by J. T. Edson
‘You’re only guessing,’ said the Kid, although he knew Dusty never made wild guesses. ‘Maybe she was too tired to bother about cleaning them.’
‘I’d go with you on that,’ drawled Red. ‘Only I saw her while you was talking at the big fire. She came in from the range, leading a hoss.’
Five – The Gap
‘Where’s Lon?’ asked Louise Raines as she came from the wagon in the first light of dawn.
Dusty, Mark and Red stood by the wagon’s fire, holding plates of food in their hands, eating with the ease of men who were long used to taking their meals in such a manner.
‘Lit out a piece back,’ replied Dusty. ‘Come and eat.’
She walked forward and accepted a plate of eggs and bacon from the fat, smiling negress. Already her father was supervising the morning movement and the drivers were harnessing teams ready to roll. Louise realized that she must have been very tired the previous night, for she was usually up before the harnessing began.
‘Where did he go?’ she went on.
‘Someplace the pie gets shared out fair,’ Mark put in.
‘You poor little man,’ scoffed Louise. ‘Did the nasty cook miss you when she shared out the pie? Well, she can always start to miss a few more people too.’
‘I quit,’ Dusty answered, raising one hand in a gesture of surrender. ‘We had the maps out earlier, afore certain folks were awake. So I sent Lon and Jim Lourde out to scout that gap we’ve heard so much about.’
‘When will they be back?’
‘I told them to try and make it by tomorrow night at the latest,’ Dusty replied. ‘That’s when we’ll have to know, so as we can turn either to the gap or up and around the tip of the hills, whichever’s needed.’
The men handed their plates to the negress who called ‘Will you-all hurry, Missy Louise. Otherwise I ain’t going to have time to wash plates afore we moves out.’
Dusty turned to his two companions and gave his orders. Take a point, Red, Mark. Follow the route we picked and make sure of the easiest going. Find a place for us to camp tonight, then check in and let me know.’
‘Yo!’ came the cavalry reply from the two Texans as they turned to obey.
Louise watched them go with a guilty flush coming to her cheeks as she saw they’d saddled her horse and brought it in with their own mounts. She watched them swing into their saddles and Mark raised his hand in a mocking salute to her, while Red reached down and drew the Spencer carbine from his saddleboot.
All around was the bustle as the people of the train prepared for another day’s movement. They were now used to this living on wheels and there was little confusion or time wasted. Louise finished her breakfast, swallowed down the cup of coffee Dusty brought her, then joined him as he went around the train to check that all was ready to roll.
People greeted Dusty, eyeing him with some interest and wondering if this small man could really be the famous Dusty Fog whose lightning raids shook the regular officers of the Union Army. Dusty looked them over in passing, noting that all their wagons were in good condition and that the harnesses were of good leather. The entire train showed care and attention which pleased Dusty.
A man loading his wagon glanced at Dusty and then looked down to what he was doing. The small Texan came to a halt for he had a good memory for faces and knew the man.
‘Howdy Thad—’ he began.
The man turned, he was tall, slim and his hands looked very powerful. He wore glasses and there was a worried look on his face.
‘The name’s Cauldon, Captain,’ he said. ‘Grant Cauldon.’
‘My mistake, Mr. Cauldon,’ Dusty answered without a change of expression. He knew he was making no mistake and knew why the man did not want his real name to be mentioned. ‘All set to roll?’
‘Set and ready,’ the man who called himself Cauldon replied.
‘Do you know Grant Cauldon, Dusty?’ Louise asked.
‘Nope, what’s he do?’
‘He’s a gunsmith and a good one. He’s taking rifles and ammunition to sell in his place at Backsight but I’ve never seen him fire a gun,’ the girl replied. ‘I was in his wagon to have papa’s Henry repaired and there was one of the new Sharps rifles with a telescope fastened on the barrel. I asked him if he ever used it but he said he didn’t and meant to sell it.’
