by Fire

  Barbed Wire Noose

  Judgment Day

  MOVIE TIE-INS:

  Day of the Gun

  Bill Tilghman and the Outlaws

  O’BRIEN SERIES:

  The Silver Trail

  Hard as Nails

  Mexico Breakout

  Hangman’s Noose

  The Deadly Dollars

  Squaw Man

  North of the Border

  Shoot to Kill

  Hell for Leather

  Marked for Death

  Gunsmoke is Gray

  Cold Steel

  Mean as Hell

  Draw Down the Lightning

  Flame and Thunder

  THREE GUNS WEST (Writing with Steve Hayes):

  Three Rode Together

  Three Ride Again

  Hang Shadow Horse!

  WESTERN LEGENDS (Writing with Steve Hayes):

  The Oklahombres

  The Plainsman

  THE WILDE BOYS SERIES:

  The Wilde Boys

  Wilde Fire

  Wilde’s Law

  Aces Wilde

  STAND-ALONE WESTERNS:

  Ride for the Rio!

  Back With a Vengeance

  Blaze of Glory

  Tanner’s Guns

  Coffin Creek

  The Spurlock Gun

  All Guns Blazing

  Cannon for Hire

  Montana Gunsmoke

  Starpacker

  Cougar Valley

  SHORT STORIES:

  Five Shots Left

  * * *

  [i] Dusty Fog’s story is told in the author’s floating outfit books.

  [ii] Told in The Law Of The Gun.

  [iii] Excuse-me-ma’am: a bump in the road

  [iv] Saint: An honest cowhand.

  [v] Waco’s story is told in Sagebrush Sleuth, Arizona Ranger, Waco Rides In, The Drifter.

  [vi] Told in The Drifter.

  [vii] The cinnamon bear is a color phase of the black species

  [viii] Big Muddy: The Mississippi River