by J. T. Edson
‘Don’t keep the sheriff waiting, fat man,’ the Kid growled deep and mean. ‘If you weren’t his boss he wouldn’t like it.’
At the door of the barn the sheriff gulped, remembering something of the procedure for such things. ‘You men shouldn’t be wearing them guns.’
‘I don’t reckon we should at that,’ Dusty agreed. ‘But when I’m near a skunk I like to keep a jar of perfume handy.’
Lynch took the point and did not press the matter any further. He went into the barn followed by his men, the Texans followed them in, fanning along the wall behind Gloria and Rene.
Lanton and the Ysabel Kid were the last in, after Painthoss escorted Juanita inside. The fat man started towards Rene but Just Smith blocked his way. ‘Stay on your own side, range-hawg,’ he ordered.
For a moment the fat man looked as if he might either say or do something rash but he turned and walked back to stand by the sheriff. Juanita started to say something in Spanish but Lanton stopped her. ‘We don’t talk anything but English now, do we, dear?’
‘I forgot,’ Juanita looked straight at the Ysabel Kid. ‘Mr. Lanton does not wish me to speak any of my languages, Spanish, French, Yaqui.’
The Kid caught the glance and made an unobtrusive sign. The girl’s nod was almost imperceptible and she moved back, away from the others. Her hands started to move and the Kid watched, reading the hardest of all the Indian hand languages, Yaqui sign talk. None of the others gave the girl any attention and would have been hard put to make anything of the signs, for the Yaqui sign was the most difficult of all the tribal talk.
‘How did it happen?’ the sheriff asked, glancing at the town undertaker.
‘Don’t you know already?’ Dusty inquired.
‘I’ll tell you how it happened,’ Mark went on, his voice deep and vibrant. ‘We were bringing a herd back to the ranch house to pay your friend the banker. As we came through the coulee they hit us. Santone threw dynamite into the herd and Snag Willet shot down Uncle Jack and Mike Hamilton in cold blood.’
‘How come the bosses of the spread were riding at the point of the herd?’ the sheriff asked, then realized he’d made a slip.
‘Nobody said they were at the point. Nobody here that is,’ Dusty replied. ‘Where else would the boss be except at the point, unless he was a fat dude who hired everything done for him.’
Lanton snorted angrily but before he could speak was stopped. Mark Counter pointed to the coffins. ‘There lies a pair of good men. Jack Knight and my father were like brothers. Last night he was murdered without a chance of fighting back. You can tell Santone and Snag Willet I’m shooting on sight.’
‘You sure it was Santone and Willet done it, friend?’ Painthoss spoke for the first time.
‘Brazos recognized him, so did Brit and Just.’
‘The law will handle this matter, cowboy,’ Lanton put in, watching the Ysabel Kid, who now stood alongside Mark. ‘I’m afraid you’re wrong in blaming my partner and Willet. Mr. Santone was with me at the ranch all last night. Miss Estradre can verify it. Willet was with the hands in the bunkhouse playing cards.’
‘Mister,’ Dusty’s voice was flat and even. ‘You’re a liar.’ Lanton looked at the small Texan, face working angrily. He knew that in the west no man called another a liar in that tone unless full willing to back up the words with a smoking Colt gun. Lanton would lose face in the eyes of Painthoss by ignoring the remark. He also knew any attempt to take exception with a gun would be a failure from the start.
‘As I said, Miss Estradre can verify my words. Is that not so, my dear Juanita?’
Juanita’s face was showing a rapid play of emotions but she nodded in agreement. ‘It is as Mr. Lanton says.’
Swinging back to face Dusty, Lanton’s triumphant expression died an uneasy death before those level, cold grey eyes. ‘Does that satisfy you?’
‘No, it don’t.’
‘I will take my oath it is true,’ Lanton snarled, he’d never been so completely faced down and humiliated by another man. That it should be happening in front of that beautiful English girl made it far worse. He went on without thinking of the consequences. ‘You’ve come here and there has been one killing after another. Now you start accusing my partner of this heinous crime. How do we know you didn’t kill Knight and Hamilton, then steal the herd yourselves?’ There was a sudden hush in the room. The sheriff’s face went pale, his men moved towards each other. Gloria and Rene both started to snap out angry denials, then Mark gave a yell of ‘Dusty, no!’ and moved fast, thrusting the Kid aside hard even as the bowie knife was coming out, shooting his other arm out at Dusty.
