by J. T. Edson
Silence dropped as the judges, having conferred, addressed the burly saloonkeeper. The crowd’s interest was divided between the officials and the small Texan as he walked towards them leading his big paint stallion.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ the saloonkeeper announced, bringing everybody’s attention to him. ‘Captain Fog’s time was—One minute, thirty-eight seconds!’
Delighted approval greeted the words, expressed by shouts and ringing Rebel war yells which included the battle cry of Dusty’s regiment, ‘Yeeah! Texas Light!’ Clearly many of the spectators were jubilant because their Civil War hero had proven himself highly capable in another field. Disturbed by what she was hearing and seeing, Marlene wondered how Mark was accepting his defeat. Glancing his way, she found that a tight-lipped, angry scowl had come to his handsome face.
After receiving the congratulations of the judges and acknowledging Governor Davis’s compliments, Dusty looked around until his eyes came to rest on the blond giant. Dropping the paint’s reins, the small Texan left it ground-hitched and strolled towards his rival. To Marlene, it seemed there was an extra jaunty swagger in his walk. Apparently Mark felt the same way, for his frown deepened.
‘That was a real good ride you made, feller,’ Dusty declared in tones of jovial and slightly condescending praise which the woman was sure would further infuriate the big blond. ‘I was hard pushed to beat it.’
‘You’d’ve been even harder pushed happen you’d been after a fresh steer and not one that’d been out before,’ Mark replied, sounding surly and ignoring the hand which Dusty had extended.
The words had carried to the nearest of the crowd and drew a low mutter of disapproval. From the comments, it was obvious that few of the listeners agreed with Mark’s charge. Clearly they, like Marlene, knew that the golondrino steer had made its first appearance when Dusty tackled it and had not been used previously.
Letting out an indignant snort, Dusty allowed his hand to drop and he stated loudly, ‘I hate a sore loser!’
‘Why you short—!’ Mark began and lunged forward with his left fist hurling at the small Texan’s head.
Jumping aside, so that the big blond’s blow missed and he blundered by, Dusty pivoted into a kick. Fortunately for its recipient, the small Texan’s aim was off. Instead of his boot’s toe driving into Mark’s kidney region, the front of his shin bone struck the small of the blond’s back. So, while he was propelled onwards for a few steps, Mark was not seriously injured.
Bringing himself to a halt, the blond giant turned to find his assailant approaching. Around and up flashed Mark’s right arm, flinging a backhand blow which caught Dusty on the right cheek and spun him away at a tangent.
Masculine shouts and feminine screams rose as the two young men rushed at each other. However, nobody offered to intervene. Making use of his extra height and reach, the blond giant shot out his hands to catch hold of the lapels of Dusty’s calfskin vest. Then, to the watching people, it seemed that the force of Mark’s weight had knocked Dusty backwards from his feet.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. Apparently confident of his superiority in size and weight, Mark had attacked in a manner which left him wide open to receive a ju jitsu yoko-wakare, ‘lateral separation’, throw.
Catching Mark by the right bicep from the outside with his left hand, while his right came up to grab the shirt’s sleeve below the left armpit, Dusty deliberately—but apparently accidentally—allowed himself to go down. He landed on the left side of his back, drawing the bigger man forward and off balance. Thrusting himself against Mark’s advanced right leg so as to block the movements of its ankle, Dusty pushed with his thighs and drew downwards on the right arm. Although Dusty released his right hand’s grasp, he kept hold with the left as his assailant was compelled to flip over his recumbent, yet far from helpless body. There was a yell of pain from Mark as he landed on his right shoulder, was liberated and rolled away.
Followed by two of his deputies, Marshal Grillman burst through the crowd without a thought for the quality of the various people he had shoved out of his way. He flung himself forward, grabbing Dusty by the arms as the small Texan leapt up ready to continue the fight. Although the deputies were prepared to restrain Mark, the need to do so did not arise. Sitting up, the big blond seemed to be in considerable pain.
‘M—My shoulder!’ Mark gasped, clutching at it and keeping his head bent forwards as if unwilling to let anybody see how he was suffering. ‘I—I think it’s-it’s broken!’
