by J. T. Edson
‘He might at that,’ Schweitzer conceded and his face showed that he appreciated the full implications of what he was hearing. In the event of such an attack, his own premises would be very vulnerable.
‘What we need is some extra guns on hand,’ Viridian hinted.
‘Pierre ought to be back by tomorrow,’ Schweitzer commented, sensing what was coming and that it would cost the Company money.
‘He’s only one man,’ Viridian reminded the storekeeper, but refrained from mentioning his hope that the Creole would not return alive.
‘Maybe Harlow Dolman will be with him,’ Schweitzer suggested hopefully. ‘Ribagorza wouldn’t dare go against the State Police.’
‘I wouldn’t want to count on that,’ Viridian grunted. ‘It’s not likely Dolman’ll have any of his men with him and the greasers’ll start shooting before he can tell them who he is. And if he doesn’t come, it will be too late for us to start trying to hire extra guns.’
‘We won’t have time to get them, anyway,’ Schweitzer protested.
‘We will, provided we get Roxterby started on it this afternoon,’ Viridian contradicted. ‘According to what he told me, he can fetch some in for us and have them here in two days.’
‘What good will that do?’ the storekeeper demanded. ‘Ribagorza will have arrived and done what he wants to by the time they get here.’
‘I don’t think he’ll be here for at least three days,’ Viridian answered.
‘Why?’ Schweitzer wanted to know.
‘He won’t be holding his herd too near, in case things should have gone wrong,’ Viridian replied. ‘And he’ll stay where he is until Gomez gets back to tell him what’s happened. No, I’m betting he’s stopped at least two days’ drive away and it’ll be three at the soonest before he comes.’
‘You could be right,’ Schweitzer conceded. ‘And if you are, he might not come when he realizes what’s happened.’
‘That’s not likely,’ Viridian sniffed. ‘You know what these greasers are like. Cut one and they all bleed. I’d bet they’ll be coming looking for blood as soon as they figure out what’s happened to Gomez and his men.’
‘You’ve got to get enough men to fight them off, Bernie!’ Gianna insisted, moving forward with her expressive face showing that she was frightened.
‘All right,’ the storekeeper answered. ‘Tell Roxterby to go and fetch them, Austin.’
‘I’ll send word for him to come in and get on to it,’ Viridian promised and, after a brief pause, went on, ‘He’s going to need some money.’
‘How much?’ Schweitzer asked warily.
‘Five hundred’ll do,’ Viridian replied.
‘Five hundred?’ Schweitzer yelped.
‘Hired guns come a mite higher than factory hands,’ Viridian pointed out, unmoved by his partner’s response. It was pretty well what he had expected, for Schweitzer kept a tight hold on the Company’s purse strings and hated to part with money under any conditions. ‘We need ten at least and they’ll not come without cash in their hands. I’d be happier if we could get twenty. That way, we’ll have the town and the factory safe. Of course, we could leave guarding the town to Josh Hubric and the men. But I aim to have the factory protected.’
‘But five hundred dollars … ’ Schweitzer began.
‘It’ll cost a hell of a lot more than that to set right all the damage Ribagorza’ll do if we don’t have it protected,’ Viridian pointed out. ‘And I’m sure as hell not paying out that much from my own pocket. Neither you, Joe nor Pierre would.’
‘You give him the money, Bernie Schweitzer!’ Gianna ordered. ‘I know Pierre and Joe would want you to. We need the men to fight them off when they come.’
‘All right,’ the storekeeper sighed, yielding in the face of the woman’s determination. ‘I’ll give it to you, Austin. But—’
Before the comment could be completed, they heard heavy feet pounding hurriedly across the store. There was a knock at the door and, without waiting to be invited, Leathers and Sparlow entered the office.
‘It’s Ribagorza, boss,’ the corral supervisor ejaculated, directing his words at Viridian.
‘Have you found him already?’ Schweitzer almost screeched, remembering that Leathers had been sent to do so.
‘I didn’t have to,’ the supervisor replied. ‘You know Otis Twickery, boss?’
