by J. T. Edson
‘I saw it, but I don’t believe it!’ Ilsa gasped. ‘How’d you do it?’
‘My grandfather’s servant taught me. Only I’m a beginner compared with some of the things Tommy Okasi can do.’
Telling a mildly incredulous Ilsa about some of the tameshi-wari feats, breaking wood with the bare hands or feet, that she had seen Tommy Okasi perform,’ vi Betty strolled on in the direction of the Bull’s Horn Saloon. Laughter, shouts and loud singing came to their ears as they approached the rear of the building. Even without Ilsa’s information, Betty would have known that they had reached their destination. From inside the building came the words of the old Confederate anthem. Not the mild lyrics written by its composer, Daniel D. Emmet, but the militantly patriotic words of General Albert Pike, C.S.A.
‘Southrons, hear your country call you!
Up lest worse than death befall you!
To arms, to arms, to arms, in Dixie!
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Hurrah! Hurrah.
For Dixie-land we take our stand,
And live or die for Dixie.
To arms! To arms! We’ll fight them all for Dixie.
To arms! To arms! We’ll fight the world for Dixie.’
‘If music be the food of love, that bunch in there’re sure starved for affection,’ Betty said, but her eyes were bright as she remembered hearing the same song roared out by the Texas Light Cavalry while her grandfather’s men held Arkansas south of the Ouachita River against the outnumbering Yankee army. ‘Now here’s a piece of luck.’
The latter comment came as Billy Jack emerged from the saloon’s rear entrance and stood looking around in a cautious manner which intrigued Betty. More so as, when he saw the two girls, he immediately assumed an innocent air.
‘Why howdy, Miss Betty,’ he greeted in just too casual a tone. A glint of approval came into his eyes as he studied Ilsa and continued, ‘Howdy, ma’am. Nice night if it don’t blow up a storm.’
‘Hold hard there!’ Betty snapped as Billy Jack turned towards the door.
‘You wanting something, Miss Betty?’ he inquired mildly, yet giving the impression that he intended to bolt at any moment.
‘I want to see Dusty and Red. Can you fetch them for me?’
‘Well, I’d say “yes” to that, I reckon. You wanting to see them real particular now?’
‘Real particular,’ agreed Betty, the guileless behavior not fooling her in the least. ‘What’s happened, Billy Jack?’
‘Happened?’ he repeated. ‘I’ll go fetch them for you.’
‘Hold hard there!’ Betty snapped as he swung away and dived for the door.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Billy Jack called back over his shoulder. ‘I’ll sure tell ’em that you’re here.’
‘Come back here, you long-legged, narrow-ribbed, scrawny-necked calamity-wailer!’ Betty yelled, but Billy Jack disappeared through the door like a red-headed woodpecker diving into its nest.
Letting out a frustrated snort, Betty watched the door close and realized that Billy Jack had taken refuge in one of the few places that a strong-willed young lady of good breeding could not follow. So she could do nothing but wait, fuming and seething with curiosity, until her cousins chose to appear. That did not take long and Betty noticed how both of them eyed her apprehensively.
‘Why howdy, Cousin Betty,’ Dusty greeted.
‘This sure is a pleasant surprise,’ Red continued, with all the forced joviality of a politician who had been wet on while kissing a baby.
‘All right,’ Betty gritted. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Would you believe me if I said nothing?’ asked Dusty.
‘I doubt it. Anyways, I’ve not come to bring your sins down on your fool heads. I want you to do something for me.’
‘Such as?’ asked Red cautiously.
‘It’s important,’ the girl assured them.
Instantly Dusty and Red became serious. The expression on their cousin’s face warned them that something more than a mere inquiry about their reason for being involved in a shooting lay behind Betty’s arrival.
‘What’s up, Betty?’ Dusty asked.
Quickly the girl told of the incident at the Maybelle house and could have quite cheerfully strangled Ilsa, who insisted on going into details of the snake’s eviction. While Betty expected her cousins to be interested, she found their startled exchange of glances hard to understand.
‘Let’s go talk to Miss Maybelle,’ Dusty said quietly, cutting into Ilsa’s story.
‘It’d be best,’ Red agreed. ‘First me, now this.’