Chapter Twelve – He’ll Still Be Useful To Us
‘THERE YOU ARE,’ Doctor Samuel Sandwich said, adjusting the sling which he had fixed to support Mark Counter’s right arm. ‘That ought to do it.’
On examining his nephew’s shoulder at the contest ground, the doctor had been surprised and puzzled by the extent of its injury. However, deciding what needed to be done, he had said that the shoulder was merely strained and not broken. Then he had declared that Mark must be taken to his home so that he could give the injury proper attention. Marlene Viridian had insisted that Mark should ride in her buggy. What was more, she had accompanied him and had left de Froissart to return with friends.
Delivering Mark to the Sandwich family’s home, with the doctor following and leading the blood bay stallion. Marlene had suggested that, if he felt up to it, they might dine together that evening. Then she had left him in his uncle’s care. At seven o’clock, washed, shaved and dressed as he had been when attending the Fitts’ ball, the big blond had asked Sandwich to fix his shoulder so that he could keep the appointment.
The office’s door opened and, considering who entered, the response from Sandwich, or more particularly Mark, would have amazed Marlene if she had been present.
‘I sure hope that sling’s not for real,’ Dusty Fog remarked glancing at the window to make sure that the drapes were drawn.
‘It’s not,’ the burly, gray-haired, cheerful-looking doctor replied. ‘But the next time you pair are planning to pull a game like that this afternoon, I’d be obliged if you’d let me in on it. I didn’t know what the hell to make of it when you started fighting. And it’s not as if my side of the family’s such ready liars as the Counters.’
‘You didn’t do too badly at it, sir,’ Dusty declared.
‘I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not,’ Sandwich protested. ‘And I’d still like to know why you did it.’
‘It’s easy enough explained,’ Mark drawled. ‘You know I’m pretending to have a dislike for Dusty so that I get Marlene’s and de Froissart’s confidence.’
‘I know it,’ the doctor agreed.
‘Well,’ the big blond went on, ‘this way I’m fixed so that they won’t expect me to go up against him with a gun.’
‘It could have come to that,’ Dusty continued. ‘So I took the chance that Mark would guess what I wanted and go along with it.’
Learning of Mark’s conversation with Marlene, on returning to the Stockmen’s Hotel after visiting the Snapping Turtle Saloon, Dusty had been pleased that he had not sent for the big blond to leave the ball and join them. He had seen a way in which he might be able to discover what, if anything, the partners of the Pilar Hide & Tallow Company were planning, and perhaps obtain proof that Viridian had been Dover’s murderer.
Having made a detour to visit one of his uncles who ran a ranch in Lampasas County, Mark had not arrived with Dusty and the Ysabel Kid. Nor had they disclosed their association with each other. Dusty had guessed that there might be attempts at disrupting belief in Goodnight’s ideas and had felt that the blond giant would be more useful as an apparently uncommitted visitor. So Mark had let it be known that he was attending the Convention on behalf of his father. That was true enough, but Big Rance had already decided Goodnight was correct and had started making preparations for driving a herd to Kansas.
In a year’s time, such a deception would not have been possible. By then, Mark Counter’s name would have become almost synon
ymous with Dusty Fog, the OD Connected ranch and Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit.
Fortunately for the success of Dusty’s intentions, there were few people in Fort Worth who were aware that Mark worked for the OD Connected and they could all be relied upon not to betray the fact. Not that Mark’s task was any sinecure. If his secret should leak out, the very least that would happen would be that he would lose Marlene’s and de Froissart’s confidence.
It might also mean, especially if he had gathered information that they would try to have him killed. There had, as Mark had told his uncle, also been the danger that Marlene was hoping to use him as a means of removing Dusty. The fight and its aftermath had lessened the chances of it coming about.
‘I didn’t know you planned to enter the steer-roping contest, Dusty,’ the doctor remarked.
‘I didn’t at first, although I brought my mount along hoping I’d have time to go in for the cutting horse contest and run the paint in the Three Miles Stakes,’ the small Texan replied and went on to show that his views on the feelings of the ranchers towards him matched those expressed by de Froissart. He finished, ‘But when I got the message that Uncle Charlie won’t be here as soon as he’d hoped, I figured I’d best start convincing folks I’m more than just a pretty fair cavalry captain.’
