by J. T. Edson
With stinging rope ends, shrill yells and charging horses the men got the cattle up and moving. Knight and Hamilton fell in with their horses on either side of the big old bull who’d established himself as the leader. They pointed him towards the KH house and the other cattle moved along after him. On opposite sides of the herd Dusty and Mark moved in about a third of the way along the line, taking the swing positions, then Just and Brit came in behind them as the flank riders while Brazos and the Ysabel Kid brought up the rear. The Kid was for once riding the drag instead of ahead as scout. There was little need of a scout on this short drive and he wanted to be in a position to hear any pursuit should it come. He was wishing he was afork his big white stallion for the horse was trained to warn him of approaching men.
Surrounded by the fast riding men the herd was kept going. Occasionally a steer would break from the line and try to escape, only to be turned back again by a fast riding man on a well-trained horse. Then the sun went right down and darkness blanketed the land. The white-faces tended to bunch up now and keep moving without trying to escape, sticking close to each other for comfort and company.
Handling the herd had its advantages. There was no dust to rise and half-blind the drag riders and the night was cool. Against this was the slow pace they were forced to hold. Knight and Hamilton did not try to force the leader any, for to do so might have turned him baulky and that would have been disastrous in the darkness.
Then the moon came up, full and bright, lighting the range country with a pale glow. The cattle settled down to moving along as a steady herd when they could see where they were going. Apart from the ever present coyotes there was no sound other than the cattle noises, and nothing to make any of the riders suspicious.
Brit caught up with Dusty, his teeth gleamed in the darkness as he asked, ‘Are you the Captain Fog who used to ride in the Texas Light Cavalry during the War Between the States?’
‘Why sure,’ Dusty agreed, wondering where the Englishman had heard of him.
‘Good lord, you couldn’t have been very old then.’
‘I was seventeen when I made Captain, been a Lieutenant for a year before that. How’d you hear about me?’
‘My dear man, you’re quite famous. Why, the way you handled your troop changed the entire thinking on light cavalry tactics. I was in the 14th Lancers and knew a chappie who was over here as a military observer. Heard him talk about you. He used to get into violent arguments about your tactics with one of the old school.’
Dusty grinned. He’d heard some stiff arguments about his tactics as a light cavalry commander himself. ‘Were you in the Army?’
Tor a time. It’s the thing, you know. Went out to India as a subaltern hoping to have some excitement, but damn if the Regiment wasn’t ordered back home just after I arrived. I asked for a transfer to the Bengal Lancers and when I couldn’t get it I handed in my papers and came over here to the colonies. Moved West and took on with the KH as a cowhand. Deuced interesting work I find.’
They separated again, both busy with the cattle which were again showing signs of being restless and uneasy. It kept Dusty busy until they reached the lip of the coulee and too late he saw how near they were. It had been his intention to suggest sending the Kid ahead as a scout along the rim of the coulee but he was too late to get permission from either Knight or Hamilton now. In all matters of range work Dusty was scrupulously correct. He was riding with this herd as a hand, and without the permission of the trail boss he could not send the Kid away from the herd.
Standing in his stirrups Dusty studied the range ahead of him. The coulee edges looked clear enough but there were many places where an ambush could be laid and the ambushers remain concealed. He felt uneasy and was about to shout to Knight when he saw he was too late. They were turning the herd down the slope and into the coulee bottom.
Knight moved his horse towards the leading animal while Hamilton pulled his away. The big old bull moved away from the approaching horse and in doing so made for the slope. The rest of the cattle began to close up again, scuttling after the leader and bunching down to less than half the length they’d covered out in the open. The coulee was lit by the moon on the flank where Dusty, Brit and Brazos rode, but Mark and Just were in the deep shadow.
The Ysabel Kid was uneasy. He was alert and his instincts, always more Indian than white, warned him all was not well. He dropped back from his place on the drag, halting the horse and looking all round. There was nothing he could see and yet the feeling was still there. The old Model 66 Winchester slid from the saddle boot into his hands. With his big white stallion he would have been satisfied, for the horse would have warned him of any danger. This was not his old Thunder horse, but was one of the KH remuda, better at cattle work but not so alerted in other and less usual duties.