‘You?’ Betty put in.
‘Two jaspers tried to bushwhack me when I walked out of the front a piece back,’ Red explained. ‘I had to shoot one of ’em.’
‘So that’s why Billy Jack—’
‘Sure, Betty,’ Dusty replied. ‘We’ve had some of the boys come out and make sure there were no more of them around.’
‘I meant why he acted like he’d a burr in his pants’ seat,’ Betty corrected. ‘But why would anybody want to shoot you, Cousin Red?’
‘That’s a good question,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Trouble being we can’t think up an answer.’
‘The two incidents can’t be connected,’ Betty stated. ‘Red’s hardly met Sarah Maybelle.’
‘Could be somebody was after you, not her,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘Anybody who knows you would guess that you’d be fool enough to try some crazy game.’
‘Why thank you, Cousin Dusty,’ smiled Betty. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Right now. Just let Red go tell the boys that we’ve been called away for a spell and we’ll go with you.’
Stepping into the saloon, Red passed the message on and assured the gathered company that their services would not be needed. On rejoining his cousins and Ilsa, he overheard something that started a train of thought going.
‘Does Miss Maybelle have any idea who might have sent that snake?’ Dusty was asking when Red returned.
‘She thinks it’s a boy who used to court her before she met Sandy,’ Betty answered. ‘It was his handwriting on the note with the basket. Only that, being so, spoils our theory of a foul plot to wipe out the pride of the Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan. Doesn’t it?’
‘It sure does,’ Dusty agreed.
‘Hey, though,’ Red put in. ‘I’ve just had a thought.’
‘I knew he’d have to start one day,’ Betty interrupted. ‘Of course it’s being married to a real smart lil girl that brought it on.’
‘Make like she’s not here, Cousin Red,’ suggested Dusty.
‘I’ve been trying to do that for years. Anyways, Dusty, I just remembered that I let Sandy try on my vest soon after we started the fun. If that jasper I shot’d been asking Stormy about us right then, he’d see Sandy wearing it—’
‘And when you came out of the saloon with it on, he and his pard made a mistake,’ Dusty finished for Red. ‘They were after Sandy McGraw, not you.’
Chapter Four
Red’s news threw an entirely different light on the affair and helped to explain away one of the puzzling aspects, the motive for the attempted killing. Where there did not appear to be a reason for anybody to want Red dead, a very good one applied to Sandy McGraw; a jealous young man trying to take revenge on the girl who rejected him and the man of her choice.
‘Was the man you shot a young German?’ Betty asked Red and did not wait for an answer. ‘No, he couldn’t have been or somebody would’ve recognized him.’
‘He was just a cheap hired gun,’ Dusty told her. ‘Do you know this jasper we’re talking about, Miss Swenson?’
During the time the others had been talking, Ilsa stood silent, although an interested listener. She also stared wonderingly at Dusty, finding it hard to reconcile the small, insignificant-appearing young man with his almost legendary fame. All through the war Captain Dusty Fog ranked high among Dixie’s fighting heroes, and in Texas his fame exceeded that of the South’s other two leading cavalry raider
s, John Singleton Mosby or Turner Ashby. Slowly the force of Dusty’s personality grew until Ilsa no longer thought of him in mere size but felt he stood the tallest person present.
‘You mean Chester Finwald? Yes, I know him. His father sent him East to college and he started courting Sarah when he came back. Only she always preferred Sandy. So would I.’
‘How’d Finwald take it when he heard that Sarah was going to marry Sandy?’
‘He didn’t like it, Captain Fog, that’s for sure.’
‘Would he have any money?’ Red inquired.
‘Well, he works in his father’s store and never seemed short,’ Ilsa replied.
‘That jasper you shot wouldn’t be a hundred-a-month-and-found man, Red,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘You wouldn’t know where I can find Finwald, Miss Swenson?’
‘You might try the Casa Moreno Hotel’s bar,’ the girl replied. ‘I heard Papa saying he’d seen Chester and the Soehnen brothers there quite often lately.’
‘We’ll see you ladies home and then try there,’ Dusty decided. ‘What’d you tell the boys, Red?’