‘I know him,’ Viridian agreed, in tones which implied that the knowledge was anything but a source of pleasure.
‘I met him on the trail, bringing some wolves’ skins in to sell ’ Leathers commenced.
‘Damn it!’ Schweitzer snorted. ‘We could do without that ornery bastard coming at a time like this.’
‘It’s lucky he was coming.’ Leathers warned. ‘He reckoned he’d seen Ribagorza headed this way with a fair-sized herd of cattle. Said they ought to be here by sundown tomorrow at the latest.’
‘Sundown!’ Schweitzer repeated and glared furiously at his partner. ‘But you said that—’
‘Did Twickery tell you anything else?’ Viridian demanded, ignoring the comment.
‘He allows that Ribagorza’s got more men than usual along,’ Leathers answered. ‘And, from the way they’d set up their camp when he saw them, they were ready to handle trouble should it come.’
A furious snarl burst from Viridian as he considered the implications of what he had just heard. Obviously he had been wrong in his estimation of how Ribagorza would react. Clearly the Mexican was meaning to visit the factory and would be very angry when he learned of his segundo’s and men’s deaths. What was more, to save himself losing face with the remainder of his gang, he could not let the incident pass unpunished.
As Viridian had told his partner, there were insufficient men available to protect the factory, town and two mansions adequately. What had been merely an excuse to obtain enough money for Roxterby for organizing the murders of Marlene and de Froissart was now a serious factor. Nor was there any way in which they could bring in reinforcements before the Mexicans arrived.
Four – We’ve Got Us A Standoff
‘Stay put and nobody’ll get hurt!’ Widge commanded, hoping that de Froissart would not obey and so supply him with an excuse to start shooting.
Instead of obliging, the Creole very sensibly remained motionless.
‘We don’t aim to hurt none of you-all,’ promised the man who had warned about the penalty for killing and he covered Dolman. ‘We just want the money.’
‘You’re welcome to all I’ve got,’ de Froissart declared. ‘But, after a week at the Tarrant County Fair, I’ve not got much left and I suppose that applies—’
‘That’s not what we’ve been told,’ protested the outlaw who was keeping an eye on the Negroes. ‘You’re toting your Company’s payroll—’
‘Payroll?’ the Creole interrupted, throwing a puzzled look at his companions. ‘I don’t understand—’
‘Don’t try that with us, we know you’ve got it!’ Widge spat menacingly and, trying to provoke de Froissart into some action that would justify his death, nodded at Marlene Viridian. ‘Maybe you want us to ask her where it be?’
‘Drop those guns!’ ordered a deep, young-sounding and well-educated Texas drawl which originated from beyond the table and on the woodland’s side of the trail.
Hearing the words, the five men confronting Marlene, de Froissart and Harlow Dolman did not obey immediately. Instead, they and the sixth member of their gang—who had remained with the horses—looked at the speaker. They wanted to discover who had intervened and to estimate the full extent of the danger which they were facing.
Despite being partially concealed by the massive trunk of a large old oak tree, the man who had spoken was not difficult to locate. In fact, he would have been hard to miss under any circumstances. A good six foot three inches in height, even without taking into account his high-heeled, fancy-stitched boots, or the low-crowned, wide-brimmed white Texas style hat—the band of which was decorated by silver conchas—that
sat at a jaunty jack-deuce angle on his golden blond, curly hair, he was a youngster who had not yet reached his twentieth birthday. For all that, his tanned, handsome face expressed grim determination to enforce his will.
The newcomer’s tan-colored shirt, the scarlet silk bandana which was tight-rolled and knotted about his throat, and the brown trousers—with their cuffs turned up and hanging outside his boots—might look expensive, but they were the functional working attire of a cowhand. They had obviously been tailored to fit the tremendous spread of his shoulders, slender waist and long, powerful legs. About his middle hung a well-designed, excellently made brown buscadero gunbelt, with an ivory-handled Army Colt in each of its contoured, tied-down holsters. It was the kind of a rig that a real fast man with a gun would wear.