Mark was almost too late. He’d seen the anger in Dusty’s eyes and the way Dusty’s fist folded. The fist was folded normally except that the first finger stuck ahead of the rest in the deadly forefinger fist of Karate, that deadly Japanese fighting art Tommy Okasi taught the smallest of the Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan. The fist was shooting out for the philtrum, that collection of nerve centers under the nose. A blow struck there with the forefinger fist could kill if landed at full strength and that was how Dusty was striking now. Mark only just deflected the fist a fraction, but it was enough. Lanton’s head snapped back under the savage and painful impact of the blow but it missed the vital spot. The big man staggered and crashed to the floor.
Snarling in fury Lanton’s hand lashed up and across, under his coat. It was a fast move, very fast considering his bulk. The gun was sliding out before Dusty even started his draw. Then Dusty’s hands moved, crossing in a flickering blur of movement. The matched guns were out and flame tore from the four and three-quarter inch blued barrels, the two shots so close together they sounded as one. The short barreled gun was torn from Lanton’s hand by the bullet from the right-hand Colt, the left tore a vicious shallow groove, across the man’s fat cheek and nicked the lobe of his ear. Smoke curled lazily up from the muzzles of Dusty Fog’s guns as he looked at the other men.
Lynch and his deputies stood immobile, staring at the men facing them. The Kid was on one knee, his bowie knife still in his hand. Just’s right hand was resting on the butt of his gun ready to swivel back the holster and take cards.
Lanton sat up, holding his cheek with his left hand, the right hand numb and useless to him. His piggy eyes glowed hatred and he snarled, ‘You shot at a man who was down.’
‘Had you been stood I’d have killed you.’
Painthoss stood clear of the other Syndicate men, looking at Dusty Fog. In his time the big rancher had seen the best in action and knew that here was the master of them all. There was no boasting in those simple words. Dusty Fog called his shots the way they went. If Lanton had been on his feet Dusty would have killed him. At first Painthoss, hearing of Slinger’s death, thought the young Texan was lucky. Now he knew different, Slinger was not fast enough.
Lanton forced his fat body up, his face twisted in almost maniacal rage. ‘Sheriff, arrest that man. He tried to kill me.’
Lynch gulped and took a pace backwards, nearer to his men. That order was the most scaring thing he’d ever heard. To try and arrest Dusty Fog right now would be just the same as walking into a Chicago slaughter-house, passing the pole-axe man and saying hit me. It would be certain death. True, Dusty Fog’s guns were back in their holsters again but that meant nothing, for they could be drawn again with that same speed.
Backing the sheriff were three men, all paid for their fighting skill. They might risk stacking up against a man like Dusty Fog if he was alone. But he was not alone. He was backed by his two friends, Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid, either of whom would give pause to a better man than Lynch or his deputies. They were also backed by Just Smith who was almost in their class with a gun himself. Even the young Englishman was a hard hand willing to take cards even though he did not wear a gun.
It was too much for Lynch. He knew his men would not back him up and that Lanton was unarmed, the short barreled gun laying broken on the floor. He knew Painthoss would not side wit
h him. The rancher was far from a willing member of the Syndicate and would be only too pleased to see the leading light of it go under before the guns of the Texans.
Glancing back Lynch knew the truth. His men were scared, and they would not back him up. He licked his lips nervously, his next move being either the end of his life or his finish as Lanton’s sheriff. His fingers worked spasmodically, his scared eyes going to Painthoss for support and finding only mocking contempt. Lanton was watching Lynch and waiting for something to happen. It was a dangerous situation, like sitting amongst scattered, fused sticks of dynamite and tossing burning matches around.
Then Rene moved, leaving Gloria’s side and going between the two opposing factions, her eyes blazing with fury.
