by J. T. Edson
‘Stay put, Thunder!’ the Texan barked and, despite the savagery it had displayed whilst dispatching Perez, the stallion obeyed the command.
‘Drop the knife!’ called a masculine voice with a New England accent.
Starting to swing around without doing as he was told, the Kid found the sight which met his gaze far from pleasant. Recognizing the three men who were approaching from the direction of the woodland, he was more disturbed than relieved by finding they were in the vicinity. Although Philo Handle was not holding a weapon, Ira Jacobs and Andy Evans were each carrying a Winchester rifle in a position of readiness. The events of the past few minutes had kept him so preoccupied that, aided by the springy grass underfoot allowing them to walk very quietly, the trio had contrived to come much closer without the Texan or his horse detecting them than would otherwise have been the case. They were, in fact, only thirty foot or so away when the command was given.
‘You heard the boss, ‘breed!’Jacobs supplemented, lining his rifle at the Kid as he and his companions came to a halt. ‘Drop that toad-sticker now!’
‘And make sure that god-damned stallion of your’n stands still!’ added Evans, from the other side of the New Englander, covering the horse just as quickly. ‘I’ll cut him down if he even looks like coming at us!’
‘Stand still, Thunder!’ the Texan ordered, as the horse gave a snort, knowing nothing would be achieved by allowing it to launch an attack.
For the second time in under seventy-two hours, the life of the white stallion was in jeopardy. On this occasion, however, the Kid knew the situation was infinitely more hazardous. Evans, being aware of how dangerous it was, would not hesitate to carry out the threat. Nor could the Kid hope to prevent this being done. Unlike the three young bandidos, his present adversaries were aware of his presence and had already taken steps to circumvent any intervention he might attempt. Therefore, despite guessing what they intended to do, he realized the moment for taking offensive action had not yet come.
‘Uncle Philo!’ Mavis gasped, running towards the Texan. ‘You’ve making a mistake. This young man has rescued me.’
‘So it would seem,’ Handle replied, glancing at the three Mexicans. ‘But that doesn’t endear him to me. You see, my dear, you were meant to be killed!’
‘I just knowed you’d got something like that in mind!’ the Kid claimed, tossing the knife so its point stuck in the ground in front of him.
‘Is that why you took it upon yourself to go to her rescue?’ the New Englander demanded.
‘No,’ the young Texan answered. ‘Jock McKie and me figured’s how you might not have enough money on hand to pay Peraro on time, so I came down to see if I could make him wait until you had. Only I saw another way of prying the lady loose and did just that. It wasn’t until I found out what’s happened to her that I got to reckoning you didn’t aim to have her come back alive.’
‘What made you think that?’ Handle asked, being genuinely interested as he realized other people might be able to draw an equally accurate conclusion with regards to his motives and wanting to decide how he must cover his tracks.
As the Kid had belatedly surmised, the New Englander had never had the slightest intention of paying the ransom for his niece. He had invited her to visit the ranch so she could be killed before attaining the age at which she took control of her fortune and discovered his peculations while acting as trustee. The suggestion of how this might be brought about with the least chance of his guilt being established had come from Evans. On being contacted by the hard-case, Peraro had agreed to accept five thousand dollars for making it appear he had kidnapped the girl and she had met her death as a result of an attempt to rescue her. While the rest of the family might suspect the truth, Handle had been confident there was no way they could prove he was other than ill-advised in taking action instead of paying. The shortness of the time he had been allowed for making the payment would serve as an excuse for his having gone to her rescue, ostensibly because this was the only way he could envisage saving her life.
After leaving McKie and the peace officers, satisfied they suspected nothing, the New Englander had discussed the events of the evening with Jacobs and Evans. On considering to which tribe of Indians the stealer of the horses was said to belong, in conjunction with the news that the ransom had been sent to Peraro, Evans had guessed the identity of the ‘young friend’ who was making the delivery. In spite of the clothing being different and the color of the horse outside the leatherworker’s shop being wrong, the description of the ‘baby-faced kid’ given by Jacobs had also helped him draw his conclusions. He had stated that, having received the stipulated sum of money in the appointed time and being aware of the Ysabel Kid’s influential connections in both countries, Peraro would renege on their arrangements and set the girl free.