‘Is Colonel Charlie in trouble?’ Mark demanded.
‘Some,’ Dusty admitted. ‘But Lon’s riding relay out towards Sulphur Springs, which’s where the message was sent from, to see if he can lend a hand.’
‘Does Colonel Charlie know he’s coming?’ Mark asked.
‘I haven’t sent word,’ Dusty replied. ‘That way Lon’ll have surprise on his side.’
‘You mean that somebody in Fort Worth might have been responsible for Charlie’s trouble?’ Sandwich suggested.
‘It’s possible,’ Dusty agreed.
‘Marlene and de Froissart?’ Mark growled.
‘Them, or somebody else,’ Dusty answered. ‘Rupe Grillman allows that Lonegron from Quintana’s in town. There could be other hide and tallow men around who we don’t know about. Or it’s maybe somebody else who’s wanting to stop Uncle Charlie getting here.’
‘Maybe I should forget this sling,’ Mark hinted.
‘Why?’ Dusty wanted to know.
‘The folks who’re trying to stop Colonel Charlie could get the notion that you’ll be listened to, even if he doesn’t arrive,’ the blond giant explained. ‘And the easiest way to see you don’t’ll be to kill you.’
‘It’s likely,’ Dusty conceded.
‘You won’t have Lon to watch your back,’ Mark reminded him.
‘That’s a chance I’ll have to take,’ Dusty replied. ‘And happen it is Mrs. Viridian’s bunch figuring on doing it, you could find out and let me know.’
‘Assuming that they still figure you’re worth knowing, boy,’ Sandwich pointed out. ‘After what happened when you tangled with Dusty, they could reckon you’re not man enough to take him out of the deal.’
‘There’s that to it,’ Mark exclaimed hopefully. ‘What do you reckon about it, Dusty?’
‘You could be right, doctor,’ the small Texan decided. ‘But most folks I heard talking figured that Mark getting his shoulder “hurt” was an accident and that I might have been lucky it happened.’
‘You mean that he tripped over you after he’d pushed you down,’ Sandwich elaborated.
‘It certainly looked that way.’
‘Well it wasn’t!’ Mark said emphatically. ‘I’ve seen Dusty and Betty Hardin pull that kind of throw and figured letting him use it would be the best way to get “hurt” without looking as if I’d been licked.’
‘And you guessed what Mark wanted you to do?’ Sandwich asked Dusty. ‘Or had you planned it in advance?’
‘We hadn’t,’ Dusty answered. ‘But I guessed what Mark was setting himself up for when he took hold that way. We’re lucky not many folks know ju jitsu. Anybody who did would have expected me to let go of his right arm once he was going over. And if I’d had to, that sling would have likely been for real.’
‘I wouldn’t’ve been in too good shape happen it’d been your toe and not the shin that hit me,’ the blond giant went on.
Sandwich favored the two blonds with admiring glances. Despite their youth, they were proving themselves shrewd, smart-thinking and capable. Not only had they dealt with a problem before it had arisen, but, without discussion or rehearsal, they had ‘fought’ in a most convincing manner and one perfect for their requirements.
‘Anyway, the lady doesn’t look like she is backing off,’ the doctor said. ‘She’s asked you to have dinner with her.’
‘Why sure,’ Mark drawled. ‘So we’ll have to see what comes off next. But I wish I didn’t have to keep acting like I am.’
‘I thought you looked real natural,’ Dusty grinned, knowing his big amigo was nothing like the character he was portraying for Marlene’s benefit.
‘I hope Ole Devil feels the same way,’ Mark replied. ‘You mind how he told us we could spend money if we had to and he’d give it back when we got home?’
‘That’s what he said,’ Dusty agreed. ‘He won’t object to you buying dinner for the lady.’
‘How about that fifty dollars I lost betting that I’d win the steer-roping?’ Mark wanted to know.
‘Fifty dollars?’ Dusty ejaculated.
‘You said for me to make it look like I enjoyed throwing money around,’ the blond giant pointed out. ‘And, anyway, it’s all your doing that I lost.’