Dusty was listening to the girl but he was also watching everything that happened. This was a new experience to him, acting as wagon master but he had a fair knowledge of mass movement of another kind. The people knew what they were doing and needed no help or orders from him.
It was at that moment Dusty saw a group of men approaching. His eyes took in their appearance, knowing them for what they were and their purpose in coming. They were led by a burly bull-whacker, one of the bunch Gantry gathered with and a man a good six inches taller than Dusty, with broad shoulders and a powerful frame. The others with this bull-whacker were young, brash youngsters from the train, all hot and eager to see how tough this new wagon-master was. Dusty knew their kind, knew it and had handled it in the army, as a lawman and as a trail boss. Gantry’s pard was not of that kind. He was a frontier hardcase, a bully and on the prod or Dusty did not know the signs.
‘They allow you’re the new wagon master,’ the bull-whacker growled.
‘So they tell me,’ came Dusty’s soft drawled reply.
‘And you intend to go around instead of through that gap in the hills?’
‘Likely,’ replied Dusty, glancing at Gantry who stood behind the other men. ‘Are you all set to roll, Mr. Gantry?’
‘Fred here wants to talk to you first,’ Gantry replied. ‘He’s been out this way afore and knows the country.’
‘You’d best listen to me, small man,’ Fred went on.
‘Get to your wagons and ready to roll,’ drawled Dusty, starting to turn from the bull-whacker called Fred.
The man shot out a big hand, gripped Dusty by the arm ready to turn him around, at the same moment drawing back his other fist. Louise screamed half in fear and half as a warning but she did not need to bother.
Even as the man’s hand touched his sleeve Dusty was turning, coming around faster than Fred pulled. Before the bull-whacker knew what was happening Dusty came around and struck savagely. He did not strike in a way any of the men ever saw before, his fist was not clenched. Dusty’s driving right hand was flat, the fingers tight together, the thumb bent across the palm and the palm facing upwards. It looked an awkward way to strike to the eyes of men used to fist fighting in the normal manner. For all that Fred would long give profane testimony to how effective the method was. The fingers stabbed into Fred’s solar plexus like the point of a bowie knife sinking deep.
Fred felt as if the pole of a Texas belly-buster gate latch slipped from his fingers and rammed him in the middle as he leaned from his saddle to open the gate. The belly-buster was aptly named, as Fred knew from experience and those fingers ramming into his body brought exactly the same sensation.
Croaking in pain Fred doubled over, his clenched fist and just-started punch melting in midair. Instantly Dusty hit again, bring his hand up and then slashing down without changing the way he held his fingers, only this time it was the edge of the hand which landed. The heel of the palm drove into the side of Fred’s neck and the man went down limp and helpless as a back-broke rabbit. Dusty bent, took hold of Fred’s collar and heaved, almost tearing the man from his shirt as he was brought erect. Dusty released his hold then smashed his other hand across, using a conventional fist this time but hitting with the back of it. Fred’s head snapped over and he pitched to one side sprawling on the ground without a move.
Dusty spun to face the other men, his face hard and set, his hands still held clenched.
‘Who wants it next?’ he asked.
Louise gasped. This was a new Dusty to her eyes, one she’d not seen before. He was suddenly hard, tough and very dangerous. Then she saw the way the brash young men looked at him and remembered how they’
d caused trouble with Tom Blade until he handled one of them roughly and gained their respect. They showed Dusty that same respect now.
‘Get to your wagons and ready to roll,’ Dusty barked when there were no takers to his challenge. People were staring from their wagons or places of work, wondering just what happened, for the attack began and ended so quickly. ‘Gantry, get this hombre on his feet, pay him off and tell him that if I see him around the train in three hours I’ll send him on his way myself.’
Gantry nodded. It was the code of the train. Fred knew the chance he was taking when he said he would show the others how to handle Dusty Fog. The man failed in his try and Dusty was well within his rights in firing Fred. Gantry moved to obey but he wondered how such a small man could beat a tough hardcase like Fred with so little trouble.
