by J. T. Edson
Although Billy Jack could not see the small Texan’s face, his general appearance and the references made to his youth by the soldiers suggested that he was much younger as well as smaller and lighter than his tormentors. Yet, despite the fact that he did not appear to be armed in any way, he displayed little concern over their threatening attitudes or the fact that they were surrounding him. Probably, the sergeant concluded, the cowhand did not appreciate his peril. Certainly his response to Chatswen’s challenging question was not that of a frightened young man.
“From what I’ve seen of you,” the Texan drawled, in tones as gentle as the first menacing whispers of a blue norther storm blowing up. “You’re what I’ve heard are called ‘too-fars’.”
At that moment, Billy Jack noticed the second of the room’s doors was slowly easing open. He could not see who, or what, might be at the other side and the continuation of the conversation diverted his attention back to the speakers.
“‘Too-fars’?” repeated Chatswen, looking puzzled. “Just what the hell’re ‘too-fars’?”
“Fellers who’re too far forward to wash and shave,” answered the small Texan, apparently oblivious of Trug moving to stand behind him. “But too far away from the fighting to get shot at.”
Billy Jack decided that although the blond had shown a shrewd judgment of the soldiers’ characters, he could not be considered a person of tact, diplomacy, or even of good sense. There was little else that the youngster could have said which would have been more likely to bring Chatswen’s wrath down upon him. Serving in the Commissary General’s Department, the corporal and his five companions had never seen active duty. They were employed to collect and complete the delivery of the cattle which Colonel Jubal Early’s trail crews had driven from Texas. Their work was of considerable importance to the Confederate States’ war effort, but that did not alter the fact of them never having engaged in combat with the enemy. So they Strenuously resented any comments on the matter; especially when such were made by a small, insignificant-looking civilian.
“And you figure’s me ’n’ the boys’re these-here ‘too-fars’?” Chatswen challenged, while his companions rumbled menacingly.
“That’s what I figure,” confirmed the Texan, apparently glancing to where Eli had moved forward from between Japhet and Lou. Or he could, Billy jack realized, have been looking at the partially open side door beyond the three soldiers. “And nothing I’ve seen of you yet’s come close to making me think I might not be right about it.”
“You hear that, Hervey?” Chatswen said to the bartender. “This short-grown runt’s disrespecting us.”
“That’s what he’s doing, Billy,” agreed the fat, bald civilian. “Nobody’d blame you should you get riled about it.”
So that’s the way it goes, huh?” drawled the small Texan, without looking at the bartender. “I figured it would be something like that. All right, I’m through asking. “Let’s have you out of here and on your horses —”
“Boy!” Chatswen interrupted, advancing and reaching with a ham-like right hand towards the diminutive—in comparison with his own bulk—young figure. “I’m going to teach you some respect —”
Billy Jack found himself on the horns of a dilemma over what, if any, action he should take. Being in Arkadelphia on official business, he had no desire to become involved in a barroom brawl. Especially when the bartender invariably backed up the excuses of his good customers. Yet the sergeant could hardly stand by and watch a fellow-Texan—no matter how undiplomatic or rash—being assaulted by the larger, heavier soldiers.
To intervene, however, would invite painful repercussions. There was little love lost between the men of the Texas Light Cavalry and Chatswen’s bunch. Secure in the knowledge that Hervey would support their stories in the event of an inquiry, the six men would resist any orders that Billy Jack might attempt to give to them. Instead, they would turn part of their wrath on him. That meant he would have to take them on with only such small help as the young blond could muster. There was no other assistance available.
Confident in the advantages granted by his extra size and weight, Chatswen saw no call for caution. Probably, on realizing that he had bitten off a whole heap more than he could chew, the runty beef-head iv would attempt to jump backwards or try to run away. In either event, Trug was positioned so as to cut off his retreat.
Deciding to use his Colts as a means of enforcing his demands, Billy Jack dropped his hands to the butts as he stepped into the barroom. The other door was thrown open, but the sergeant’s attention was held by Chatswen and the blond.