Knight and Hamilton were now turning the lead animal towards the up-slope again. Hamilton came out of the shadows and into plain view as the two men hazed the big bull towards the up-slope once more.
The Ysabel Kid looked up at the rim they’d just come down. He’d been concentrating on the one they were making for. He gave a yell which was drowned by the noise of the cattle. From above a rifle cracked and men suddenly lined the rim.
Six – Dusty Takes Command
Even before the Kid’s rifle came up he saw he was too late. Knight went pitching from his saddle. The man who’d shot Jack Knight was in plain view, a big man the Kid would never forget. The man’s rifle swung and barked again, even before the other men started shooting, Hamilton arched his back as the lead smashed home and he came down from his horse.
Dusty left his saddle, lead humming over his head even as he fell. Like a true cavalryman he kept the reins of his horse in one hand, the other brought out his Colt. He landed on the ground partly hidden behind his horse and tried to line his gun. All around him the already scared cattle were moving restlessly, snorting and bellowing as the leader stopped. He saw Brit was also off his horse holding it and the horse the murdered man was riding when he left the spread that morning. Brazos was laying on the ground, blood oozing from a hole in his shoulder.
On the other side of the herd Just and Mark could see what was happening, but while in no danger themselves from the men on the rim, they could not get a shot at their attackers, nor could they force their way through the close packed cattle to get out and help their friends.
It was then the Ysabel Kid tried to take a hand, his old yellow boy flowing to his shoulder. He saw a short, slim man in dark clothes appear. The man held something in his right hand, in his left a glowing cigar which he brought down. There was a spluttering scatter of sparks and the man’s right hand jerked, throwing the thing down. The Ysabel Kid knew what that thing was. His rifle swung at the man, trying to line on him.
The Kid forgot he was not afork his old Thunder horse. The big white would have stood like a rock even with a fire under him. This cow horse was not so well trained, and the shooting was making him fiddle-foot nervously. At the crack of the Kid’s rifle the horse gave a bounding leap which would have unseated a lesser man.
The roar of an explosion from the center of the herd made the horse wild with panic. The scene at the bottom of the coulee was like a madhouse. Cattle bellowed in fear, screamed in pain and broke in all directions. The Ysabel Kid saw Mark’s horse go down and his Comanche blood erupted. He came off the horse in a leap, letting it tear off in wild stampede. His rifle came up, throwing lead as fast as he could work the lever. One man on the rim. standing next to the one who threw the dynamite into the herd, spun round, clawing at his face and dropped. A second gave a shrill cry and reeled back out of sight. The rest of them turned and backed off out of sight and were gone.
So was the herd.
The white-faces, terrified by the shooting and the explosion were all running, scattering along the coulee in either direction. The Ysabel Kid watched them streaming past him and cursed savagely in three different languages. He lowered the rifle and looked at the wri
thing, bloody heaps of torn flesh which shortly before were living animals. Over fifteen head of the herd were down, the others would run until they dropped of exhaustion and there was no chance of stopping them.
Just Smith was still on his horse, fighting it for control and knowing the horse would be of no use to him for cattle work while it was spooked. He tried to send the horse across the coulee bottom to where Brit and Dusty were heading for Knight and Hamilton. He twisted round in his saddle and saw Mark’s horse was down. The Ysabel Kid was running towards his friend, more expression showing on his face than was usual.
‘Mark! You all right?’ the Kid yelled.
Slowly Mark forced himself up on his hands and knees, shaking his head. The Kid’s arm shot out to help Mark rise and steady him for a moment, then the dazed expression left Mark’s eyes.
‘I’m all right, Lon. The herd caught most of the blast. Reckon it was part of one of the steers that got my horse. I was already going down when the hoss was hit. Is Dusty all right?’
‘Sure. I saw him drop before the shooting. He’s with the bosses.’