Being desirous of avoiding the consequences of his illegal abstractions from the money left in his trust, which would leave him penniless even if he was not prosecuted and sent to prison, Handle had been determined to do all he could to prevent his niece returning to Texas alive. He felt sure that, if she should do so, she would insist upon going back to Providence, Rhode Island, where having her killed would involve far greater risk. Questioning Evans, who claimed it was unlikely the Kid would set out from Escopeta with her before the following morning, he had evolved a scheme.
Waiting until the early hours of the morning, the New Englander and his two henchmen had left to intercept the returning couple. He had written a note to explain their absence, stating he was going to the ranch to collect jewelry and bonds as security against the loan of the ransom money. To support the claim, they had ridden in the appropriate direction until turning off and making for a crossing which Evans had claimed was known only to border smugglers and other outlaws. He had suggested the Kid might have used it while going to deliver the ransom and could even decide to come back the same way. Even if this was not the case, he had said they could cut across to the shortest trail between the town and border and make the interception.
Reaching Mexico without having been challenged, Evans had gone ahead of his companions to find out whether Peraro had scouts in the woodland. If so, he had intended to ask whether the Kid had gone by and give a false explanation for the presence of his own party. While searching, he had seen the young Texan and the prisoners. Recognizing Perez, Bordillo, and Peraro’s black stallion, he had guessed what was happening. Returning with the information, he had led his employer and Jacobs back on foot. Taking advantage of their quarry being engaged in other matters, they had closed in ready to put an end to Mavis and the Kid.
‘Peraro’s allus been knowed for treating his prisoners real good and gentle, so long’s he figured the money he asked for them’d be coming in,’ the Kid explained, seeking to gain time in which to find a way to escape from his latest predicament. ‘Which, when I found out he’d let a fight his woman had started with your niece go on, I got to thinking there’s only be one reason he’d’ve done it. He knew the ransom wasn’t going to get paid. Which looked to me like you’d slickered all those good ole boys back to Wet Slim to ride for Escopeta so’s he’d have him a reason to kill her; not because you didn’t have the money on hand to send, like Jock and me figures could be.’
‘So you didn’t work that out until after you’d met Peraro?’ Handle said, looking relieved. ‘That makes things better. When you don’t come back, everybody will think he double-crossed you.’
‘So you’re going to kill us, huh?’ the Kid inquired.
‘Of course,’ Handle confirmed.
‘Why?’ Mavis gasped, staring with horror at the New Englander.
‘Greed and caution, my dear,’ Handle supplied. ‘I’m your next of kin and I know you haven’t made a will. With you dead, nobody will find out how much I’ve abstracted from your fortune. Get it done, men!’
‘I want that half breed bastard!’ Jacobs claimed. ‘It was him’s put down Jug and Willy in the alley—!’
‘A
nd I made you look like the yeller bellied snake you are in Jock McKie’s shop,’ the Kid interrupted, standing apparently at ease yet as tense as a compressed coil spring. ‘You sure backed water there—’Course, you’re some braver now seeing’s how I don’t have no gun.’
‘All right, you smart-assed son-of-a-bitch!’ Jacobs snarled, lowering the rifle until he held it horizontally before him at arm’s length. ‘You acted fast that time, let’s see happen you can move fast enough to get to your gun.’
‘That’d be what a gutless skunk like you’d call giving me a fair shake,’ the Texan said dryly, without taking his eyes from the burly hard-case. ‘Only thing being, are you dead set on going through with it, Mr. Handle?’
‘I am,’ the New Englander stated.
‘You don’t aim to change your mind?’ the Kid asked.
‘I don’t see any reason why I should,’ Handle replied.
‘I’ve got some mighty good and real tough amigos close by,’ the Kid bluffed. ‘Fact being, I was going to meet them in Wet Slim last night. I’d left afore they got there, but Jock’ll’ve told them what’s doing. Could be they’re on the way to meet up with me already.’
