Waco 6

by J. T. Edson

  Although not quite as tall and well-built as any of his companions, the exception was in every way more impressive; even though he alone did not hold a rifle. His clothing was neat and functional, without being flashy or fussy. It was the kind of attire a well-to-do rancher might wear when riding his own range. One each side of his two and a quarter inch wide black leather waist belt, in a form-fitting Missouri skin-tight type of holster, a fancy Colt Pocket Pistol revolver pointed its ivory handle forward so it would be accessible to either hand. Good looking, his tanned features showed neither the vicious hardness of the hired fighting men, nor the truculent weakness of Maudlin. Instead, for all its lack of expression, there was a suggestion of strength and intelligence mingled with bitterness in its lines.

  Even without noticing the initials carved on the matched Colts’ ivory grips, Doc and his father could have identified the man. They had heard plenty of talk about him and had had him described more than once, although he had only been in the area for a couple of weeks. His name was Hayden Paul Lindrick. Formerly a promising officer in the Confederate States’ Army, he had turned to his present trade on finding his family had been murdered and their home burned by carpet-baggers who were serving in the much hated State Police which had been organized to replace the Texas Rangers after the end of the War Between the States. Fast, deadly, intelligent, he had attained some prominence in his profession and had been brought in by Taylor Maudlin as boss gun.

  ‘It’s our range!’ Japhet Maudlin stated. ‘And we don’t take kind to anybody coming on it for any reason, ’less they ask us first.’

  ‘Do you know something?’ Leroy growled, paying no attention to anybody other than the rancher’s son. I’m pleased I wasn’t here when you were born. I’d hate like hell to think I’d brought you into the world.’

  ‘What do—?’ Maudlin began, then anger darkened his face as his far from brilliant intellect deduced the meaning of the comment. Although the rifle across his knees was pointing away from the required direction, he made as if to rectify it, going on, ‘Why you—!’

  ‘Don’t!’ Leroy warned, standing with the Henry in a position of far greater readiness, but too wise to move it into alignment. ‘You’d never get it turned my way. And, if you do get yourself shot, it’s a long ride to another doctor and I’ll be damned I’ll take my own lead out of you.’

  ‘Hold it!’ Lindrick snapped, his voice commanding and bearing the accent of a well-educated Southron. The words caused the other three gun hands to refrain from any movements they might be contemplating and he kept his hands resting on the dinner plate sized horn of his elegant single girthed Mexican saddle as he looked the hunters over from head to foot. ‘Do you mind if I ask who you are, sir?’

  ‘My name’s Leroy,’ Doc’s father introduced, wanting to avoid a confrontation and sensing that the boss gun would be the deciding factor in doing so. ‘I’m a doctor and this is my son.’

  ‘Just because you’re the local sawbones—!’ Maudlin spat out, but the words trailed off as Lindrick turned a coldly prohibitive gaze upon him and brought an end also to his intention of forcing the issue by turning the rifle.

  ‘It looks as if you’ve had a successful hunt, Doctor,’ the boss gun remarked, after he was sure that he had brought the ill-advised actions and words of his employer’s son to an end.

  ‘Not as well as we’d like to have had,’ Leroy contradicted, making a gesture of goodwill by taking his right hand from the Henry and waving towards the nearby bushes. ‘They raided Widow Simcock’s truck garden last night and we figured to teach them a little more respect for people’s property. One went in there wounded—’

  As if wishing to prove the last remark, the big boar peccary injured by Doc burst out of the bushes. While fleeing, it had been startled by a cougar that had been sleeping near a kill. Reversing its direction with the wonderful dexterity of its kind, the boar had darted back at such a pace that it emerged from concealment before it realized what had happened. Finding itself confronted by more enemies at a closer proximity than the cougar had been and already furious with the pain from the otherwise not too serious graze caused by the bullet, it was disinclined to attempt further evasion. Instead, letting out a scream of rage, it launched an attack at the nearest of the human beings.