Instead of retreating in an attempt to avoid being caught by the corporal’s reaching fist, the small Texan moved swiftly to meet him. Chatswen’s brain failed to react swiftly enough to assess and counter such an unexpected development. Up flashed the blond’s left hand. The corporal felt his right wrist grasped with surprising strength and it was jerked forward. Nor did that end his misfortunes. Spreading his feet apart and bowing his knees, the Texan darted his right band between Chatswen’s thighs and took hold of the slack seat of his breeches.
Just what was happening, neither Billy Jack, Chatswen or the other soldiers could have said. Continuing to move with such speed that the corporal had no opportunity to resist, the small Texan ducked his head under the captured arm and tilted Chatswen’s bulky torso across his shoulders. With a surging heave that told of considerable muscular power behind it, the blond straightened his legs. Elevating the amazed corporal from the floor he pivoted and, lowering his head, pitched Chatswen into the advancing Trug’s arms. Letting out mutually startled yells, the two men toppled to the floor in a tangled heap.
Like Billy Jack, who had halted with his Colts still in leather and mouth open but not emitting any words, the remaining soldiers were frozen into immobility by what they had seen. Possibly only the sergeant was aware of another element about to enter the game.
Tall, well built, about the same age as the small blond, a second cowhand entered. He came through the side door, grinning delightedly as he darted swiftly across the room. Bareheaded and unarmed, he had untidy, fiery red hair and a freckled, pugnaciously handsome face.
Amazed by what he had seen happen to Chatswen, the bartender failed to give a warning of the newcomer’s presence. Not that his omission left the soldiers in complete ignorance of the danger. The redhead made his presence felt swiftly enough.
Coming from behind the unsuspecting Japhet and Lou, the redhead bounded into the gap between them. He threw open his arms, enfolding their necks from the rear and clamping home in a determined, forceful manner.
“Dusty!” whooped the newcomer, swinging up his feet and bringing his full weight to bear on the two soldiers.
Thrusting forward, the redhead’s high-heeled boots thudded into the centre of Eli’s back and he was sent hurtling in the small Texan’s direction. Flailing wildly with his arms, he bore down rapidly upon the blond. The soldier was big and brawny enough to have come off best in the event of a collision, but such a fortunate result was denied to him.
In turning to throw Chatswen at Trug, the small Texan had allowed Billy Jack to see his face. Tanned, grey-eyed, not too bad looking, the features put the sergeant in mind of somebody and supplied a clue to the blond’s identity. That wrestling throw, too, was much like one Billy Jack had seen performed by Ole Devil Hardin’s servant, a smallish, smiling man who claimed to hail from some place called “Nippon”. That too was suggestive of who the young cowhand might be.
All of which was driven from the sergeant’s thoughts as he watched Eli hurtling on a collision course for the short youngster. Even as the sergeant prepared to deliver a warning, he saw that the blond had heard and understood the redhead’s shouted work.
Turning fast, the blond stepped to the left sufficiently far to avoid being struck by the rushing soldier. Nor did he restrict his attentions to mere evasion. Knotting his right hand, he threw a punch. Watching the hand sink almost wrist-deep into Eli’s am
ple belly, Billy Jack could nearly sympathize with his agony-filled gurgling croak as he folded over. Blundering onwards, clutching at his mid-section as he moaned and gasped for breath, Eli reached the bar and collapsed, retching, by it.
Taken by surprise by the redhead’s unexpected intervention, Japhet and Lou had not been able to resist. His weight caused them to bend forward and he retained his hold on their necks. Bracing himself on spread-apart feet and leaning backwards, he exerted his strength to prevent them from straightening up and getting free.
“Now this pair, Cousin Dusty!” the red-haired youngster called.
Almost as if working to a preconceived plan, the blond ignored the stricken Eli and darted towards the entangled trio. Bounding from the floor, he propelled his feet against the tops of Lou’s and Japhet’s heads. At the moment of impact, displaying superb timing, the redhead released his hold and the assaulted pair went reeling backwards. They landed on their rumps at practically the same moment, then flopped supine with dazed, glassy-eyed expressions on their unprepossessing faces.
“I thought I said for you to throw down on them with your Colts —” the blond said as he alighted from the bounding kick which had once more reminded Billy Jack of a trick used by Tommy Okasi.