‘Put that way,’ Dusty sighed. ‘I’ll have to see you get it back.’
‘Now you know why I like working for the OD Connected,’ Mark told his uncle. ‘What other spread’d encourage the hands to gamble. And where else could I get paid for hitting the segundo?’
~*~
A far less amicable meeting was taking place in de Froissart’s room at the Belle Grande Hotel. Sitting on the bed, the Creole looked from where Dolman was lounging against the window to Marlene as she angrily paced the floor.
‘All I’m saying is that Counter didn’t show to any advantage when he tangled with Fog,’ de Froissart stated, but in a placating manner.
As always, opposition to Marlene’s beliefs or wishes was making her even more determined to go ahead with the course she had set for herself. Even while making the arrangements to have dinner with Mark Counter, she had been dubious about his further value to her schemes. Her determination to continue, even expand, the acquaintance had increased when she had received a message to join de Froissart in his room. On her arrival, she had found the Creole and Dolman to be in a critical frame of mind. They had begun by commenting upon Dusty Fog’s success in the steer-roping contest and of the interest it had aroused amongst previously doubtful ranchers. Then de Froissart had complained about Mark’s attitude and apparently poor showing against the small Texan in the fight.
‘He tripped when he knocked Fog over and landed awkwardly,’ Marlene protested, conveniently overlooking that the suggestion had come from Mark. ‘Anybody could see that! If it hadn’t happened, he would have thrashed Fog as easily as he beat Garvin Fitt.’
‘And now he’s got a badly strained shoulder,’ Dolman put in. ‘His right shoulder, too. So his gun hand’s no use.’
‘He wears two guns!’ Marlene reminded the men and the note of asperity became more pronounced in her voice.
‘I’ve seen quite a few men who do,’ Dolman replied in a harsh tone that showed his resentment of her attitude. ‘But most of them only carry the left hand gun as a reserve.’
‘Well I think he’ll still be useful to us!’ Marlene snapped, but did not specify how. Instead, she stalked across the room. ‘It’s time I was going to meet him.’
‘What do you make of that?’ de Froissart inquired after the woman had gone out, slamming the door behind her.
‘She seems set to keep him around,’ Dolman replied.
‘Yes,’ the Creole agreed. ‘But what’s behind
it?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Dolman admitted. ‘It’s not because she hopes he’ll be able to influence other ranchers against Goodnight. After this afternoon, there’s no hope of that.’
‘And, with his gun hand useless, she can’t expect him to face up to Fog,’ de Froissart went on. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘Or me,’ Dolman conceded and noticed the speculative manner in which the Creole began to study him. Wishing to divert any suspicions the other might be harboring, regarding his own interest in Marlene’s relationship with the blond giant, he continued. ‘But she’s right. Counter could still be useful to us.’
‘In what way?’ de Froissart wanted to know.
‘I think Fog should be killed, whether Goodnight arrives for the convention or not,’ Dolman explained. ‘Especially after this afternoon.’
‘So do I,’ the Creole admitted, thinking of the comments he had heard passed between ranchers who had previously been uncertain regarding the small Texan’s knowledge of the cattle business. ‘The trouble’s going to be finding somebody to do it.’
‘I’ve already seen Roxterby,’ Dolman began.
‘He won’t face Fog!’ de Froissart protested.
‘I never thought he would,’ Dolman replied. ‘But he’s game to bushwhack him from a dark alley one night. And when it happens, we can lay the blame on Counter.’
‘Look at that short-grown son-of—!’ Mark Counter growled, halting the words as if suddenly realizing that they might be offensive to the ears of his companion. ‘Just watch him sucking up to those ranchers.’
Having had their dinner, Marlene Viridian and the blond giant had gone on to a reception at the Stockmen’s Hotel. They were in the barroom. It did not usually accept ladies, but an exception had been made for the evening. Although the Governor had not yet arrived, there was a fair-sized crowd in the room. Looking about him, Mark had noticed that the people were forming into groups. His words had come on seeing Dusty Fog standing with a party of prosperous-looking ranch owners at the counter. Near to them, de Froissart and Dolman were clearly listening to what was being said despite appearing to be engrossed in their own conversation.’