‘And now we’re supposed to look around, so you’ll have a chance to get your gun,’ Handle suggested. ‘That’s a very old tri—!’
Showing the high standard of training it had absorbed, the white stallion had been standing like a statue while the conversation was taking place. However, as the New Englander was speaking, its head swung around and tossed. Ears pricked, it gave a snort and stared towards the woodland. Having heard stories about its abilities, Evans glanced in the same direction. What he saw sent a chill of apprehension through him.
‘Back there!’ the hard-case called, starting to swing around with the rifle still cradled at his right shoulder.
While Jacobs had shared the belief expressed by Handle that the Kid was trying a bluff, the behavior of Evans was different. It caused both of them to duplicate his actions. Only the New Englander turned all the way. About to do so, Jacobs remembered there was a danger much closer to hand than whatever had caused the reaction from the other hard-case.
The assumption was correct!
While the young Texan did not know who might be coming, he appreciated the chance he had been given. With one of his background and upbringing, to think was to act. He made no attempt, however, to reach the gunbelt. Instead, he bent to snatch up the clasp-knife. As he was doing so, a rifle cracked from the woodland and, struck in the head, Evans was killed instantly. An instant later, a second bullet ended the attempt Handle was making to pull his revolver from its shoulder holster. Despite their removal, the Kid knew he was still far from being safe.
Up and down flashed the Texan’s right hand. Opening it, he allowed the clasp-knife to fly through the air towards where Jacobs was already looking back in his direction. Even as the weapon left his hand, his instincts warned it was not going to the target for which it was intended. Although it was unlikely to miss entirely, neither would it be sufficient to ensure his safety. Wasting not a split second, knowing there was no time to lose, he sprang away from the girl and threw himself onwards in a dive with hands outstretched before him.
Justifying the summation of the Kid, the knife spiked into the side of Jacobs’ neck. Despite having failed to impale at the center and incapacitate him, it was still painful enough to make him drop the rifle and reach upwards. Jerking out the weapon, he flung it aside. Having done so, snarling in rage, he sent his right hand downwards to draw his Colt. He was fast.
Too fast, in fact, for the Kid to have survived without the diversion!
Landing alongside the gunbelt, the Texan snatched the Dragoon from its holster. Rolling on to his left side and grasping the butt in both hands, he thumb cocked the hammer while taking sight. Just as the hard-case’s weapon was clearing leather, he squeezed the trigger. Twisting himself over the moment the bullet left the barrel, he dragged back the hammer once more and, coming to rest on his stomach, braced both elbows on the ground ready to fire again.
There was no need!
Rising to strike Jacobs beneath the chin, the .44 ball ranged onwards to erupt through the top of his skull. Flying off in a spray of shattered bone, brains and blood, his hat flew away. He remained erect for a moment. Then, as Mavis screamed at the hideous sight he presented and fainted, the gun dropped unfired from his grasp and he fell.
Letting out a gasp of relief, the Kid allowed the hammer of the Colt to descend. Looking around as he started to rise, he was surprised by what he saw. He had expected to discover his rescuers had been Jock McKie and somebody else from Wet Slim, but found this was not the case.
‘Hey there, Kid!’ greeted Ranger Jefferson Trade, as he and his uncle walked from the trees each carrying his rifle across the crook of his left arm. ‘Damned if this isn’t the second time we’ve had to drop by and save your fool hide.’ 37
‘By cracky, Jeff, so it is!’ the Kid replied. ‘And, so far’s I’m concerned, you can feel free to do it again ’most any time it’s needed!’
‘If you’ll excuse me for saying so, ma’am,’ Sergeant Brady Anchor drawled. ‘You sure didn’t help us to get on to what your uncle was up to.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Ranger Jefferson Trade seconded, looking past his kinsman. ‘If we’d knowed it was your money he was living off; we’d’ve been a whole heap less likely to’ve believed what he told us about why he was so all-fired set on trying to rescue you instead of paying the ransom.’