  The sight of the furious creature hurling their way frightened the horses. With its black bristles erected, the peccary looked far larger than its sixty-five pounds weight as it launched itself into the air with Leroy as its objective. Furthermore, as Doc and his father had mentioned, its head was large in proportion to the rest of the body. So the jaws, when open to emit a rage-filled squeal, displayed an impressive gape which caused the wickedly sharp tusks to appear even longer and deadly than they were. Not that their true size was anything to be regarded lightly. So the vision was sufficiently menacing to set the five horses displaying their displeasure and alarm.

  An instant after the boar javelina had erupted from among the bushes, pandemonium reigned in front of them.

  Caught unawares as his mount reared, Maudlin slid backwards off the cantle of his saddle. With his highly prized Winchester Model of 1866 rifle—which until recently had been sold as the ‘New Improved Henry’—flying from his hands, he landed rump first on the ground and counted himself lucky that nothing worse happened. Lashing out with its hind legs, his gelding went buck jumping away.

  One of the lesser hired guns was pitched off by his horse’s wild reaction. Only by dropping their rifles and using both hands to grab and hold grimly on to the leather were the other two able to stay on their saddles. They were too engrossed in doing so to even think of regaining control of the panic-stricken animals.

  Of Maudlin’s party, Lindrick came off best. A superb rider and unencumbered by holding weapons, as well as being possessed of excellent reflexes, he retained his seat with no difficulty against the somewhat less violent response of his well-trained blaze-faced brown gelding. In fact, while bringing the animal back under command, he was able to watch what went on around him.

  The boss gun saw something enlightening which he, with his specialized knowledge of the subject, was well equipped to understand.

  Appreciating the danger and discovering that he was the target for the reprisals, Leroy brought his right hand back to the wrist of the Henry’s butt. At the same time, he essayed a leaping turn which was intended to carry him away from the attacking beast. Instead, his right foot caught against a clump of grass and he tripped. Sitting down involuntarily, he felt his grip on the rifle jarred loose. While he contrived to avoid releasing it, he knew that he could not tighten his hold and put the weapon into use quickly enough to save himself.

  Observing his father’s dire predicament, Doc was aware of the problems he was facing in the matter of rendering assistance. Although reliable enough, the Lee was far from a handy weapon. Nor was he willing to take a chance upon its single shot capacity with so much at stake. There was, he considered in a flash of rapid thinking, only one suitable solution.

  Despite his horse still moving restlessly, although it was calm compared with those of his companions, Lindrick turned his right hand palm out and snapped it around the revolver on the off side of his belt. Using the high cavalry-twist method, he drew and cocked the weapon. Even as he did so, he realized that trying to save the Doctor would be anything but a simple matter. Effectively as he could handle the comparatively small Colt in ordinary combat conditions, he was cognizant with its limitations. It was designed as a fairly easy to conceal close quarters arm. At the distance separating him from the enraged and swiftly rushing javelina, particularly while mounted, the best he could hope to achieve was an exceptionally fortunate hit which would turn the animal from its intended victim.

  Pivoting towards his quarry, allowing the Lee to drop unheeded, Doc set his weight on spread apart feet and slightly bent legs. Down dipped his right hand, to enfold the ivory grips and lift the streamlined Colt from its contoured holster. Thrusting it out at waist lev
el, he thumbed back the hammer and directed the seven and a half inch long ‘Civilian pattern’ round barrel lvi by the instinct he had acquired from long practice.

  In just under a second from the first movement of his right hand, Doc turned loose a shot. His aim proved to be adequate, if not completely successful. The .44 caliber round lead ball hit the peccary in the ribs. Driven by twenty-eight grains of black powder, the charge from an Army Colt could not match the shock power of its illustrious ‘elder brother’, the Colt Dragoon Model of 1848—which would accept forty grains, the same amount as would later be handled by the Winchester Model of 1873 rifle—it was still far from a puny weapon. Unfortunately, the bullet had struck a little too far back. Although the peccary was knocked from its feet, it was up fast and lunged onwards.

  Before Lindrick could align his Pocket Pistol in a satisfactory manner, he heard the deep bark of Doc’s Colt. The sound caused him to look in its direction and he could appreciate just how swiftly the youngster must have moved to draw and fire the weapon. What was more, he found himself impressed by the way in which Doc was electing to continue dealing with the situation.