Mark started across the coulee bottom, his face white under the tan. The Ysabel Kid stayed only long enough to lower his rifle and put the horse out of its misery, then he followed.
Just Smith looked up from Hamilton’s side as the others came over. ‘He’s cashed!’
None of the other men replied. Brit was attending to old Brazos’ wound, while Dusty gently pillowed Knight’s head on his knees. There was no hope for the rancher, that bullet struck him in the center of the back and tore right through. It was a miracle he’d lived as long as this.
Knight’s eyes opened and looked around. For a moment they did not focus, then they cleared and looked at Mark. ‘Is Mike ?’
‘Dead, Uncle Jack,’ Mark’s voice was low and vibrant with anger.
‘Dusty—here?’
‘Right here.’
‘You’re foreman now. Take—care—of—the—girls—’
Knight’s body gave a convulsive heave, blood rushed from his mouth and then he was still. Gently Dusty lowered the head to the floor and got to his feet. In the moonlight his face looked old and haggard, his clenched fists shook by his sides.
‘Why the hell didn’t I send the Kid to scout that rim?’ he asked, his voice hard, yet he was not speaking to the others. ‘God, what a fool I was. I’ll never forgive myself for this. I should have known they’d lay for us there. How can I face—’
‘Easy, boy,’ Mark laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘You couldn’t know about this.’
‘I should have known, or guessed. They know the country and Hellfire, Mark, I should have known. I’ll never forgive myself—’
Brit came up, looking at Dusty. ‘You’re not at fault, old boy. It wasn’t your place as a hand to send the scout out. I know neither Jack nor Mike would blame you. You don’t know this range, you couldn’t have known how near we were to this damned place.’
‘I agree with Brit.’ Just put in. ‘Likewise I’m ready to do whatever you want me to.’
For a moment Dusty stood still, his hands clenched, his face drawn in a tight mask. Then the feeling of responsibility came over him again and he took command with the ease of a born leader of men. His first concern was for the wounded.
‘How’s Brazos?’
‘Far as I can tell, not being a surgical Johnny, the bullet went on through without any serious damage or breaking of bone. I’ve plugged the hole as well as I could. Do anything more I can for him now.’
‘No, Just, you tend to it. Mark, I reckon you should take over.’
‘I don’t,’ Mark was adamant. ‘Comes cattle work I reckon we both know about as much. Comes fighting you make me look like a yearling. And it’s come to fighting right now.’
‘When do we take out after them?’ the Ysabel Kid’s tones were Comanche mean and in the moonlight his face would have passed for one of his grandfather’s braves.
‘We don’t. I’m taking one of these horses, Brit another and you a third. We’re headed back to the spread. Someone has to tell the girls. I’d like you along, Brit. I’m not good at words and I reckon you can help me out some. You’ll get that old Thunder hoss and head for town as soon as we reach the house, Lon. I want the sheriff telling and the undertaker. I want the sheriff here as soon as he can get. Then you come right straight back to the house. Don’t go any other place. Did any of you recognize them?’
‘It was Snag Willet used the rifle and killed the bosses,’ Brazos answered, biting down the pain of his wounded shoulder. ‘And I’d near on swear it was Santone hisself threw the dynamite down.’
‘Willet’s mine,’ Mark said in a soft, mild tone that sounded far more deadly than any amount of wild screamed curses.
‘He’s yours,’ Dusty agreed. ‘But right now I want you and Just to stay on here with Brazos. One of you use the hoss and try to collect the herd together again. Brit and me’ll be bringing more horses from the remuda and well gather the cattle again.’
‘I don’t want to argue with you, Dusty old chap,’ Brit interrupted, ‘or go against your orders. But we cut the range very thoroughly to raise those three hundred head. There wasn’t another white-face to be found and with around twenty dead we can’t produce enough to make up the necessary amount for the banker.’
‘All right, thanks, Brit,’ Dusty was willing to accept the advice of a man who knew more about local conditions than he himself did. ‘We’ll tend to the banker when he comes.... Right now we’d best move on out.’