When Mavis Dearington had recovered from her faint, she found herself lying in the woodland under the care of the stocky sergeant. So capably had he soothed her by the time the two younger men joined them, she had recovered something of the composure and fortitude which had helped her survive a situation far beyond anything her past life had prepared her to endure. They were leading three horses, each carrying a body wrapped in a blanket across its saddle. Announcing they had sent Bordillo back to Escopeta with Peraro and Perez, the rescuer she now knew was called ‘the Ysabel Kid’ had asked if she felt up to going home. On hearing she did, the party had set off. There had been little conversation until they were once more in Texas. Then, noticing how the girl was showing signs of growing strain and repeatedly darting glances over her shoulder at the bodies of the men who had conspired to cause her death, Brady had decided to try and divert her attention. Guessing what his uncle had in mind, Jefferson Trade had offered his support. Nor was the black dressed young Texan slow in lending a hand.
‘I’ll float my stick along of Brady ’n’ Jeff on that,’ the Kid asserted. ‘When I asked Jock McKie if he reckoned your uncle was figuring on getting you killed by pretending to be trying to rescue you, I got told’s how, you being his poor kin, it didn’t seem real likely. So we concluded he maybe couldn’t raise the money quick enough to pay Peraro. Only, being a real proud New England businessman, he was too all-fired to go admitting it to ordinary Texas folks.’
‘It was Uncle Philo’s idea that I should pretend I was dependent upon him,’ Mavis explained, giving a shudder as she mentioned the name despite feeling better now she had been given something to occupy her mind. ‘He told me the night I arrived that it would have an adverse effect upon his business prospects if it became known he was dependent upon me, so I went along with him.’
‘I’m not complaining about it, mind, Brady,’ the Kid declared, deciding a change of subject might be acceptable to the girl. ‘But just how come you ’n’ Jeff were on hand to bill in like you did?’
‘Well now,’ the stocky sergeant replied. ‘Mr. Handle was mighty convincing, way he told it about not having the money to hand for the ransom, but being peace officers we’ve got real suspicious minds. So, particularly when Doc Dalrymple came back cussing a blue streak because, like Abe Minsey, he’d been sent out of town on a wild goose chase, we got to wondering if maybe we hadn’t been told the truth.’
‘You mean Uncle Philo arranged to have the doctor and the
deputy sheriff sent away?’ Mavis asked.
‘There’s nobody else comes to mind who’d have a reason,’ Brady answered. ‘With them gone, even if Jock should get by the watchers put to stop him, there wouldn’t be anybody else who’d back him in trying to talk the cowhands out of riding to Escopeta. Anyways, thinking along those lines, we reckoned it wouldn’t do no harm for us to keep a watch on your uncle.’
‘That there “us” means me, ma’am,’ Jefferson Trade put in, as if making the most important point in the conversation. ‘Uncle Brady had him a good sleep while I was keeping watch.’
‘Which’s known far and wide as, “rank has its privileges”, Miss Dearington,’ the sergeant announced, sounding just as soberly informative. Top of which, doing it works out better. Way I snore, there’s no danger of young Jeff falling asleep while he’s doing the watching.’
‘That sounds reasonable to me,’ the girl claimed, knowing what the peace officers were trying to do and feeling a little better.
‘And me,’ Brady supported. ‘Anyways, when we saw your uncle and those two hired guns of his sneaking off, we concluded to drift along after them and find out why.’
‘It’s lucky for us you did!’ Mavis stated, then swung a glance filled with contrition in the other direction. ‘I’m sorry, Kid. I didn’t mean—!’
‘I know,’ the black dressed Texan interrupted with a grin. ‘Which being, I was right pleased to see them myself.’
‘I owe you my life,’ the girl declared. ‘I don’t know how I can ever hope to repay you for doing it.’
‘Well now,’ the Kid drawled. ‘Happens you’ve got thirty dollars to spare—?’
‘Thirty dollars?’ Mavis gasped. ‘Good heavens. Is that all you think I’m worth?’
‘Shucks, that doesn’t come into it at all,’ the Kid replied. ‘I wouldn’t want paying for what I’ve done, only by doing it I’ve lost a bet.’