  Utilizing the rising thrust of the Colt’s recoil, the youngster elevated it to eye-level. While his right hand’s thumb was cocking back the hammer, the left’s palm joined it to cup under the revolver’s butt. Doing so produced a steadier base from which to take aim. He made the most of it. Sighting fast, he squeezed the trigger. This time, the bullet achieved its purpose by striking just below the peccary’s ear. Killed instantly, it collapsed as if it had been boned and landed with the tip of its snout almost touching his father’s feet.

  ‘Whooee!’ Leroy ejaculated, staring down at the twitching body. Then he raised his gaze to his son and went on,

  ‘Gracias, Lil Doc.’

  ‘Es nada, Sir John,’ the youngster answered, trying to conceal his relief and twirling away the Colt. ‘Wasn’t he an ornery son-of-a-bitch?’

  ‘If he wasn’t, he’ll do until one comes along,’ Leroy admitted and stood up.

  ‘God damn it!’ Japhet Maudlin’s voice raised in a wail. ‘Get after my son-of-a-bitching hoss, one of you!’

  At the anguished-filled words, Doc and his father remembered the quintet and turned to find out what had been happening. They found that one of the hired guns had also lost his mount. Along with Maudlin’s palomino, it was bolting back in the direction from which it had come. Nor were any of the other three men offering to give chase. Although they had not been thrown, two of the hard-cases were still in difficulties with their restive animals. However, despite being in a position to attend to the request from his employer’s son, Lindrick was not offering to do so. Instead, the boss gun was gazing at the hunters and held his right hand revolver.

  ‘That was real good shooting, young feller,’ Lindrick declared, swiveling the weapon deftly to catch it around the chamber arid return it to its holster.

  ‘Thanks,’ Doc replied, knowing that he was receiving what amounted to an accolade from a top professional. ‘With daddy here deciding to sit down and take a rest, I figured somebody should ought to do something and I couldn’t think of anything else to do.’

  ‘Somebody go catch my blasted hoss, god damn it!’ Maudlin almost screeched, rising and rubbing his rump.

  ‘Get on behind Shabber,’ Lindrick suggested, although the words came out more in the nature of a command. ‘Czonka, let Waltham ride double with you.’

  Once again, the boss gun’s words received more attention than those of their employer’s son. Bringing their mounts back under control, the mounted hard-cases each carried out his instructions. Scowling balefully, Maudlin retrieved his rifle and swung up behind the tall, gaunt Len Shabber. Having regained his feet and weapon, the more blocky, bearded Hank Waltham accepted the stirrup offered by Lazio Czonka, the burliest of them all.

  ‘What about them two?’ Maudlin asked, with what truculence he could muster, once he had settled as comfortably as possible.

  ‘I’ll ’tend to them,’ Lindrick promised. ‘And the sooner you get after your horse, the quicker you’ll be able to get back on it.’

  Taking what was clearly something much stronger than a hint, Shabber set his mount into motion without reference to the wishes of his employer’s son. Nor did Czonka show any great desire to linger. Since they had taken their present employment, before in Shabber’s and Waltham’s case, all of the trio had learned that Lindrick took his position as their superior very seriously and had a forceful way of ensuring his orders—even when made in the form of a suggestion—were carried out.

  Waiting until the two double-loaded horses were following the unmounted pair that had already departed, Lindrick rose closer to Doc and his father. There was little expression on the boss gun’s face, although a sardonic smile had twisted briefly at his Bps as he had looked at Maudlin’s back,

  ‘Something tells me you’re not impressed by young Japhet Maudlin,’ Leroy remarked, without bothering to hold the Henry in a position of readiness.

  ‘Do I have to be?’ Lindrick countered in a flat tone.

  ‘You work for him,’ Leroy pointed out.

  ‘I work for his father,’ Lindrick corrected.

  ‘Huh huh!’ Leroy grunted. ‘Has Taylor Maudlin took it on himself to try and close this part of the “Fork Range”?’