All in all, the young blond conveyed an impression of possessing exceptional physical strength without being slow-moving, clumsy, or awkward. He also looked as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Despite the quality of his gunbelt, he was not relying upon the twin Colts to back up his command. Instead, he cradled the butt of a rifle to his right shoulder and gazed along its barrel.
It was not, the outlaws observed with growing consternation and alarm, just a single-shot weapon. The tube underneath and extending the length of the barrel suggested that it was a Henry repeater. Possibly, if its wooden foregrip was anything to go by, it was one of the ‘New Improved’ variety—soon to be given the name by which it would become famous, the ‘Winchester Model of 1866’—that had already been featured in the pages of various dream-books. v
No matter which type of Henry it might be, such a rifle was capable of pouring out at least fifteen bullets as fast as the man using it could operate the loading lever and squeeze the trigger. For all his youth and somewhat dandified clothes, the blond giant looked like he could handle it with sufficient speed and accuracy to be very dangerous.
On hearing Mark Counter’s voice coming from behind him, Dolman stiffened slightly. He glanced swiftly to the left, estimating the distance which was separating him from the coach and decided that he could dive underneath it if necessary—and if he was given the opportunity to do so by the men who were confronting him.
Having settled what he intended to do if the big blond’s intervention caused the outlaws to start shooting, the captain turned his attention to the other people at the table. From their tense attitudes and expressions, Marlene and de Froissart were sharing his anxiety. The woman sat as if she had been turned to stone, staring at the outlaws. Just as motionless, the Creole also watched for the first hint of hostile action.
However, the hail of bullets that the trio was expecting did not come. Instead, the man who was covering Dolman swung his gaze at the lanky outlaw. As he did so, he inadvertently allowed the barrel to turn away from the captain and sink until it was pointing to the ground.
‘Damn it all, Widge!’ Dirk said, in an aggrieved manner. ‘You reckoned’s how there’d only be the Creole with the worn ’
‘Shut it!’ Widge snarled back.
‘You heard me!’ Mark called, before the lanky outlaw could say no more. His voice took on a harder note. ‘Let those guns fall. Pronto!’
‘Ain’t no reason why we should,’ Widge answered hurriedly, darting glances to his left and right and finding that—as he had expected—his companions were exhibiting signs of alarm. He spoke to prevent them obeying the blond youngster’s order. ‘We’ve got ’em lined on these good folks here.’
That was a point which the big blond had already taken into consideration while moving silently and unnoticed to take up his position behind the oak tree.
Mark’s original intention had never been to try to shoot the turkey, but to give Marlene, de Froissart and Dolman an opportunity to converse in his absence. Suspecting that the captain was deeply involved in some of the Pilar Hide & and Tallow Company’s less legal activities, the big blond had hoped to gather information that would not be mentioned in his presence. Having made a wide half circle through the woodland, he had been moving closer when the outlaws had arrived. Like his companions, he had become suspicious. On discovering that his suspicions had been justified, he had prepared to take a hand in the affair.
Following some sound advice which had been given to him by Dusty Fog, Mark had thought before acting. He had realized the danger to Marlene, de Froissart and Dolman if he handled the situation incorrectly. However, studying the opposition, he had formed an assessment of its potential. From the men’s appearances and behavior, he had deduced that they were petty and not too experienced criminals. While they could be dangerous if given the opportunity, he doubted whether they would be over-intelligent or courageous. If he had believed otherwise, he would have remained silent unless it had become obvious that they planned to do more than just rob their victims. As it was, he had taken every precaution that he could think of to reduce the risk of harm coming to the people at the table.
‘Trouble being, I’m lined on you, full-loaded and all set to go,’ Mark pointed out. ‘And, way I see it, it all stands on how many of you’re game to get killed. Because, as sure’s hell’s for sinners, that’s just what it’ll come to happen powder starts burning. And I’m standing too far off for them handguns of yours.’
Once again Widge flickered looks to find out what his men thought of the situation. He sensed that, even without the blond giant having explained matters, they fully appreciated their peril. Covered by a repeating rifle held by a man who was standing a good thirty yards away, which—although his weapon could reach them easily—put him at a distance where they could not count upon hitting him with their revolvers, they realized that resistance would be fraught with danger. If they should throw lead at the men and woman at the table, he would reply in the same fashion. And he held the means to kill every one of them before they could retreat to their horses.