‘Dusty, get back to the wall. Lon, put that knife away!’ she hissed, her voice vibrant. The orders were obeyed without a question and the KH men drew back, leaving her to turn on Lanton. She ignored the sheriff as if he was something beneath her feet. ‘And you, sir,’ never had the others heard so much concentrated venom and loathing in one word. ‘You come here at a time like this, causing trouble, making accusations you know are not true against our loyal friends. Then when you fail to get your, own way you set this creature of yours on Dusty. I think, sir, that you’d better leave the KH and make sure you do not return.’
Lanton’s face was suffused with blood, the gash on his cheek showing livid. He rocked back under the impact of the girl’s cold fury and contempt. His hands shook and his fat frame quivered with pent up fury. First his plans to get rid of the ranch were all a failure. His attempt to kill the two fighting men and scare off the other riders only partly succeeded. Carron got the rest of the men to leave, but KH still were able to move the herd. Santone’s effort had been successful and yet the girls still found the money to meet the note. Lanton guessed Brit knew something about that. Then after his arrival at the KH, Lanton had been humiliated in front of this radiant, beautiful and cultured young woman. His attempts to impress her were gone the same way as the other plans, all because of a small, insignificant young Texas man called Dusty Fog.
‘All right,’ he snarled back, not able to meet those cold, loathing eyes and feeling about two inches tall before the girl. ‘I wanted the KH and was willing to pay a good price for it. I was willing to let your fathers join my Syndicate but they would not have it. Now I’m telling you I mean to have the KH any way I can get it. Either you sell to me or you fight. Make your choice.’
Gloria moved alongside her friend, gripping Rene’s arm and feeling the blonde girl was shivering and not from fright. ‘All right, Lanton,’ she said. ‘You’ve called the play. I’ll put it to my ranch crew and we’ll tell you our decision. Wait outside.’
Lanton was in control of himself again and mentally kicking himself for having let these people make him lose his temper that way. He knew that there was nothing more he could chance doing now. If he started anything more it would spark off shooting and he would be the first to die. Even though he was unarmed, he knew the Kid was capable of shooting him and saying it was bad marksmanship. Taking out his handkerchief Lanton dabbed the blood from his cheek, looking at it. Then he jerked his head towards the door and led his party outside.
Rene looked at Gloria who turned to face the others. The English girl did not know that there was as much etiquette in starting a western feud as in declaring war between two countries. Gloria knew it and knew she must do this correctly.
‘All right, you all heard the man. We can sell to him or stay on. If we stay on we have to fight. The odds are against us and I won’t hold it against any of you who want to pull out. I mean to stay and my vote is for war. Brit, this isn’t your fight. If you want to pull out—’
‘My dear young Miss Knight.’ Brit removed his monocle for a better look at her, then screwed it back in again. ‘I’m ashamed of you, making such a suggestion before one so young and innocent. Why, damn, I’d rather give up wearing me monocle than desert you.’
Gloria’s cheeks turned red for she, like the others, noticed the emphasis placed on the last word. To cover her confusion she asked, ‘How do you vote then?’
‘With you, dear girl. For war.’
‘Dusty?’ Gloria glanced at the small Texan who was reloading his Colts.
‘War!’
‘Lon?’
‘War,’ the word was a Comanche grunt, guttural and hard.
‘Mark?’
Mark’s eyes went to his cousin’s face. ‘Need you ask. War.’
‘Just?’
‘War and I take Brazos’ vote. War.’ Brazos was in bed still and sleeping off the effects of his wound.
‘Rene?’
All eyes went to the beautiful English girl. She stood without a move, her face once more schooled into that composed mask. Her eyes went to each face, knowing her decision would be accepted, even if it was against the majority vote. She did not want to see more violence and bloodshed but in her veins flowed the blood of fighting men, men who were willing to fight and die to protect their own. She looked at the two coffins, in one of which lay her father. He’d fought for this land of his and died for it. She would not allow any man to take it from her.
When she spoke her voice was firm and even.
‘War!’
Nine – Mark Meets Friends
None of the others said a word for a moment after Rene spoke. Then Gloria gripped her friend’s arm so hard she bruised it. Their eyes met and Rene knew that she’d made the right decision.
‘All right, Dusty,’ Gloria said. ‘You’re the foreman, go tell them.’
Dusty turned and walked from the barn, the others watching him go. Brit asked, ‘How many men do you think the Syndicate hires?’