Dusty, Brit and the Kid swung afork their horses and rode up the slope. The sound of the horses faded rapidly into the distance and Mark stood looking down at his uncle’s body. For a moment he stood like a statue, then shook his head and walked to where a white-face cow was moaning in agony. He drew his Colt and shot the animal, then walked to the still shape of the horse he’d been riding. Loosening the double girths he used his strength to get the saddle free. His rifle was on top, which was a relief to him. He went on up the slope with the rifle in his hands, looking at the place where the ambushers had hidden. He was in that cold, deadly rage which only an immensely strong, powerful and generally amiable young man could feel. There was a hellish hardness about his face as he went to the bodies of the Kid’s victims. The two men were dead, which was as well for them. In his present mood Mark would have shown no mercy to any of the attackers had they fallen into his hands.
Rolling the bodies over with cold, dispassionate hands Mark looked down at them. They were a pair of cheap, hired guns or he missed his guess, the kind who would fight for anyone as long as the pay lasted. He doubted if there would be anything to identify them. Turning, Mark left the two bodies where they lay. He did not intend to waste time burying them; they could lay there and rot for all of him. Dusty, the Kid and Brit rode for a time without speaking, each man busy with his own thoughts. Dusty was still bitterly blaming himself for the attack. He should have sent Lon ahead to make a scout. Now through his negligence two men were dead and the herd scattered. For once in his wild, reckless life the Ysabel Kid was finding himself wanting. He’d forgotten one basic fact, he was riding a strange horse, not his big white. That was why the ambush succeeded. Because he forgot all horses were not trained to locate hidden men and give warning of such. Brit was thinking of the two girls, one of them a countrywoman of his. He did not know Gloria and was not sure how either girl would react when told their parents were dead.
Looking at Dusty, Brit was fully aware of the latent danger about the small man. Yet somehow Brit was not really aware Dusty was smaller than he. The young Texan seemed to be the biggest man of them all. Brit had been a soldier and came of a long line of army men, and he knew a born leader when he saw one. It was an aura which set on the shoulders of some men and made others turn to them for leadership in times of danger. Dusty Fog had that aura, and it made him what he was.
‘You’re not dressed, amigo.’
Brit looked round in su
rprise at the Ysabel Kid, not quite following the meaning at first. Then he dropped his hand to his gunless side and replied, ‘I see what you mean. Got a revolver at the house but I can never seem to hit a deuced thing with it. Now this,’ he pulled the Winchester from his saddle boot, ‘is the finest rifle I’ve ever seen.’
It was then the Ysabel Kid saw the rifle was not a yellow boy, but an even better looking weapon. The butt and the frame were made of iron, instead of brass as in the old model the Kid carried. ‘That’s new, isn’t it?’
‘The latest model. Uses the new center fire ammunition,’ Brit replied. ‘Called the forty-four-forty. Uses a full forty grain powder charge. I bought it as soon as I arrived in New York. Had one of the old models in India. Rajah of one of the small states offered me two elephants, a string of polo ponies and three dancing girls for it. Almost took him up on the offer.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Dusty asked, more to take his mind off thinking about what he regarded as a failure on his part.
‘My dear chap, what would I do with three dancing girls ?’
‘You should ask your mother that, not us,’ the Kid replied, looking at the new model rifle with covetous gaze. The gun, which was to become known as the Model 73, was as much an improvement over the old yellow boy as that trusty rifle had been over previous long guns.
They were coming in sight of the house now, although it was still a fair distance away. Dusty was pale now, his voice shaky. ‘I need help, Brit. I’ve never been so scared in my life.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ Brit promised. ‘This is a bad business, Dusty. Miss Hamilton is only newly arrived from home, I suppose.’
‘I’ve given that some thought, too. It’ll not be easy on either of them, will it?’
‘It won’t, but I’m not unhappy to know you are here. Just, Brazos and I would have stayed on to the last ditch but without more men we wouldn’t have much of a chance.’