The answer was to be found in the Rio Hondo country where dwelled a small slit-eyed smiling man. Tommy Okasi, Ole Devil’s servant was thought to be Chinese but claimed his homeland was Japan. The small Oriental knew certain methods of fighting with the empty hand which were almost uncanny to western eyes. To Dusty Fog alone of the Fog, Hardin and Blaze boys did Tommy Okasi teach the techniques of ju-jitsu and karate. This was the secret of how Dusty could handle and defeat much bigger and stronger men. His use of the hira-nukite, the level piercing hand and the tegantana or hand-sword on Fred proved how well he learned the oriental tricks.
Gantry hauled Fred to his feet and helped him towards the wagons. The bull-whacker made no attempt to go back and resume the fight. Dusty didn’t think he would. So Dusty turned and headed for the Raines’ wagon, where the Colonel waited with a mouthful of questions about what happened.
‘Let’s roll, Colonel,’ drawled Dusty before the same questions could be asked. ‘Start them out.’
The first wagon was barely moving when Miss Considine rode up on a big and powerful looking horse. She brought the horse to a stop, glared at Dusty, then turned her attention to Raines.
‘I must protest about this assault on my driver, Colonel!’ she snapped.
‘I did the assaulting, ma’am,’ Dusty put in. ‘Protest to me.’
‘He came to you with a matter of some importance—’
‘He came looking for a showdown and got one, ma’am,’ Dusty corrected. ‘Last night around the fire was when he should have made his play and talked his talk, not this morning after I gave the order to roll. He knew it and knew what to expect. The way he pulled me round I thought he aimed to hit me. I could be wrong about that, happen I find out I am I’ll apologize, if I ever meet him again.’
‘I agree with Captain Fog,’ Raines stated. ‘Last night at the fire he told us what we would do and that was when your man should have argued. He broke the rules and got what he asked for. I saw it all and I thought he meant to try and attack Captain Fog.’
Miss Considine looked from one to the other. There was anger in her eyes as she turned the horse and headed back along the line of wagons. Dusty watched her for a moment then swung back to Raines.
‘Thanks for backing me, Colonel,’ he said.
‘That’s what I’m here for. I always get the impression, watching Miss Considine, that she’s not as new to this wagon life as she makes out.’
‘How to you mean?’ asked Dusty, watching the wagons draw by, then looking to where Fred, slouched in his saddle, rode away from the train.
‘Just little things. The way she never made any of the mistakes the other women did when they first started out. Then in the desert country she never once forgot to shake out her boots in the morning before putting them on. She did it even before Tom Blade warned us about it.’
Dusty thought about this. It was an elementary precaution, shaking out one’s boots before putting them on in desert country. Scorpions were likely to crawl into the boots in the darkness and could inflict a nasty sting if trodden on. The Simons wagon rolled by at that moment, driven by one of Maisie’s Chinese helpers. Maisie raised her hand in a friendly wave as she passed, calling a greeting. Dusty watched her wagon, thinking of the way she and her helpers prepared to move. Of course, the journey had been long enough for them to learn the best and fastest way to work but there was an air of competence about them which seemed to speak of more than this one trip’s knowledge. The previous night there had been no reason for Maisie to lie about not being at the fire, for it was voluntary and nobody need attend unless they wished. There was no reason why Maisie should not take a ride either across the range or into Hammerlock. Dusty could think of even less reason why she lied. He wished there had been time to send the Kid in a circle to check on the tracks leading from the train to the town. However, time was a thing Dusty found himself fresh out of. The gap through the hills must be scouted so the puzzling questions went unanswered. One thing Dusty did know. Both Maisie and Miss Considine would bear considerable watching.
The Ysabel Kid and Jim Lourde rode towards the foothills and the gap leading through. Lourde found time to marvel afresh at the way the Kid, without the aid of map or compass, found his directions across this completely new country. Lourde carried both map and compass but the Kid laughed when shown them.