Being aware of the kind of men he had recruited, Widge accepted that there was no longer any hope of robbing the coach and killing its occupants. None of the gang would be inclined to take the sort of chances which were unavoidable to turn the tables on the big youngster.
Nor, if it came to a point, did Widge particularly want to.
Having called attention to himself by doing the majority of the talking, he would probably find that he was the young cowhand’s first target should lead start flying. He had already received a hundred dollars from ‘Laxterby’. So, even if the gang withdrew peaceably, he would still have something to show for his trouble.
The problem facing Widge was how he might bring about a peaceable withdrawal.
Unaware of the thoughts which were running through his leader’s head, the man with the horses—who went by the unflattering name of ‘Dog-Ear’—decided that he would help his companions. Releasing the reins he had been given, he reached slowly towards the rifle in his saddle boot. It was only a single shot Enfield muzzle-loader, but still capable of nullifying the advantage of the cowhand’s weapon in the matter of range.
Seeing what Dog-Ear was doing, Dolman and de Froissart were respectively aware of the implications. Watching the rest of the gang, Mark Counter would not become aware of the danger until it was too late. Most likely, he would be killed without knowing what had hit him. Neither man would have objected to the big blond’s death under different circumstances, but both could see the danger to themselves. The gang might start to throw lead as soon as their companion’s rifle had taken Mark out of the game. However, each of them could visualize what would happen if he tried to warn the young Texan.
‘Take your hand off that rifle, hombre!’ Mark snapped, having appreciated the danger posed by Dog-Ear and kept glancing at him without taking the Winchester vi out of alignment on the main body of the gang. ‘If it comes out, some of your amigos’ll get killed.’
Startled by the discovery that he was under observation, Dog-Ear removed his hand from the Enfield’s butt and allowed it to slip back into the boot. Sitting upright once more, he made sure that he kept his palms disp
layed prominently.
Regarding the incident as convincing evidence of the cowhand’s competence and control of the situation, Widge conceded that his gang’s position was hopeless. He had not suspected that the big blond was also watching Dog-Ear and had mixed emotions on what had happened. While the horse-holder might have broken the deadlock, he could also have caused Widge to be killed.
However, suspecting that life in the State’s Penitentiary was anything but enjoyable, Widge was not greatly enamored by the prospect of surrender even though the alternative appeared to be getting shot. With that in mind, he decided to offer a compromise which the youngster might be willing to accept so as to avoid endangering his friends around the table.
‘You-all can’t gun us down without getting these here good folks shot full of holes, big feller,’ Widge declared, watching how the words were being received by the men and woman who were to have been his victims, as well as how the cowhand was taking them. ‘But, again’ that, me ’n the boys ain’t exactly looking to get killed neither.’
‘So?’ Mark inquired, sounding far more disinterested than he was feeling.
‘It looks like we’ve got us a standoff,’ Widge suggested.
Being fully cognizant of the danger which still existed for Marlene, de Froissart and Dolman, Mark was willing to come to terms if possible. Knowing that for himself to have made an offer might have been interpreted by the outlaws as a sign of weakness, he had held back in the hope that their leader might come up with a solution to the problem.
‘You-all sound like a man who’s got something on his mind,’ Mark prompted, still retaining his matter-of-fact tone.
‘No harm’s been done to nobody,’ Widge went on. ‘So, happen the best thing all round’d be for us to go our way and leave you good folks to do likewise.’
Despite his earlier fears, Dolman could see that the danger was passing. From what was being said, the outlaws were willing to leave peacefully. He viewed that possibility with mixed feelings, but a desire to do his duty as a peace officer had nothing to do with them. Shooting it out with the gang would have put his life in danger. Against that, they had already considered de Froissart was the most dangerous person at the table. So the outlaws would have made the Creole and Mark Counter their primary targets. If de Froissart had been killed, there would be one less partner between Dolman and control of the Pilar Hide & Tallow Company.