  ‘Only to the Circle W—and its supporters,’ the boss gun replied. ‘It’s a precaution against—incidents.’

  ‘This’s always been open range,’ Leroy commented, waving his left hand at their surroundings. ‘Maudlin doesn’t have any more right, or title to it than Boone Wensbury has from the other bank of Owl Fork to Slipper Creek.’

  ‘Right and title are just words open to definition, Doctor,’ Lindrick answered, still showing not the slightest emotion. ‘You’ve no doubt heard the legend of the Ancient Roman general who, when asked for his authority to carry out an unpopular act, pointed to his assembled Legion and said, “There it is”?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ Leroy admitted, studying the other man and being impressed by what he saw. There, unless his judgment of character was at fault, was no ordinary hired gun fighter with brains only in the trigger finger. Lindrick was intelligent and well educated, a formidable combination for one in his trade. ‘I’ve also read Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.’

  ‘I have too, Doctor,’ the boss gun conceded. ‘But there is another anecdote which covers it. A man was hired to help build a house and found the foreman was a hard driver who never let up. So he complained and said, “Don’t forget, Rome wasn’t built in a day.” The foreman replied, “That’s because I wasn’t running the job.”.’

  ‘I’ve heard that story, too,’ Leroy said, and could not hold back a smile.

  ‘From what I’ve heard, Doctor,’ Lindrick went on, with just a momentary relaxation of his impassive expression. ‘You’ve passed the word that you won’t take sides in this affair.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Leroy confirmed and, at his side, Doc tensed slightly.

  ‘That’s a good way to be, as long as you’re let do it,’ Lindrick drawled, his gaze flickering briefly to the youngster and returning to the other man. In the same unemotional tones, he went on, ‘You probably don’t need this advice, but step very carefully when you’re dealing with hired guns—or young hot-heads—on either side. Being a doctor might not save you if one of them gets riled.’

  ‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ Leroy promised and meant what he said. ‘But about Maudlin trying to close—’

  ‘Not trying, Doctor, closing the “Fork Range” south of the Owl Creek,’ Lindrick interrupted. ‘But only to the Circle W and its allies.’

  ‘And suppose he decides that takes in everybody who isn’t for him?’ Leroy asked.

  ‘In that case, Doctor,’ Lindrick replied and started to rein his horse around. ‘I’ll do what I’m being paid to do. Adios.’

  ‘Now there goes a man I’d hate to tangle with, Lil Doc,’ Leroy announced to hi
s son, watching the boss gun riding away.

  ‘He’s a strange one,’ Doc admitted. ‘I’ve seen my share of bad hombres already, Sir John, but he’s way different from any of them.’

  ‘That’s what makes him so dangerous,’ Leroy stated, then shrugged. ‘Come on. We’ve got work to do before we can take these peccaries back to town.’

  Oblivious of the comments that were being made about him, Lindrick passed over the top of the slope. Looking ahead, he discovered that his companions were halted about half a mile away. Although they had already recovered the two horses, it had not been by their own efforts. Four more riders were with them. He did not need to go any closer to identify the new arrivals.

  There was nothing of his youngest son’s dandified appearance about Taylor Maudlin. Tall, heavily built, with a strong, tanned and heavily mustached face, his garments were of no better quality than those of the three men who were with him. Two were cowhands who had been in his employment for a number of years and the last was his eldest son, Frank, looking like a younger version of himself. All of them were well armed, but only the latter carried his Army Colt in a holster that would allow it to be drawn with any speed.

  ‘We heard shooting and came over to find out what was happening, Mr. Lindrick,’ Taylor Maudlin explained, as his boss gun rode up. Although hard, his voice was that of a man with a good education. ‘Japhet here says you had a run in with Doc Leroy and his young ’n’.’

  ‘Hardly that,’ Lindrick answered. They’re out hunting—’

  ‘On our land!’ Japhet protested. ‘You said we should run everybody off’n it, daddy.’

  ‘I said you were to run anybody from the Circle W off,’ Maudlin corrected.

  ‘Way I see it,’ Czonka put in. ‘Anybody who ain’t for us is again’ us.’