Looking like a man waking from a nightmare, Toby stared from one to another of his companions. Although Chatswen and Trug had rolled apart, neither had yet succeeded in rising. From all appearances, the remainder of the party were no longer actively interested in the affair. That, Toby decided, put matters in his hands. Figuring to uphold his bunch’s reputation for toughness—and to take the cowhands by surprise—he lumbered rapidly in their direction. Being a slugger, who relied on brawn instead of skill, he was basing his attack’s success on a bull-like rush. It should, he concluded, be easy. Having felled Lou and Japhet in that sneaky, tricky way, the cowhands were talking to each other and not watching him.
“Shucks, don’t be a spoilsport, Cous —” the redhead protested, then glanced towards Toby. “Look out!”
Once again the youngsters displayed a teamwork which Billy Jack watched with admiration. Spinning swiftly, the blond stepped aside to avoid being struck by the heavier man. Advancing, the redhead moved in the opposite direction when level with his cousin. Unable to halt in time, Toby started to pass between them and his big hands grasped empty air. Out flashed two fists, their knuckles connecting on each side of Toby’s jaw. The soldier’s eyes glazed and, carried forward by his impetus, he kept moving until his knees buckled and deposited him face down on the floor.
Paying no greater attention to Toby than he had to his other victims, the small blond swung to face Chatswen as the corporal lurched erect.
“I sent my corporals into town last night with a message for you,” the Texan said quietly, shaking and working the fingers of the hand that had struck Toby’s jaw. “You got them into a fight, beat them up and sent word that I should come myself. So I’m here.”
“You bastard!” Chatswen bellowed, so furious that he failed to understand the full implications of what he was hearing. Instead, he hurled himself bodily at the small blond. “I’ll fix your wag—!”
Having allowed his Colts to settle back in their holsters, on being satisfied that the young Texans did not require that kind of assistance. Billy Jack had remained in the doorway. Leaning his shoulder against the jamb. he watched Chatswen bearing down massively upon the shorter cowhand.
Exactly what happened after that the sergeant could not be certain. Once again the blond caught the corporal by an arm, pivoted and Chatswen sailed almost gracefully over his shoulder. Landing on a table, Chatswen’s weight collapsed it and he was dumped on to the floor. Muttering profane threats, he rose and rushed at his tormentor.
While Billy Jack had no liking for Chatswen, he felt nearly sorry as he watched the corporal receive one hell of a thrashing. Not only did the small Texan know a number of wrestling throws and holds which more than off-set his lack of size, he was remarkably strong and could use his fists with devastating effectiveness. When Chatswen received a final series of crashing punches that tumbled him limply into a corner, he had been as thoroughly beaten as had any of his “jostling” victims.
Leaving his cousin to deal with the corporal, the redhead had taken on Trug. To Billy Jack, it seemed that the taller cowhand was delighted with the opportunity of a fight. They were evenly matched in size and weight, but the Texan was younger, fitter and more skilful. So, although he took some punishment himself and was far less spectacular in his methods, he handed out nearly as painful a battering.
“What happened to my corporals last night?” the blond demanded, crossing to the bar after glancing in Billy Jack’s direction.
“They come in and started getting all uppy with Bully and the boys —” the bartender began, trying to repay the soldiers for the business they had put his way.
“They started it, huh?” the blond grunted.
“You might say that,” Hervey agreed, feeling uneasy as cold grey eyes seemed to be boring into his inner thoughts.
“It’s not likely I would, being raised to speak the truth,” interrupted the blond.
“Are you saying I’m lying,” Hervey demanded, sounding a whole heap tougher and indignant than he felt.
“Let’s put it you’re just being loyal to good customers,” drawled the blonde. “You all right, Cousin Red?”
“Bueno, Cousin Dusty,” grinned the red head, dabbing at his bloody nose with a bandana. “I’ll go fetch our hats and gunbelts.”
“You do that,” the blond confirmed and turned his attention back to the bartender. “Get those yahoos on their feet. Tell them to meet me down at the livery barn in half an hour. If they’re longer than that, I’ll come back and fetch them—and, mister, if that happens, I’ll not be coming peaceable.”
“Bully and the boys won’t like me telling them that,” Hervey objected, wondering how one so young and small could make him feel uneasy.