‘That Cousin Betty said we’d got to go with her. That way they all knew we’d no choice but do it.’
‘What a sweet child,’ Betty purred. ‘Anyways, Sue gave me orders to make sure you behaved while we’re here, Cousin Red.’
‘Women!’ Red snorted.
‘Men!’ Betty countered.
While talking, the party had begun to walk in the direction of the Maybelle house. Before they covered much of the distance, Betty saw the drunken young cowhand approaching. Coming to a halt, he stared at the girls and backed away.
‘Hey, fellers,’ he called. ‘Come here!’
‘What’s up, friend?’ Dusty asked with a grin.
‘It’s a secret.’
Alert for possible tricks, Dusty and Red left the girls and walked over to the cowhand. Gravely he pointed in Betty’s direction and dropped his voice to a confidential whisper.
‘You wan’ watch that there lil gal, she’s mean as hell. You ’ust say one wrong word and she’ll throw you clear over her head one handed. Left-handed at that.’
Having done what he regarded as his duty to his fellow-men by giving the warning, the cowhand turned and ambled off as fast as his legs would carry him. Betty watched him go and studied the grins on her cousins’ faces. While not sure what caused the cowhand’s warning, Dusty and Red could imagine how Betty created such an impression on him.
‘What did he want?’ she asked.
‘Just told us something we already knew,’ Red answered. ‘Let’s go.’
With which Betty had to be satisfied, for neither of her cousins offered any further enlightenment. Before she could enforce her demands for information, they reached their destination and put aside levity. Taking Sarah aside in the sitting-room, Dusty questioned her thoroughly and felt sure that she told the truth. Although certain Finwald wrote the note, Sarah insisted that he only intended the snake as a joke and felt sure he would not hire a killer as a means of disposing of his rival. Dusty did not feel so sure and decided to interview Finwald at the earliest possible moment.
Leaving the girls, without announcing his intentions, Dusty went with Red to the Casa Moreno Hotel. Business had not improved in the bar and only Finwald’s party stood at the counter when the two Texans entered. Murphy had returned earlier and, to establish an alibi, joked with the bartender about needing a good dose of croton oil to make his trips out back of a shorter duration. When satisfied that the other felt sure he had never left the hotel, Murphy bought a drink a-piece, asked about the forthcoming snake- and cock-fights and then left.
Concern flickered across Finwald’s face as he saw Dusty and Red enter. Then he took in Dusty’s small size and established to his satisfaction that both the Soehnen brothers outweighed Red, so felt more at ease.
‘Is your name Finwald?’ Dusty asked, halting behind the young man.
‘So what if it is?’ Finwald snorted, not turning to face the speaker.
‘So if it is, I’d like to see you outside.’
‘What about?’
‘Your choice in wedding gifts.’
‘Did McGraw send you?’ Finwald snarled, still not turning, although his companions moved away from him and halted standing beyond the two Texans.
‘Sandy doesn’t know about it yet,’ Dusty replied. ‘That’s why I’ve come. If he finds out, it’s likely to be more than a licking he gives you.’
Studying the insignificant-appearing shape reflected in the bar’s mirror, Finwald transferred some of his hatred of Sandy in Dusty’s direction. Finwald had all the egotistical, self-opinionated, arrogant, superiority a college education gives to a certain mentality and so objected to such a runty nobody addressing him like that. Without the Soehnen brothers’ presence, Finwald would have controlled his emotions, or taken them out on something even less dangerous-looking than the small Texan. Given their backing, the advantage of numbers and heft, he felt that he might safely make his play; provided he used his brilliant mentality to outwit the two cowboys.
‘All right,’ he said, smiling disarmingly and starting to turn. ‘We’ll go outside and talk.’
And saying it he launched a punch at Dusty’s head. It was, in Finwald’s considered opinion, a fast, powerful, well-delivered blow guaranteed to take the small Texan by surprise. Unfortunately Dusty did not regard it in that light. To a man of Dusty’s considerable practical experience, every move Finwald made was telegraphed as if the other shouted his intentions at the top of his voice.