‘Fair number with the Estradre vaqueros,’ Gloria answered, her voice bitter. ‘I never thought she’d go against me.’
‘Well, you figger it this way,’ the Kid remarked, looking down at Gloria. ‘What would you do if Lanton had your pappy locked in a cellar at the S Star and told you he’d be killed if you didn’t join—’
Gloria jumped forward, grabbing the Kid by the arms and shaking him back and forward. ‘Is that—Do you—How do you—What—!’ she gasped, not able to get a single coherent thought going in her head.
‘Easy now, I don’t wear a monocle,’ the Kid answered and she let loose, blushing furiously. ‘I don’t know how true it is. Don’t even know what it’s all about. I don’t speak Yaqui sign all that good and we didn’t get much time to talk a whole lot. But she told me Lanton’s holding her pappy hostage against her good behavior. I said I’d try and help her first chance I got. That was what I was doing while the rest of you were talking.’
‘Yaqui sign. We used to talk it all the time when we were kids. I wondered why old Neety wasn’t spouting Spanish at me. Lanton can’t speak Spanish and he won’t let her.’
‘I figgered that out,’ the Kid answered modestly. ‘One thing though, she allows there’s a man with Don Jose all the time, got orders to kill him if there’s any attempt at rescuing him.’
Dusty came back from delivering the word to Lanton. ‘I don’t get it, Miss Estradre looked happier when she left than when she came.’
‘Huh, at last we know something the foreman doesn’t,’ Gloria sniffed. ‘Reckon we ought to tell him?’
The two ranchers were buried in the trees beyond the house, the graves having been dug earlier by Mark and Just. The entire crew gathered around the two graves and Brit read the burial service from the Knight family bible. After the graves were filled in Mark drew his right hand gun and fired three shots into the air. Just was holding Rene to him and Brit stood with an arm round Gloria, the other hand gently smoothing her hair.
‘We’d best go to the house,’ Gloria finally said, drying her tears. ‘There’s some talking Dusty’ll want to do.’
‘Sure, he’s real good at that,’ the Kid agreed.
They all went to the house and Gloria led the way into the sitting-room, waving them into
chairs. Brazos came down from the upstairs room where he’d been recuperating. He was informed of the state of affairs and bewailed his luck at missing the sight of Dusty knocking Lanton down and shooting him up.
The Ysabel Kid glanced at the lances and bow over the fireplace and it brought back to him his lodge oath. ‘When do I get to take a ride?’
‘No you don’t,’ Gloria snapped, knowing what he meant. ‘I’m not having you trailing over the country like a Comanche on a coup taking trip.’
The Ysabel Kid loftily ignored the girl, his eyes on Dusty. There was hope in the Kid’s heart, for he knew Dusty would keep him employed as a scout rather than around the house, helping to defend it.
‘You haven’t many shells for your ride,’ Dusty finally reminded him.
‘That’s right, I haven’t,’ the Kid sounded exasperated, then looked hopefully at Mark. ‘You got any left?’
‘The loads in my rifle is about all. I aimed to get some in town but never had the chance.’
‘You’re near on out, too, Dusty,’ the Kid growled.
‘I’ve one box. Old Brazos here uses a Spencer and Brit totes that newfangled center fire,’ Just remarked. ‘He’s likely got a few rounds but they’re no use in the old yellow boy.’
‘How about the house, Gloria?’ Dusty inquired.
‘Pappy and Uncle Mike kept all their bullets locked up in their bedrooms. Me’n Rene’ll go see what there is.’
The two girls left the room and Dusty found out how much revolver ammunition the men held amongst them. That was a problem which did not affect either Brazos or the Kid, for they both used cap and ball handguns and poured their powder in straight from the flask. However, the Kid was in need of more powder for his old Dragoon, which used up forty grains at each loading.
Gloria and Rene came back, their faces showing that something was badly wrong. It was Gloria who spoke first. ‘Dusty, the box pappy kept the ammunition in has been busted open, it’s empty.’
‘So is the one in my father’s room,’ Rene went on. ‘You were right, Gloria, we did hear someone while we were preparing the food yesterday.’