“Tell them I’ll be waiting at the barn and they can take it up with me there,” ordered the blond and swung to face Billy Jack. “Howdy, sergeant. I reckon you might be looking for me.”
“Likely, sir,” Billy Jack admitted, snapping into a brace and saluting. “Unless I’m wrong, which I admit I most times am, you’ll be Lieutenant Fog.”
Chapter Four
“They’re coming, Mr. Fog,” Sergeant Billy Jack announced dolefully, while his lean features registered what seemed to be considerable alarm and despondency. “Only I don’t reckon it’s ’cause they’ve figured out who you are and’re all respectful of your rank.”
“Maybe not,” Dusty Fog drawled, also glancing overtly to where Corporal Chatswen’s detail were approaching. They were leading their horses and the enlisted men held the Enfield carbines which had previously been in the saddle-boots, while the flap of the corporal’s holster was open and tucked back. “Don’t let on we’ve seen them.”
“Yo!” Billy Jack assented and swung his gaze to where Red Blaze was standing the last of half a dozen empty whisky bottles on the top rail of an unused corral. “We could allus mount up and ride to the herd for help.”
“I’d sooner stop here and see what they’re planning to do,” Dusty replied, having realized just how little of the sergeant’s attitude and general line of speech was genuine. “You never know, we might all get ourselves killed and save the Yankees the trouble of doing it.”
“I ain’t likely to be that lucky,” Billy Jack protested dismally. “It’ll only be you ’n’ Mr. Blaze’s dies and I’ll have to go back ’n’ tell Captain von Hertz I couldn’t carry out his orders.”
“Well now,” Dusty grinned. “I sure wouldn’t want you to have to do that. So we’ll see if we can sort of dissuade these ‘too-fars’ from abusing us.”
“I surely hope we can,” Billy Jack admitted, in tones which implied that he felt it was highly unlikely. “Now if them bottles was full —”
“It’d be a sinful shame and wasteful of
good whisky,” Dusty finished.
“Never knowed Hervey selled any good whisky,” Billy Jack objected, wondering just what the small young officer had had in mind when asking him to obtain the six empty bottles before they had left the hotel.
Having donned the gunbelt and hat which Red had collected from the hall outside the barroom’s side door, Dusty had accompanied his cousin and the sergeant to the rendezvous he had designated to the bartender.
The livery barn was situated on the edge of town. Leaving the horses—Billy Jack had been correct in his assumption of who owned them—outside the main building, Dusty had led the way to the empty corral. There he had requested that Red should stand the bottles on the side of the fence farthest away from the town. Grinning at the mystified expression on the sergeant’s face, the redhead had complied. Ignoring Billy Jack’s obvious puzzlement Dusty had Continued with his explanation of what had led up to the confrontation at the Clinton Hotel.
Given the acting rank of first lieutenant, Dusty had been put in command of a party of recruits on their way to join the Texas Light Cavalry. As they had ridden north, they had come across Colonel Jubal Early of the Commissary General’s Department. The colonel had just purchased a herd of cattle for delivery to the Army of Arkansas and North Texas, but had wished to take up an offer of an even larger bunch made by a rancher in Denton County. Knowing that most of the recruits had been cowhands, Dusty had offered to drive the herd to Arkadelphia. Doing so would delay the party’s arrival at Little Rock, but he had believed that he was acting for the best. Early had accepted, with the proviso that one of his experienced sergeants should accompany the cattle. An accident while crossing the Red River had deprived Dusty of the sergeant’s services, but he had been successful in handling the trail drive without the expert’s advice.
Reaching the Arkadelphia area the previous night, Dusty had bedded the herd down a couple of miles from the town. The cattle had been restless, so he and Red had remained with them. Knowing that a party from the Commissary General’s Department were to take charge of the cattle at that point, Dusty had sent the two youngsters he had appointed acting corporals to carry word of their arrival. The corporals had located Chatswen’s detail, who were drinking at the Clinton Hotel, On hearing Dusty’s message, Chatswen had “jostled” the corporals and provoked a fight. He had then sent back the beaten Texans with a message to the effect that Lieutenant Fog should come in and tell Chatswen himself and not send wet-behind-the-ears underlings.