Before Finwald completed the turn, Dusty measured the distance with his eye. As the other struck, the small Texan stepped aside and at the same time thrust at Finwald’s outdriving right arm. Cupping his hand slightly, Dusty deflected the arm downwards and aside in such a manner that it turned Finwald’s whole body slightly away from him. Caught unawares, Finwald’s momentum carried him forward and past Dusty. Pivoting around, Dusty drew his right arm up, bending it across his chest and then lashing it out. He struck in the tegatana, handsword, of karate; fingers extended and together, thumb bent across his palm. The heel of Dusty’s hand chopped at the back of Finwald’s head, although missing the base of the skull, and sent the young townsman stumbling across the room.
In dealing with Finwald, Dusty turned his back on Fritz Soehnen. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Fritz lunged forward with big hands reaching out. Dusty had not been entirely unaware of the danger and kept on the alert for it. Plain to his ears came the thud of Fritz’s feet and he spun smoothly around to face the brawny youngster.
Bringing up both hands, Dusty blocked Fritz’s reaching arms from the inside and forced them apart. From there, before Fritz could close his grip once more, Dusty’s hands curled in to clamp hold of the other’s lapels. Already Fritz’s momentum carried him forward. He saw Dusty seem to disappear, then a foot rammed into his mid-section and he felt himself first falling forward then sail up and over to land with a crash on his back.
When Finwald swung on Dusty, Hans Soehnen leapt at Red. Around San Antonio Soehnen had built up a name as a fighter. However, the reputation had been gained against other town-dwellers or young cowhands from the local ranches. Such opponents lacked skill and Soehnen’s brawn brought him victory. That did not apply to Red. Trained well and brought up in a hard school, Red fought with his head instead of relying on plain muscle. Slipping the slow, if power-packed, punch Soehnen threw at him, Red ripped a left into the German’s belly. With a grunt, Soehnen halted in his tracks. On the heels of the left, Red’s right hand drove up under the German’s jaw and snapped his head back. Across whipped the left, colliding with Soehnen’s cheek and tumbling him into the bar. For all that, when Red came in, the German slashed a backhand blow home. Red staggered, caught his balance and met the other’s rush with a brace of hard, accurate fists.
Hitting a table halted Finwald’s staggering form. For a moment he clung to it and then turned in time to see Dusty flip Fritz Soehne
n with a tomoe-nage stomach throw. One glance told Finwald that he could expect no help from the elder brother. However, he decided there might be a chance to fix his small assailant provided that he moved quickly enough. So he thrust himself away from the table, charged across the room and launched a kick in Dusty’s direction.
Already in the process of rising, Dusty saw the foot coming at him. His left hand shot out, under the leg and heaving upwards. Then he completed getting to his feet and with a twisting heave tumbled Finwald into the bar. Before Dusty could follow Finwald up, he saw Fritz rising. While breathing hard and shaken by the throw, the young German still presented a danger which Dusty knew could not be overlooked. Especially when Fritz caught up a chair and rushed forward, swinging it into the air.
Before Fritz came close enough to make use of the fairly lethal weapon, Dusty went into a rolling dive that carried him under its arc of swing. The small Texan’s left shoulder formed the roller on which his body turned and in what appeared to be one continuous motion he regained his feet. Linking his fingers, Dusty smashed both hands on to the back of Fritz’s neck and the youngster shot forward. The chair had struck the floor when it missed its original objective and the force of Dusty’s blow drove Fritz on to its back. Wood splintered and Fritz pitched over the chair to land sprawled out on the floor.
From the corner of his eye Dusty saw Finwald rushing at him again and prepared to deal with the attack. The abortive earlier attempts had given Finwald caution and he skidded to a halt before coming too close. By that time Dusty had grown angry enough to decide on his next course of action. Leaping forward, he shot out his right hand to clamp hold thumb-downwards on Finwald’s right bicep. At the same time Dusty’s left hand thrust the trapped forearm back as the small Texan began to pass Finwald. Pivoting around so that he stood behind the young man, Dusty entwined his left arm under then over Finwald’s trapped right and levered up at it. A yell of pain broke from Finwald, increasing to a screech as the steel-tough fingers of Dusty’s right hand clamped hold of the back of his neck. Dusty did not grip centrally, but to the left so that his thumb gouged into the mastoid area.