‘You’re travelling with a Comanche, Jim,’ he said. ‘We travelled this land afore you palefaces come and didn’t have maps or compasses.’
With the inborn skill of his Indian forefathers the Kid found his way. He would ride to the top of a high point, sit his big white stallion as he checked the range ahead, then lead Lourde unerringly to the next high point and always in the right direction. Lourde insisted on checking with his map first but after the second check called it off, for the Kid was more accurate than the map.
They’d made a cold camp the previous night, no fire, no coffee, just stream water and jerked beef. The latter was beef which had been sun dried for easy carrying and much relished by the western traveler for its nourishment, if not for pleasant aroma and appearance.
Bringing his horse to a halt the Kid pointed towards the ground. His Indian keen eyes were constantly on the alert, checking the range ahead for his directions, searching for sign of ambush and checking the ground close up for tracks. He dropped from the saddle to examine faint marks which attracted his attention.
‘What is it, Kid?’ asked Lourde.
‘Hoss tracks.’
‘Apaches.’
‘Not unless they’ve took to using shod horses. This’s the track of one man, afork a shod horse. He went through here about eight hours back.’
‘Who might it be?’ inquired Lourde.
‘Might be anybody, there’s a tolerable lot of folks in the west that I ain’t met yet,’ replied the Kid with a grin. ‘The sign’s not plain enough for me to tell much more than its age. Might be a soldier riding dispatch. Could be a cowhand headed west to look for a fresh job.’
The Kid did not mention the other possibility which occurred to him. The tracks were in near enough a straight line with the town of Hammerlock. The bearded man who made his escape when Collins died would have about eight hours’ start. It could be him, more so if Colonel Raines guessed right and the killing of Tom Blade tied in with somebody in Backsight.
The tracks headed straight towards the gap which showed in the line of hills ahead. Riding forward once more the two men studied this gap with interest, it was wide enough to allow a Conestoga wagon passage. What caused it neither knew, although Lourde guessed at some ancient earthquake splitting a crack through the hills. On either side of the bottom of the track the walls rose steep at this point but there was room, even if not much to spare, for the large Conestoga wagons to roll through.
Studying the conditions of the trail, the width of the track and the way the walls rose up on either side, the Kid and Lourde rode at a fast lope. The gap was not straight nor were the walls steep and sheer all the time. There were winding curves; sharper turns around which a Conestoga would need careful nursing if it was to avoid getting stuck. Sometimes there were places in which two wagons might run alongside each other but these
showed rarely and never for any length. Most of the way one wagon could move, even though it might rub against the sides. In other places rocks lay in the track and these would have to be moved before the wagons came by.
‘What do you reckon, Kid?’ asked Lourde.
‘Take more’n a day to come through here. There’s no water or graze for the stock. You’d have to camp stretched out in line like this at night. Happen there are Apaches about they’d never have a better chance of making a hit than here. They could pitch rocks down and wipe us out.’
‘You don’t like it then?’
‘Less’n less all the time. There’s something bad wrong about the entire thing, Jim. No wagon train ever come through here.’
‘Gantry allowed he’d come through it,’ Lourde pointed out.
‘Yeah. I reckon we’ll ask him about it when we make the train again.’
They turned a sharp corner and came into a part of the gap where the slopes were not so sheer as in other places. The trail between the walls was wide enough for one wagon in comfort—except for the huge rock which blocked it.
The Kid stopped his horse and looked at the huge slab of rock. It would take long hours to smash the rock with sledgehammers and picks. His eyes went from the rock to the slopes then looked at Lourde.
‘That settles it, Jim. We don’t come through here.’
Lourde was also studying the rock. It lay almost fifty yards along this long and open stretch and to his eyes presented little or no problem. Already his mind worked out where to lay the charges of gunpowder which would blast the rock into pieces. He did not look up at the slopes and so failed to notice the loose shale, The Kid had seen and read the danger from the same shale.
‘Why the fast decision?’ Lourde inquired. ‘We could blow that lump out of the way easy enough.’
